Disguise♔ z.m

Eighteen

"I'd rather eat," I say, climbing off Liam and arranging his clothes on me.

"Bummer," he laughs with disappointment, but immediately rises to his feet and plants a soft kiss on my cheek, holding my wrist as he lowers his kiss to the crook of my neck, nuzzling his face until his lower soft skin can reach the back of my neck. Unwillingly, my hand had snuck up to the trail of his hair beneath his shirt, but I knew I had to stop. He was trying to win me over with his morning proposition, even though I had clearly stated I was hungry.

It's not that I am not attracted to Liam or to the idea of having intimate moments with him, but it's like we're rushing things. I don't need him to officially say I'm his, though stability would be highly expected, but having those moments without a label just makes me feel as though I being used.

It makes me think I belong to the cast of the movie called friends with benefits. He has been sweet, thoughtful, flirty and hot, but I can't just let myself loose. I have a dignity I want to keep. I know I won't be able to resist the next few times he kisses me this way, but I have to start from somewhere.

I pull him back by gripping his hair, and kiss his lips, leaving a bittersweet memorable peck. I pull away and smile, tilting my head to the side, hoping he'd get my body language.

"Let's go," he grabs the key from the tiny table placed beside couch.

I glance over at the shorts.

"Would Elle be there?"

"Maybe. Maybe not. Why?" He stops mid-way, kneeling to the ground to pick up something.

"I've got her shorts with me, remember?" I ask, pointing at the shorts.

"Take it with you. If she's not there, then you can leave it in the changing room or something," he mumbles, getting up, and raising his hand up to show a familiar handbag.

"I've been looking for that!" I exclaim, rushing to the shorts, and to Liam, trying to grab my bag until he raises it higher. We struggle in that position for minutes before I give up.

"C'mon!" I cry."Let me have it!"

"Not until you do what I say," I was having a really bad feeling about this.

"Depends." How civil are we to be having such a conversation?

"Not really, love. It's either a yes or no."

"Yes, whatever," I mutter, eyeing the bag I wanted to get my hands on forever.

"Kiss me," he says.

"Is that it?"

"Yes. Wanted more?" He winks.

"Totally not- I mean-" I groan louder.

"Let's just get this over with." I wrap my hands around his neck protectively and tip toe in order for our lips to connect. Once they do, my bag and shorts fall to the floor, just the way his hands fall to my waist. While he rubs my sides, I enjoy the way our tongues go in rhythm as though we are having a battle of who can do it better. Within seconds, I was leaving tiny kisses on his lips as he mumbles words.

"You-"

"Are-"

"So-"

"Good-"

"At this," we break apart finally, breathing against each other's lips. I was not a kisser- I never even kissed a person before- but the way he commented had made my body throb with sensation. I really wanted more. I wanted to leave those red marks on his body, making sure his skin was only made for me. I wanted to kiss every inch. This how it was. I was on a scale of Lust and dignity. I am losing balance with every kiss we have.