"My roommate is... it's Erica." She looks sad and I want to laugh. This must be a joke... it must be.
Her sad expression stops me though. Fuck, this must be some sick joke. Erica?
"Erica?" I choke and she nods.
"Erica Lowinski." She confirms my worst thought.
"I noticed the tension between her and Charlie but never knew what it meant. She said it was something with her ex but I never put the pieces together until you told me about what happened." She explains and I want to punch a wall. She looks like she wants to say more but stays quiet.
"Spill it" I urge when she keeps fidgeting with the duvet. She's still sitting next to me and it's too much. Erica is her fucking roommate? My hand pulls my hair as I try to make sense of this whole thing. Memories flood me this time and i can't for the life of me stop them from taking over. I slept on Cat's couch for weeks after the break up, crying to her each night about how much I loved that girl and how she ripped me apart by cheating.
"I... she's ... she barely stays the night in the dorm... she uhm sleeps around... a lot, with guys too" she says and I regret asking her to spill. Fucking Erica. I could barely look at other girls after her, she was my queen. Eventually Cat got me out of the worst stage of the break up and that's when I started to sleep around often. I quit that now though, college does that. I don't have the time to stay out all night and drunkenly bring random girls home, nor do I feel the need to anymore.
I did it to forget her, and now she's back. The dark cloud of bad memories is taking over but something stops it. Anne.
She bravely swings her leg over mine and straddles me. Her eyes have that one challenging look again, that fucking look. Her hand moves to my neck, caressing the side of it. I tilt it to give her more access, I don't question it. Whatever she's doing, it's distracting me enough for now. She curls my hair around her fingers and looks at me to make sure I'm okay and I nod, not wanting my words to ruin the moment.
In this moment, she doesn't look like herself at all. She looks... sexy, almost. Just as that thought crosses my mind, her hand pulls my hair and I look up at her in confusion. She's barely touching me but I'm already turned on. This girl, I will never understand her or what she does to me.
She doesn't give me time to question her. Instead, she crashes her lips to mine. She feels so soft and small but the way her hips are rubbing over mine has me thinking all sorts of dirty thoughts about her. Our lips move in synch, my tongue easily dominating hers. Her hands are lost in my hair, pulling it when she deepens our kiss. My hands hold her hips, guiding them over mine as I groan into her mouth.
Her hands grab the material of my sweater and she pulls it over my head. She leans back a bit to do so, our lips disconnecting for a moment. I throw my sweater on the floor, revealing my tank top. Her eyes shine as she looks at me. Our loud breathing is the only sound in the room.
I can physically see doubt and shame rise in her beautiful eyes but I'm not ready for the moment to end. I need distraction, I need her.
That's the only explanation I have to why my hand reaches out and holds the back of her neck as I crash my lips to hers again. Our tongues meet and I know she can't resist it. Neither could I, even if I wanted to.
I sit up on my knees and gently push her down on the bed so I can lean over her. What can I say? I like the dominance.
My hand is still holding her neck while I kiss her. I gently and teasingly bite her lip a little and she groans, her hands tightening in my hair.
YOU ARE READING
Flowers and sunsets.
RomantizmFlowers are pretty, soft and colorful. Sunsets are dark, unpredictable and mysterious. Nothing alike, yet both are beautiful to look at. A book that proves you can't judge people by their covers.