Ice To Meet You

I think I can finger this out

Liam POV

I am drunk on her but the coke is wearing off. Although I don't mind it — it's just increasing my awareness of her sensual body. I really should try and be soberer, especially around her but it just feels so good. Sometimes I feel that my darkness might be too much for her but that really shouldn't be any of my concern, that's her prerogative.

She webs her fingers in the spaces between mine, lifts my hand and kisses the back of my palms. She's so gentle, untouched and soft — a part of me almost feels guilty for indulging in her, but the other part of me, the more prominent one is glad she's not part of the filth I come from.

She's refreshingly naïve, a breed of women I haven't had since college.
Maybe she deserves better — scratch that I am pretty sure she does — but I am hooked on her for now.
I wrap my hands around her body and she does the same. We reach her floor and I am ignoring her chuckles. She tiptoes and I instinctively bend my head down so that she can rub her nose against my nose before pressing her lips to mine.
I kiss her back and I have to admit — there is insane passion between us and tonight will be fun. Her apartment is open and I am not even surprised at this moment. She has no sense of self-preservation at all.
"Mia, this isn't State College. You should be locking your door," she could get killed. The thought sends shivers down my spine.
She pushes my shirt back and I loop out of it. It touches the floor and we are still in the living room. Did she hear me? Before I can say a word further, she is dragging me to her bedroom.
It's not as bad today — don't get me wrong it's still a mess but the bed is empty and there are no clothes on the floor. That damn air mattress needs to be filled the fuck up.
It's too low.
"I'll be back," she says and sprints out of the room.
I open her wardrobe out of curiosity — her clothes are neatly stacked and not mushed in like I had thought she would stuff. Okay I admit, she can be clean but last night was a fucking tsunami. I quickly slide the door back. I can head her footsteps. She is not slick or sly.
She is back with an opened bottle of wine and some jar of candle — what is with women and wanting to light candles. Does she need liquid courage? Is she nervous? I don't want her to think she has to sleep with me to keep me.
Yo hold on. She doesn't have me. Even if she sleeps me she can't have me. Of course not. I am just going to tap that ass and call it a night, no cuddle shit or she'll be hooked and blabbering feelings I am not ready for.

She takes a swig of the wine and I want to smoke.
"Can I smoke in your room?" I ask her knowing full well she'll let me get away with anything as long as I am with her. I have a feeling I have her wrapped around my finger.
"Nope, you can smoke in the living room," or not—yet

She holds the bottle of wine in front of me that I decline as I walk to the living room. I hate the word no; we have to work on that.
I light my cigarette and look around; I can't believe I am in a shoe box, about to fuck a girl on a fucking air mattress. I should have offered to take her back to mine or maybe not.
I don't want her to get influenced by my house and decide she's in love with me after spending a night in my place. The amount of time that has happened is infuckingsane. Once women see my house, they want to play home.
There has to be something wrong with her and once I figure that out, I can use that against her. Nobody is perfect and I will find the chink in her sexy little armor.

I put the cigarette out and throw the butt in the trash can. I make my way to her room and she's halfway down the bottle—she looks up from her phone as she registers my presence and her eyes are misty.

She's feeling the liquor and my high is wearing off. We've got to hurry; I have a call soon.

I take the bottle from her hand and place it on the floor. She needs at least a table in here. She stands up and I pull her close—her eyes are wary like a deer in the woods.