Beyond Compare (h.e.s)

part three

I guess there's no real excuse for what we're doing, no reason that we're suddenly doing it now, except that we are. We both know what's happening, but at the same time, we have no fucking clue. It's all just instinct and adrenaline blending together when I take your hand and we leave the bar to hail a cab. I give him my address, but that doesn't mean anything—we could just be going over there like we have a million times before, and then this thing will be over, and I'll never kiss you again.

I don't really want that, so I'm so glad when you kiss me in the cab, almost pouncing so you're stretched over me.

"No sex in my cab!" the cabbie barks and even though I just want to keep kissing you, you're laughing into my mouth and I'm eating it up until the laughter is mine. You sit up and I follow, wrapping my arm around you.

This is so strange—you're at once the girl I've known for so long and also this completely new person; I know your faces and how your mouth moves, but not how it feels or kisses, and this blend of familiarity and discovery is addictive. There's something about tonight, or maybe that's just an excuse and there's something about you and me, and I can't stop touching you. I don't want to, and you don't seem to want me to. Before I can think about it, we're kissing again, and again, the cab driver shouts, "No sex in my cab!"

I pull away and laugh. "Okay, buddy. No sex."

"In his cab," you breathe and I look at you. I'm sure my eyes are wide, half with surprise, half with an emotion that can only be described as 'fuck. yes.' I didn't really know where this was going—you're hot, so I hoped for sex, but we've been friends for so long, so I didn't know if you'd want that. Then you kissed back, so I hoped for sex, and I'm a breathing male, so I hoped for sex, and you look beautiful after you've been kissed, so I hoped for sex.

It blows my mind that maybe you're hoping for it, too.

You look sheepish, like you may be regretting speaking so openly so I kiss you again—and of course, again, the cabbie yells.

"Okay, sir!" you tell him. "We know. No sex."

"In his cab," I say, looking right at you.

You smile right back, and, fuck, it's sexy. "In his cab."

You say it like a promise.

—|—

Each morning I wake up takes me further and further from the night with me and Harry, and still, I can't seem to escape it. If anything, it follows me more and more, making me vacillate between being in my head too much and being completely out of my mind.

I open my eyes today, and my first thought is of how I woke up to him two mornings ago. He looked so sweet and boyish with sleep still in his eyes, which had made me laugh considering that not even two hours before that, he'd woken me up to show me just what a man he was.

Soft on his lips and hard on his body, fingers that found me everywhere, so many smiles, so much laughter. I'd always thought laughing would be the last thing I'd want to do in bed, but with Harry, it wasn't because it was funny, it was because it was fun. It may have been the best sex I ever had but it was also the most fun I've ever had.

My stomach twists unpleasantly and my breath shortens when I think of how I left him at the bar—how he might be waking up to someone else right now.