The Fallen |BxB| ✓

21 | Fly With Me

↞[Ken]↠

His skin gleamed like honey from the yellow lights, and his bronze hair appeared glossed in silver.

I expected a black-out. Maybe everything would rush in the blink of an eye, but Luke made every movement, every touch, and every word count. My heart was in my throat, and I had forgotten breathing. Like I ever breathed properly anyway, with him around me.

I did not flinch when he tossed my glasses away without a care in the world. His fingers held my chin, and thumb traced my lower lip, touch gentle, like a gust of breeze. He moved closer, so I could taste the air he breathed, yet he did not kiss me, the slight smirk demanding a reaction from me. And fuck, I wanted to straddle and kiss him to my heart's desire. But I froze.

"Relax, Ken. Let me savor you..." I followed his intoxicating gaze as he titled his head, and his thumb pressed my lip. I obeyed, opening my mouth and feeling his tongue invade me. His flavors, the heat from the kiss, while his palm teased around the hem of my shirt, was enough to drown me.

As he lifted my shirt, without breaking our kiss, and I felt his fervent touch on my skin, leaving my body awake, I began understanding how real this was. It was happening right now. I knew what  Luke had meant by alone time. But was I prepared? I mean, I thought I was.

We parted, and Luke spoke with a dreamy gasp, "Fuck, Ken, you take my breath away." He did not wait for a response as he lifted my sweatshirt and nudged me backward. Cold air fanned over my chest as my back curved over the sofa's armrest, and his heated gaze read every line of my skin. A starved shiver moved down my spine.

He makes me feel so wanted.

"Dim light does you no justice," Luke mumbled and locked his darkened eyes with mine while removing his shirt.

I saw him shirtless once, and so the impact should've been less, but nope. My breath hitched, and mouth watered, watching his naked front under the drab lights. They revealed all the blotches of dark red — darker than sin. Long ones lining his ribs, curving over the muscles. They were a part of him. A tame snail-line of fuzzy, short hair raced down his navel, outspreading and coarsening just at the edge of his jeans lining. Did I mention how low his jeans were? Because they were low.

Captivated, my fingertips traced his bruises, brushing over the uneven hair. "There are so many," I whispered with unease. They had multiplied over the week and seemed raw and painful.

If I am his protection ward or whatever, then these are the last marks on his body.

Luke broke my trance by bending toward me, quickening my heartbeat, as his icy lips kissed my neck, slowly making their way down. Despite all efforts, I could not hold back the strained moans that escaped my mouth.

"I thought you liked them," he spoke over my skin. After some woozy seconds, I realized that Luke was referring to his scars.

I spoke with a cracking voice, "N-no! I-I hate everything which hurts you." There were a million better ways to say that line, but of course, I said it in the most clingy, cheesy way. The moderation button on my feelings cannot work with a semi-naked Luke pinning me down.