Snow

35 | don't you love me?

❝love is not the answer;
i'm in love with this stuff.❞

❘❘

NO NIEVA.

Stuck in some daydream of snowfall, we wait and wait and wait and wait. Every night is una eternidad, railing lines of coke and inhaling cigarette smoke, tethered to some longing for the start of invierno.

We crack the window; we wrap ourselves into sheets and blankets, bare and breathless, and we chase away the chill in the air with bruising, burning kisses. Slick skin against skin, a sheen of sweat separating us, we move sleepily through the sultry heat, bracing wintry wishes with a non-stop reel of sex.

Seized by snow, lost in some lustful lullaby, twisting through sheets, just memorizing sensations of togetherness. Warm breath melting, fingertips tracing lines of fire, tongues tasting, hips meeting, and lips... lips catching every inch of skin exposed to the cold.

Julian and I keep each other warm.

"Podemos hacer esto para siempre," I tell him one late night... and I mean every slurring syllable. Quiero esto para siempre. "Tú y yo."

It takes tres días, holed up and huddled into each other, complimenting companionship of silence, before Julian cuts us off.

Humming lazily, he caresses my cheek... like I'm porcelana, like I'm vidrio, like I'm hielo, seconds away from shattering his entire world.

Julian caresses my cheek como me ama more than fucking breathing.

My eyes flutter closed. "Jules..."

"We're blowing through this, Neva," he drawls, capturing my lips in a chaste kiss. "Lo siento, princesita, but we have to stop."

I don't think I can stop.

"I don't want to stop."

Julian snickers. I catch his wrist and press my lips to his palm, caressing those inked knuckles up until I taste his fingertips on my tongue. "Neva..."

"Por favor, papi." I blink up at him innocently. "Don't you love me?"

Hazy and heartbreaking, the shade of brown in his eyes darkens. "No me lo recuerdes."

That raspy threat strikes me hot. I tug my lower lip between my teeth teasingly, and when he groans, a grin breaks free. Julian is too easy, and that fucked up part of me loves having this over his head.

I can do anything.

"Sí, sí, sí, you and me, papi," I breathe, yanking him down for a hard kiss. "¿Te recuerdas?"

It's three days of pushing and pulling, molding his own words for my gain, yanking hair and carving skin, moaning, sighing, indulging in everything Julian Rivera can give me.

I feel like a fucking Queen in his bed.

There's something about the high that gives us royalty, like Kings and Queens of a broken kingdom, reigning over a lonely city. A sensual secret in each fiery breath, each fierce kiss, each frantic word. Our actions.

Like we're the only ones who can find it, the only people in the world who can feel this fucking free.

I only wanted to stay high enough to feel that. Forever.

It's almost a lovesick feeling, a forbidden admiration, memorizing empty patterns and hollow heartbeats, knowing it's destroying you, but still wanting it. Needing it. There's no way to love without it.