Homewrecker

35 - 𝓾𝓷𝓽𝓪𝓶𝓮𝓭

The bedroom upstairs was locked, probably because Kingston's friend realized that there might be a couple quietly sneaking up the creaking stairs, muffled giggling coming from their lips when they weren't feverishly meshed together, tugging on the doorknob for somewhere alone. I felt his hand on my waist, fingers just barely underneath the hem of my shirt, and even though my head was starting to feel unclear, my skin was tingling with sensation.

Further down the hallway, we found an opened bathroom door and tiptoed inside, locking it behind us after Kingston closed it with his back. I was against him, his head caught in the terry cloth material of a towel hanging from a hook over the door, and his hands were still on my sides, exploring my ribcage. I brought my hands down to his shirt, feeling the intake of his breath as my nails touched his skin near his waistband. I brought his shirt over his head, tossed into the bathtub beside us.

Then he lifted my shirt, slower and knuckles brushing against my skin, my bra straps, the side of my neck as he brought the collar over my head, hair tumbling down over his hands. I felt so aware of everything his hands, his fingers, his lips did, feeling them trail kisses down my throat and my collarbone.

It was all I was focused on.

All my body would let me think about.

The back of his head thudded against the door when he broke away, his lips still puckered as he opened his eyes but he was so close and the room was so dark, I could barely make out the features of his face. "I don't have anything," he told me, and the spark that felt alive a moment earlier was dampened, soaked in disappointment. I wanted to keep going, keep that escape. "Are you on the pill?"

I shook my head. "No."

He blinked, the tensed muscles underneath me relaxing. "Well, I could go out and get something, Maybe ask some of my friends if they have a condom."

I thought of myself, sitting on the edge of a stranger's bathtub, thoughts resurfacing and swirling in my head while I waited for him to come back from the store. Whatever was happening right now would be severed, broken and anything could slither into that break, dissembling my illusion. I wanted to keep feeling alive in a world where everything felt dead.

"Or we could keep going," I whispered, pressing my lips to his throat, feeling his Adam's Apple underneath, his stubble against my cheeks. "You don't have a killer STD, do you?"

He paused. "What?"

"It's from a movie, but it doesn't matter. You can pull out, right?"

"Yeah." He still didn't sound totally convinced, like thoughts were starting to filter back through his mind again instead of primal urges, sensations, so I kissed down him down his chest. He took in a breath, and I felt it against my lips and my hair. He moaned softly as I went lower down, fingers looped around his belt. "You sure?"

I stood, meeting his gaze. "Do I look like I'm not sure?"

Kingston didn't respond, instead he pulled me closer against himself, our bare skin bumping against each other as his hands tangled in my hair then went down his belt, metal clinking together as he undid and dropped his pants around his ankles. I did the same with my pants, nearly stumbling as I tried to pull my feet, still in my shoes, out of the leg holes then shoved the pile of denim across the tiled flooring.

He brought me over to the sink, spinning me around so I was leaned over the porcelain and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror above the faucet. Even in the darkness, only the moonlight streaming in through the window on the other side of the room, I could make out that my hair was tangled into blond knots around my ears from his hands running through it. My eyes looked different, dilated and tinged a new color in the whites, and glassy. I looked flushed, breathless, but not feed. Not like the escape I imagined before.