Jamaica Me Happy // HS

Part 3

The room was especially loud with chatter while a NYE Special played on the TV that hung above the impressive mantel of your home-away-from-home's living room. It was packed with friends, acquaintances and even some that you'd never spoken to.

You knew him though.

Gold hats moved across your line of vision. Smiling faces and sparkly outfits flashed out of the corner of your eye.

But you couldn't pull your eyes from him.

You watched as he told a story in a small group of your friends. His eyes flicked to yours every so often. The light caught their sparkle like a mirror against the sunlight, begging you to go to him.

One of your hands had you propped up on the kitchen island, your other occupied your sixth glass of champagne against your lips. The sweet taste was the only thing keeping your erratic heart in your chest.

He looked good. Inviting in a way that pulls you in more than you wanted him to.

It was almost midnight. When the one minute countdown started, everyone began cheering as they turned to the TV. You downed the last of your champagne as your free hand reached for the neck of the bottle, quickly pouring yourself another glass.

You slowly made your way through the crowd, settling yourself right next to him. Your arm brushed his, pulling his attention to your face. You blinked slowly as you turned your face to his.

It was like the room faded a bit, leaving you with his face, his eyes, his mouth.

You could hear the faint chants of the last ten seconds as the ball dropped. You knew people were cheering and kissing and hugging and clapping all around you.

And yet all you could do was look at him.

And all he did was look at you.

***

His plush lips sucked your bottom lip roughly. He had you pressed up against his bedroom door, his body flushed to yours, suffocating you.

A welcomed suffocation.

Your senses were on such an overdrive that even his hair tangled in your fingers sent shocks of arousal to your core. His hips pressed into yours, his own arousal so obvious that you'd have known even without the proof of his hard length straining his zipper.

The way he touched you, the way he kissed you, the way he moaned into your mouth every time your grip tightened on his roots. Everything single thing he did told you how turned on he was.

"Fuckin' killing me tonight," he rutted against you, speaking lowly against your waiting lips.

His hands were harsh as they traveled up and down your sides, squeezing your waist, your hips, your ass, before traveling the same path again and again. You could taste every low, disgruntled moan he made, eagerly begging for more as your lips attached and reattached to his.

You started to unbutton his shirt with shaky hands, peeling it off his shoulders the moment he let go of your body long enough to allow you to. He was pulling you away from the door seconds later, gripping your waist tightly and gliding your feet across the floor until you were met with his plush pillow top mattress.

His body smothered yours, his hips digging into yours as he rolled against you. The pressure in your head and in your core were matched, pounding in unison as you tried to keep up with his insistent lips.

He licked into your mouth fully just before he trailed his wet lips down your throat. Your nails dug into his shoulders and your body arched up into him more, wanting to feel every piece of him while you could.