Wild One

Chapter 19

A/N: I linked the song Wicked Game by Chris Isaak to the top of the chapter. If you don't listen to it while reading, I highly recommend you listen to it later.❤️

Tallulah's POV:

This is not my fault.

I made every effort to just avoid him completely. I was nice. Well. I wasn't mean. I expressed my gratitude. I was level headed and reasonable. I fucking tried.

It's like it doesn't matter what the fuck I do- he's going to follow me around and torture me with his beautiful, magical, phenomenal lips. He's going to make me want him. Crave him like I crave a stiff drink and a fat joint.

🎶What a wicked game you play, to make me feel this way
What a wicked thing to do, to let me dream of you
What a wicked thing to say, you never felt this way
What a wicked thing to do, to make me dream of you
And I don't wanna fall in love (this world is only gonna break your heart)
No, I don't wanna fall in love (this world is only gonna break your heart)
With you🎶

I don't want to be with him. I just really want to fuck him. I know for a fact that he's really fucking good at what he does and I haven't been laid in years. Add to that the fact that his magical tongue is currently thrusting into my mouth and sucking every ounce of rationale out of my system like a sex demon, and it's a wonder that I can still hear the warning bells telling me that this is an impulse I need to control if I value my newly regained freedom at all.

Maybe it's the fact that I do value my freedom that makes me able to hear those warning bells, faint as they are. The ones that stutter and go silent, drowned out by my quiet moan when he captures my tongue and gently suckles it while the hand that isn't buried in my hair finds its way to the bare flesh on my side beneath my shirt causing a nearly unbearable heat to flare up between my thighs, begging to be quenched.

No. Nope. No. Can't.

I wrestle with my demon that is insatiable craving for all things sinful- all things that take me, even momentarily, off of this plane and into a world of pleasure- drugs, booze, sex... chemicals. Natural or man-made invading my brain and rewarding my body. Adrenaline. Dopamine.

If sex was a drug, I'd be a junkie.

But it's not a drug. It involves a chemical reaction in your brain much like a drug. But it also involves another person. In this case, it involves a person who will most definitely take it as a surrender of myself to him if I partake. And I don't want to surrender myself to him, nor do I want to give him any false hope.

With that in mind I pull myself away, gasping for air and fighting against the impulse that beckons me to forget about a thing called consequences, a thing called compassion for this asshole in front of me. I wish I was drunk enough to be selfish.

"Look, man, we can't—,"

"Don't call me that," Sean says huskily between breaths, his forehead touching mine, his eyes piercing into mine. The sound of his desire-filled voice is like an aphrodisiac to me and it takes a moment for my auditory cortex to decipher his words.

"What?" I ask breathlessly. I feel muddled and confused and I know that it has little to do with the joint we just smoked.

"Don't call me 'man'. Don't talk to me like I'm some guy who just hit on you at a party," he says, eyes glittering jealously.

"I—,"

He cuts me off with a short, firm but somehow gentle kiss, "Just don't," he says before moving his lips to the side of my lips and trailing them across my cheek to my jaw, moving south.