makes my nerves tingle in a way I didn’t even know was possible. I take his hand, pulling him toward my room.
Juliet meows in protest as I close the door on her.
I reach for his sweatshirt, and he kisses me again, his fingers collecting my own sweatshirt. He pulls back long enough to pull the fabric over my head, and then he pauses, his gaze meeting mine. “Are you sure?”
Absolutely, I think to myself. Last week I’d probably have been unsure because Arlo’s my friend, and I enjoy having him in my life, and I wouldn’t want to risk that. But he’s also made the last several weeks better, fuller, more complete—things I haven’t felt in so long, and I’m desperate for more. I feel alive when I’m with him. I feel happy.
I nod, cupping his face with my hands, hoping I can convey just how sure I am. I swallow the nerves that threaten to make me reconsider if this is going to cross a boundary or be something we regret. But before I can let my mind spiral any further, Arlo licks his lips, his gaze slowly dropping to my mouth and then to my bra and bare stomach. I still have my pants on, and yet, I feel naked—exposed—as his eyes slowly skim back over me. Then his mouth crashes over mine, setting a new rhythm of need and desire that has his lips pulling and massaging and plying without an ounce of mercy. I feel tiny as he manhandles me, running his hands over my body, over my hair, across my breasts, completely unapologetic as he roams, all the while kissing me senseless. Then he grips hair at the nape of my neck and tilts my head back to grant himself better access, where his mouth claims and intoxicates me.
I feel drugged by his touch, desperate for more. I struggle to lift his sweatshirt, the wet and bulky garment sticking to his T-shirt and skin. Arlo kisses me, and then his hands slowly slip from my body as though he’s regretting having to break our connection before he moves my hands out of the way and pulls both shirts clean off, exposing his perfectly sculpted chest and arms, the ink that tells a dozen stories, and the expanse of hot skin I want to trace over with my fingers and tongue. I’m startled by the reality of this—by the desire he evokes. I’m not a virgin, but sex has always been missionary—me on my back, a few strokes to my clit, and then sex. Exploring each other, tasting each other, teasing each other—this is new and uncharted territory and makes me nervous about whether I’m going to be good at this or terrible.
I’m still considering this revelation, and if I should be setting rules or asking questions when his thumb traces along my bottom lip, then he grips the back of my neck again and kisses me until I can’t think of a single thing except for how badly I want to feel him.
34
Arlo
Need is coursing through me so strong that if she says stop, it’s going to take every ounce of my self-control to do so. “Liv,” I let out on a groan, running my nose along her neck, feeling her tremble when my lips graze a spot beneath her ear. “Be sure because one more taste, and I’m not going to be able to stop.”
She bites her bottom lip, lust shining bright in her eyes as she stares at me.
Fuck.
Then she slides her hand over my cheek, her fingers so gentle, it’s a whisper against my skin. A promise. “I’m sure.”
My lips come down on hers, ravaging her mouth and twisting her tongue with mine as I trail my hand over her shoulder and down the swell of her breast, following the line of her bra cup and feeling her tremble as her breaths grow ragged, and she pushes her chest more firmly against my hand.
I kiss her lips, her chin, and then her neck as she slowly relaxes into my grip. I watch my hand dance over her torso, mesmerized by how her body moves and reacts to my touch. I walk us toward her bed, so the backs of her thighs press against her mattress, and then run my hands down her spine and over her ass, to her thighs before lifting her. She gasps, her eyes springing open. I set her on the mattress, and she remains in place, her muscles