soft exploration to firm detonation. From parted lips to seeking tongues.
“You always smell like a vanilla milkshake,” he said, groaning and licking the underside of my top lip. “But you taste way better.”
Butterflies exploded like a fizzing bomb erupting, decimating every cell in my body.
And then a bang sounded outside, followed by yelling and cussing.
I pulled away, and Everett dived off the bed, cracking open the door in time for us to hear, “Everett, fuck.” Hendrix hollered, “Where are you? Get out here, quick!”
He raced back to the bed, climbing over me to peck my lips. “When I can, mark my words, Clover, I’ll find you.”
“Don’t take so long next time.”
His brows jumped in clear surprise, and he grinned, biting my lip before throwing himself off the bed and adjusting his jeans on the way out.
Turning my face into my bedding, I smothered a giggle while kicking my feet in the air behind me.
The creak of the rising window alerted me, and I sat up, blinking sleep heavy eyes as Everett climbed in and stumbled to my bedroom floor.
“Shhh,” I hissed. “Want to wake everyone up?”
“Hendrix is still out,” Everett said, a little slurred, and rolled over to kick off his boots. “I wanted to see you, so I left.”
There were parties down on the beach all weekend to celebrate the end of school. Bonfire smoke tumbled off Everett as he crawled over to the bed, almost as strong as the stench of alcohol and weed.
His hand fell on mine, fingers stroking. “I don’t wanna sleep on the floor this time.”
“Oh,” I exhaled.
Bloodshot emerald eyes rose, long lashes curling to meet his brows. “No sex,” he said. “I’m…” He shook his head as if to clear it. “I’m not worthy of that from you. I just want to hold you, Clover, and feel your skin against mine.” Still watching me with nothing but the moon to highlight our features, he dragged his teeth over his lip. “That okay?”
Tears pricked at the vulnerable, honest timbre of his words. “That’s okay.”
He flashed me a grin, then stood and shoved off his jeans, almost stumbling to the floor again.
I grabbed his arm, pulling him onto my bed before he knocked something over and woke up my parents.
His hand moved to my back, ducking beneath my sleep shirt and rubbing. The scent of the night’s festivities was almost overbearing with him this close. “Did you have fun?”
“Mmm,” he moaned, nose nudging my chin. “Wish you’d been there. Fucking Hendrix.”
I held back a laugh, smiling when his head shifted to rest next to mine on the pillow. “You’re beautiful, but when you smile, you’re a portrait of starlit dreams.”
Still smiling, I absorbed his words, knowing he was drunk but knowing that unless he was singing, it was rare to hear such openness from him. My hand found his cheek, my thumb ghosting over the tiny, almost undetectable, scar beneath his eye.
He hummed, his large hand pressing me closer, legs entangled with mine as his eyelids drifted closed. “I love your touch the most.”
I kissed his lips, pushing him back when he tried to take things deeper. “Sleep, Everett.”
“Not worthy,” he whispered. “But I’ll probably keep trying to take you anyway.”
His breathing had settled into even puffs that drifted from his lips and nose to stir my hair when I whispered, “You’re worthy. You just haven’t figured that out yet.”
“Just hold your nose,” Adela encouraged, laughing.
I did as she said, coughing and splattering as the vodka burned a hole in my tongue and throat. “Holy fire.”
She fell back to the sand, howling at the moon.
“Yo, Sandrine!”
So used to hearing it directed at Hendrix, I almost ignored the person calling my surname.
Then I remembered Hendrix was playing a gig in the next town over. We were going to go, but Mom and Dad were out for their anniversary, and Adela wanted to drink. I didn’t have a car, and I doubted Adela’s parents wanted me driving her new Mercedes.
So we’d walked down to the beach. I hadn’t planned on drinking much, but that was before vodka.
As the sound of feet crunching over sand hit my ears, I turned, spying Mark from biology.
“Wassup?” I mumbled, my eyelids heavy as I raised them. Adela snorted, and I asked, “How much have we drank?”
She held up the one-liter glass bottle she’d swiped from her parents’ mini bar, and I leaned closer to discover it was half empty. “Oh fucking dear.”
“Oh dear is right.” Adela snickered. “What’s crackin’, Mark?”