“Get changed, or I’m not gonna be welcome in this house,” I command.
She feigns ignorance. “What do you mean? What are you talking abo—”
I’m not letting her pull that shit. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. I’m talking about you panting and pleading in my ear, ‘Please, Alex, please.’ About you screaming my fucking name. About you digging your fingernails into my ass cheeks as I fuck the living shit out of you, and you begging me to go deeper. About my teeth on your collar bone, and my tongue in your mouth, and all of me fucking taking you, and your father trying to knock my fucking teeth out for it. For God’s sake, Silver, put some fucking pants on at least. I’m going out of my mind…”
She silences me as quickly and effectively as a bullet to the back of the head. Her hand…ahh fuck!…she reaches down between our bodies and places her hand right on top of my erection, which is straining against the zipper of my jeans, squeezing fucking hard.
“Shh. Shh, calm,” she murmurs. “I’ll be a good girl. I’ll give you what you need.” Her cheeks are still bright pink, but she seems to have overcome the initial shock of me coming on so strong. Again, she stands on her tiptoes, demanding my mouth, and this time I give it to her. I’ll give her anything she wants if she continues to squeeze and rub my cock the way she’s doing right now. I drive my tongue into her mouth, past her soft, pliant lips, kissing her more roughly than I ever have before, and she lets out a low, needy whisper that sets my blood on fire. Quickly, I grab hold of a fistful of her hair, yanking it back so that the sensitive, pale skin of her neck is exposed. I bite down on that delicate skin hard enough to draw blood. Almost.
“Alex! Fuck!” She tears at my belt, frantically trying to get it open…
“Get dressed right fucking now,” I snarl.
She looks up at me, eyes the color of a winter stream, sparking with defiance. “Don’t...tell me what to do.” Before I can say another word, she’s unfastened my jeans, pushed them down over my hips, freed my raging hard-on, and she’s down on her fucking knees.
“No.” I step back, trying to cover myself, forcing myself away from her.
God.
Fucking…
The sight of her like that…
On her knees.
For me.
Shame spills through me, hot, dark and slick. It’s one of my favorite pastimes, imagining fucking her pretty little mouth, driving myself down her throat to the very hilt of my shaft, until she’s fucking choking on me…unable to breathe around me…until I can’t take it anymore and I unload in her mouth…
I want it. I want it too fucking much. I can’t have her take me into her mouth and not be rough with her, though. I’m barely in control of myself as it is. I’ll have no hope of reining myself in if she closes her lips around my hard-on, and that makes me feel like a goddamn monster.
After the way Weaving, Sam and Cillian treated her, Silver deserves to be treated like a fucking queen. She doesn’t need my filthy fantasies sullying her. Trouble is, Silver has a mind of her own and she doesn’t seem like she’s going to give up on the idea of blowing me too easily.
I must be the only guy in high school to try and stop a girl from shoving his dick in her mouth. Silver shoots a baleful look up at me, grabbing me by the leg of my jeans, which is kind of hilarious. “Why?” she demands. “I’ve given you blow jobs before.”
“It may sound hard to believe, but I’m actually trying to be the good guy here. You don’t need to do anything for me. I just wan—”
“Hell no!” she scoffs. “You don’t get to bust in here turn me on in the space of five seconds flat, and then limit what I can and can’t do because you think you’re somehow doing me a favor. Has it ever occurred to you that the thought of going down on you makes me wet, Alessandro Moretti? That I think about it sometimes, feeling you getting harder and harder in my mouth, shaking because you need to come so bad, and it makes me want to storm into your apartment and demand that you fuck me immediately?”
Fuuuck. She fantasizes about blowing me? I fantasize about eating her pussy, so that doesn’t come as such a huge shock. Before Ben died, we were dancing around Silver’s desire to test the boundaries of our sex life. She wasn’t shy about going after what she wanted, then, and now is no different. Hearing her say this out loud is too fucking much, though. I swear to god, if I don’t have her naked really fucking soon, I won’t be held accountable for my actions. She’s still on her knees, still holding onto my jeans like she’s determined to get her way no matter fucking what.
A primal desire boils in the pit of my stomach, ordering me to take action. Unlike the anger I’ve been wrestling to get out from underneath all day, there’s no getting out from underneath this. Because it is me. I could sooner grow a third arm than overcome this churning need.
Stooping down with a deliberate slowness, I take hold of her by the arms, gently but firmly bringing her to her feet. “Pants, Parisi. I’m not fucking joking. Don’t say another word. I’m fucking begging you. Put on some pants and let’s go.”
Silver
I assume he’s going to drive us back to his place but Alex burns past the hardware store, gripping the steering wheel, staring intensely out of the windshield, his body locked up and rigid, barely even breathing as he coerces the Camaro through turn after turn into the night. The engine screams as he flattens the gas pedal to the floor, and I sit as still as can be in the passenger seat, trying to process the want that’s burning inside me. I’ve never felt anything like it before.
I’ve needed Alex’s touch plenty of times, but this kind of searing heat between us is all new. We haven’t had sex since before we found out about Ben. Since then, it’s as though there’s been an unspoken agreement between us. Alex has needed space to recover from his grief, and I’ve agreed to give it to him. That space is eating us alive now, though. The air between us is so charged with sexual tension that I’m worried one of us will say something, accidentally touch one another, and the whole damn car will go up in flames.
Alex must feel the same way; his eyes remain fixed on the road ahead, the muscles in his arms flexing and unflexing over and over again as he drives. Twenty minutes after we leave the Raleigh town limits, I realize where he’s taking me: to the place where we first kissed. To the place where we first had sex. My grandfather’s cabin.
It's perfect.
Friday night, no responsibilities over the weekend, no appointments to attend to…but then, my curiosity forces me to break the silence. “What about the store? Don’t you have shifts this weekend?”
He shakes his head stiffly, as if even doing that too enthusiastically might send him hurtling down the face of some great cliff. “Henry doesn’t need me,” he says through his teeth.
By the time he pulls down the long driveway that leads toward our destination, the pressure between us has built to a fever pitch of insanity. He doesn’t even kill the engine when he screeches to a halt in front of the cabin. He kicks open the driver’s side door, and then he’s charging around the front of the vehicle, briefly illuminated by the twin pillars of white light cast off by the headlights that spear out into the night across Lake Cushman.