17
Now
A thrill coursed through her as Rahul pressed her into the wall, the concrete cool against her back. His lips grazed her throat, his big hands sliding up her ribcage, heat burning through the fabric of her dress.
“Jasmine,” he whispered. Took a deep breath, as if he could inhale her, his face buried in the curve between her neck and shoulder. That was her spot. He knew it was. He knew all of them.
She knotted her fingers in the raw silk of his hair, and let the perfection of the moment sink into her bones. Stars above her, darkness around her, Rahul against her. She’d been satisfied for so long with feeling almost-right, but after this… she had a sinking suspicion that she’d never be satisfied again.
This thing between them was something she’d never had before, something that danced at the edges of her vision, that hung from the tip of her tongue. But when she looked at it straight on, when she tried to name it, she felt a sick sort of pressure in her gut. So she wouldn’t look and she wouldn’t speak. She’d feel.
“Kiss me,” she murmured.
He didn’t move, didn’t raise his head; just pressed his lips against her skin. His tongue was hot and lush, and then she felt the slight bite of his teeth and the pull of his mouth and knew he was marking her. Didn’t matter. He’d already marked her in every other way.
Don’t think like that. It’s nothing. This is nothing.
As if he’d heard the lie, Rahul released her and looked up, his eyes glittering in the sex-soaked shadows. He studied her in that way he had, as if he was seeing something no-one else did. She needed that look. It sustained her. Had for years, even when she’d turned away from it and pretended it wasn’t there.
“How long have you wanted to do this?” She asked softly.
He kissed her then. Kissed her mouth. The world around them sank into nothingness, her senses dulled as if she’d been submerged in an ocean, with no way to tell where the surface was. So she floated, directionless, and enjoyed it. She’d read somewhere that drowning was euphoria. It was true.
But the question bit at her. Because the way he looked at her—she hadn’t understood it, not for years, so she’d ignored it. Pretended it wasn’t feeding her and stoking her flames and leaving her wanting in the most painful way. But she couldn’t do that now, because over the days since they’d started this fucked up thing, she’d learned his desire. And she’d recognised it. And she knew she’d seen it before.
“Rahul,” she said, panting softly. “Tell me. How long?”
For a moment, she thought he wouldn’t answer. Thought he’d sink his hands into her hair and drag her close again, and she’d have allowed that because God knew she’d hidden in his arms often enough. But Rahul never hid. He swallowed and rasped, “Forever.”
Her breath hitched. Her mind barely began to race, struggled to grasp the fine edges of those implications, when—
“Don’t panic,” he said softly. “You’re beautiful. That’s all. Don’t panic.”
She dragged in a breath. Drank in the familiarity of his gaze, his kiss-swollen lips. Her pulse calmed a little, and she thought, There’s no need to make it something it’s not. So he wanted you. You wanted him, sometimes, too. What’s a little lust between friends?
Explosive, if they were anything to go by. But she pushed that thought away with a smile and the slide of her body against his.
“Jas?” He murmured.
“It’s okay. It’s cute.” She leant hard against the wall at her back, hooking one leg around his hips. “You think I’m beautiful?”
She saw a flicker of relief cross his face before he answered. “It’s an objective fact.”
“True.” She tugged at the bow resting over her chest.
His eyes fell to watch the show. His hand grasped her thigh, holding it against his hip, as if she needed the encouragement. As if she wouldn’t do whatever he fucking wanted in a bloody alley because he was perfect—no. Because she wanted to come, and he always made it so fucking good. That was why. That was the reason.
His fingertips grazed the inside of her thigh in slow, swirling strokes. She undid the bow and he bit his lip, white teeth sinking into plump flesh. She wanted those teeth sinking into her. Wondered if he’d managed to mark her suntanned skin or if he’d have to try harder. She wouldn’t mind him trying harder. When the two halves of her bodice fell apart like tissue paper, she heard his harsh, sucked-in breath. Everything about his face looked sharper in the dance of shadow and moonlight.
He slid his free hand over her ribs, over her bare skin this time. When he reached her breast, his thumb slid over her nipple, flicking the tightening bud gently. She heard a high, keening sound emerge from her throat, felt her hips jerk against his as if he’d already put his cock in her. Couldn’t help it. He was electric. Too much. She’d thought lightning couldn’t strike twice, but it hit everywhere he touched.
He slid down the straps of her dress, one at a time, until the entire bodice was hanging down around her waist, her upper body exposed. She should’ve been nervous. They were outside, hidden, maybe, but not hard to find. She could hear the rumble of an engine starting in the car park, could hear the distant hum of music inside the building she leant against. But she didn’t give a fuck because she knew nothing bad could happen while they were together. As long as he was with her, disaster counted as adventure.
So she let her eyes slide closed as he bent down, crouching before her. When he growled, “Skirt,” she gathered the fabric up in her hands and raised it out of his way. Anything he wanted. Anything.
Then he slid a finger down her slit, parting her already-swollen lips, and murmured, “No underwear?”
“Seemed like a waste of time,” she whispered into the night air. Couldn’t look at him. The strange way she felt tonight, looking at him might be dangerous.
But when he muttered, “Brat,” she saw his smile in her head. Beautiful and teasing and familiar, and a surprise every time.
He hooked her leg over his shoulder. The air felt cool between her thighs, ghosting over her sensitive pussy. Every inch of her skin felt icy and feverish all at once. She shivered as his touch spread her wide. Then his tongue, broad and firm and slick, lapped at her entrance. Sensation danced along her nerve endings, tightening her core and heating her cunt and forcing her to clench her thighs.
He licked her again, slow and exploratory, as if he didn’t know exactly what he was doing. As if he couldn’t make her come in minutes with that fucking tongue and those fucking fingers, as if he hadn’t done it just yesterday.
She understood. It always felt like the first time, and the last.
His hands grasped her hips, tilting them forwards, forcing her against his face. He breathed deep. She heard him and felt him at the same time when he said, “Why do you taste so fucking good?”
She couldn’t quite manage an answer. Instead she slid her fingers through his hair and pushed him closer, a ragged little moan leaving her lips.
He pulled back, no matter how hard she pushed, with a smile on his face that said he just wanted to prove he could.
“Ask me,” he said. “Ask for what you want, Jasmine.”
He said that a lot. And she tried. Maybe she liked it. Maybe it got easier every time and it felt better than taking ever had, or maybe she just liked the results—because he always gave her what she asked for. Maybe both. Either way, she managed, “Lick me. My clit. And—and put your fingers inside me,” because fuck, that felt so good, when he filled her and played with her and worshipped her with his mouth. “Please,” she breathed.
He pushed two fingers into her aching channel and she clenched around him automatically, crying out as he thrust into her emptiness, as he took the edge off her rising need. His eyes held hers, his fingers gliding in and out, slow and steady.
“You like that?” He murmured.
“Yes,” she whispered, sensation tearing through her. “Yes. Please—“
“Say my name.”
Her head fell back against the wall as his thick, strong fingers curled inside her. He brushed against that place that made her want to scream, that made her arousal swell beyond anything her body could contain. “Fuck, Rahul.”
As if he’d been waiting for that, he brought his lips to her pussy again. The tip of his tongue, stiff and delicate, circled her swelling clit; occasionally licked it full-on. But the pressure was never too much, because in the next breath he was dancing away, his tongue sliding around the source of all that sensitivity. And all the while, he pumped his fingers into her, adding another when she groaned, “More.”
The stretch was delicious, but it wasn’t the best he could do. Not even close. She felt her orgasm rising even as she gasped, “Just fuck me. Please, just fuck me.”
As if in response, he sucked her clit gently between his lips, and the pressure sent her eyes rolling back into her head. She came all at once, weightless and witless and a hell of a lot louder than she should be, and he stood and wrapped his arms around her and brought his lips down on hers.
Shudders rolled through her, and ragged moans fought to escape the cage of his kiss. He devoured her, taking everything. His palm slid possessively between her legs, cupping her mound as she arched against him. When the writhing need inside her faded, he released her gently and pressed his lips against her forehead. His hand slid from her pussy, to her hip, to her arse. His favourite place, she thought. It certainly seemed that way.
He squeezed one cheek roughly, as if he was trying to memorise the feel of her, as if he didn’t want to let go. “You’re so perfect when you come,” he whispered. “When you’re mine.”
She swallowed down the wave of emotion those words dredged up, because she wasn’t quite sure what the emotion was. Then his hand moved to the crevice of her arse, his slick fingers sliding down her cleft. When he brushed over her tight hole, a sharp exhalation escaped her. She arched her back automatically, her body demanding more of that tender pleasure, the sweet, barely-there pressure in her most private place.
He watched her, his expression fierce. “You like that?”
“Yes,” she breathed. “I like that.”
He bent his head and kissed her. His fingertips circled her back entrance as his tongue plundered hers. But she wouldn’t be distracted that easily; she reached between them and undid his jeans, then remembered to slide a hand into his back pocket. No condom in the left; she found it in the right. She’d learned, over the past week and a half, that she wasn’t the only one who liked to be prepared.
When she shoved down his jeans and underwear, his cock smacked against his belly, thick and hot and hard. He tugged the condom from her suddenly clumsy fingers, ripped it open and slid it on. Then he spun her around, his hands strong and sure. He pressed her against the wall, his weight deliciously insistent, his body surrounding her.
The rough side of the building grazed the sensitive tips of her nipples. His teeth sank into her throat. He slid a hand beneath one of her knees, pushed her leg up, and spread her open for him. Then she felt the fat head of his cock settle against her pussy, and a spark of pure need coursed through her. Jasmine arched her back, urging him to move, to thrust up into her.
He kissed her jaw, then her cheek, his lips gentle. Too gentle. She forced her eyes shut, as if that would protect her from the surge of tenderness in her chest, from the reverence she imagined in his touch. She wanted more from him than she should. She knew that all at once, then wondered if she’d known it all along.
He pumped his hips and filled her with one hard stroke.
Jasmine heard a ragged cry tumble from her own lips, mingling with Rahul’s groan. With one hand he held her leg high; the other moved between their bodies and found the tight little star of her arse, stroking it achingly slowly. Just as slow, he thrust into her, his movements pressing her harder against the wall.
Then he rasped into her ear, “Play with yourself, Jas. I want to feel you come again.”
He’d feel it fucking soon. Her hand shook slightly as she slid it between her body and the wall before her, fidgeting in a way that made Rahul breath in harshly until she found the right position. She began circling her clit firm and fast, even as he caressed her arse.
He fucked her steadily, the motion of his hips sharp and forceful, his thrusts spreading her wide and filling her deep. The sensations of his cock, and his hands, and his breath against her cheek, and his chest against her back, all collided in a burst of blinding light, and she shattered with a deep, drawn-out moan.
“Fuck, yes,” he panted, his thrusts growing faster, harder. His grip on her thigh tightened as he held her in place, fucking her deep. When he came, he pressed his face against her shoulder and pushed his heavy groan into her skin. She drank in the sound of his pleasure, the feel of his cock jumping inside her as his release filled the condom.
For a moment, they stood, panting and silent. Then he pulled slowly from her heat and lowered her leg, and she shivered slightly as the warmth of his body moved away. He pulled down her skirt, then turned her to face him.
“Hey,” she said softly,
He kissed her, too gentle again. But she couldn’t bring herself to complain. What would she even say? When you do that it feels like my heart is breaking, and I don’t know why, because I shouldn’t have one?
“Hey, hm?” He wore the kind of smile that said he thought she was being cute, but wouldn’t dare say it. He tugged her dress into place, his hands sure, sliding the straps back onto her shoulders.
She laughed and tied up the bow and felt far too much. Far too much. “Do you… do you want to go back in?”
“Well,” he said wryly, “we lost all our tickets and didn’t get a prize. Unless you’re done for the night?”
She leant back against the wall, hands folded demurely, and a smile tugged at her lips. Something foreign filled her heart. “No. I won’t be done for a while.”
18
Now
The bartender had saved their tickets
They went back inside, and as soon as the guy caught sight of Jasmine, he waved and held the little basket up. A grin plumped her cheeks and she hurried over to him.
Rahul took his time. Watched her lean against the glass bar, the pink and blue light washing over her white dress, and tried to remember that he was the one who’d just made her come. Twice. If he got possessive every time someone looked at her the way the bartender was right now, he’d have a cardiac event within the next six months.
After a few moments of what he considered unnecessarily intense conversation, Jas turned around and searched him out. When her eyes fell on him, her face lit up. She motioned for him to hurry up, that flawless fucking smile on her face.
He reached the bar and tried not to glare at the guy. Instead, he put an arm around Jasmine’s waist and bent to kiss her cheek. It was barely a kiss at all, he told himself, just a brush of the lips. A reflex. Nothing.
When he pulled away, he studied her face for signs that she didn’t agree. That she was freaking out or pissed. But all he saw was a little smile and a glowing gaze that seemed almost... pleased.
He knew that the hopes he’d started to nurture would eventually be crushed, but at times like this he wondered if maybe they’d have a chance.
“Rahul,” she said, sounding slightly breathless. “This is Boris. He’s trying to do that thing you do.”
Rahul’s brows arched. He looked at the guy, studying his pleasant features even as he murmured to Jasmine, “That thing I do?”
It was Boris who answered. He looked slightly bashful, mostly charming, as he said, “Clean eating? Started going to the gym, but I’m struggling to get enough calories in.”
Huh. Jasmine patted Rahul’s chest, and the action felt almost proprietary. “You can tell him about that,” she said. “Can’t you?”
Because she knew he loved talking about it, but she personally couldn’t stand to listen. She was looking very pleased with herself, like she’d just fou
nd him a particularly special form of entertainment. Which she might have. No-one, not even Mitch, was really interested in Rahul’s gym routine.
Boris looked interested. But he said hurriedly, “I don’t want to interrupt your night, or anything.”
Rahul looked down at Jasmine’s satisfied face. “Nah, it’s okay.” He sat on one of the stools. “Jas, you want to go and play without me?”
“Nope.” She dragged a stool closer to his and sat, hooking an ankle around one of his, lacing their fingers together on top of the bar. Hope beat against his chest like a dove’s wings, pounding harder than his heart. She looked at the bartender and said, “I would like some more shots though.”
Boris laughed. “I think we can manage that.”
So Rahul talked while Jasmine downed the sweet surprises Boris put in front of her. The arcade had been mildly busy when they’d come in, but a steady stream of people were arriving now, and the lights seemed slightly lower than they had before, the music louder. Boris was dragged away more and more, despite there being two other bartenders. When it got too busy for him to justify chatting, he scrawled his number on the back of a napkin and gave it to Rahul.
“Maybe you could text me about that stuff?” He shouted over the heavy bass of No Doubt.
“Creatine?” Rahul clarified. “Yeah. No problem.” He gave Boris a little wave before picking up their basket of tickets and tugging on Jasmine’s hand. She hadn’t let go of him once, even when her eyes glazed over with familiar boredom and she started chatting to whichever stranger wound up next to her.
There were no strangers next to her at that moment, so she slid off her stool and followed Rahul onto the arcade’s red carpeted floor. He paused as she drew close to him, as she pressed the length of her body into his side and rose up slightly on her toes. Her lips brushed his ear. “You made a friend!”
Wanna Bet?: An Interracial Romance Page 17
