by Eden Butler
Her eyes flicked to my face. All sudden like, I had this fecking compulsion to touch her, feel just how soft that skin was, touch her face and those high cheekbones, that plump mouth. I moved my thumbnail across her bottom lip, smoothing it there just like she did mine the other night on the sidewalk. She had no clue what that did to me. We’d been barking at each other and I had been so hacked off by her sneaking off to have a chat with the president. I had figured that she’d backed out on her promise to keep my attack to herself. But all my anger had disappeared when she touched me, when her eyes went all soft like and her long fingernail moved across my bottom lip.
I wanted her. Right then, on the street that night. I wanted to take her against the brick building behind us and kiss her soundly. I wanted to press her tiny, hard body against me, to grip her round arse, to show her what one bitty touch from her clever fingers had done to me.
But then, she had fucked with me, was having me on and I had to hurry home, ignoring my da’s curious frown and dive into my shower with thoughts of those nimble fingers and full lips attacking my mind.
All of that came back to me and I wondered if she was as affected by how much I wanted her as I was, wanting her, then and now. By the wide, gaping stretch of her eyes and how she ogled, I thought she was.
She smelled like fecking heaven when I inched closer and I couldn’t help but inhale deeply, took in that flowery girl smell. I could feel her shaking, her hair moving when I reached the curve of her ear. “Like what you see, love?”
She didn’t speak at first, seemed in fact, quite incapable of doing much more than biting her bottom lip and wetting it with her tongue. I had to hold back the moan that vibrated in my throat. The air was thick, heavy with the weight of what lingered between us. Desire, the promise of passion, the fecking desperate need to touch, to claim. It hung in the air, covered us like a cloud.
“Yes….um, no…it’s not like that.”
I smiled to myself, knew what she wanted, knew that she was likely the sort to deny herself to the last. Fecking stubborn arse.
“Liar.”
“McShane, please calm down.”
The woman was absolutely barmy. We were locked in the basement of the library, a lightning strike having fried the electric locks, and she was going crazy. We had been so close to something, but then.... this.
Her friend Sayo had warned me over the phone: watch out for panic attacks. Doctors thought they were a result of being trapped in a wrecked car for hours in the dark, during a storm, while her mother lay dead next to her. Just before, when the lights above flickered and the generators crashed, McShane’s bitty attack turned this calm, collected girl raving bonkers.
She wouldn’t be still and there was little I could do. What the feck was I supposed to do with her? Sayo said that she’d try to escape. Asked that I keep her calm. Fat lot chance of me doing that.
She made for the window just above a row of shelves, like a bee closing in on a succulent flower. “No, McShane, don’t you dare.” Books fell everywhere as this mad woman climbed the shelves, spilling them onto the already untidy floor. I was right behind her, wrapping my arms around her waist, fighting against her as she struggled. “Calm yourself,” I said. I tried to keep my voice level, to shush her and not let her see how helpless I felt.
She fought me, wiggled against my body as I struggled with her and it did nothing but muddle my mind, fill it with ridiculous images of her naked against me, of my mouth on her pale, creamy skin. Jaysus, this wasn’t good. I breathed out through my nose and thought of unpleasant things—Morrison mouthing off, toddlers with snotty noses…American football. It helped, somewhat, I was at least less anxious, but she was still shaking, still moving against me, turning around and slapping my chest.
I had a good, firm hold on her, but I hated how scared she looked. I hated how her eyes were squinted in anger, or was that fear? I couldn’t really tell which. My mind buzzed trying to figure out what I could do to keep her from hurting herself, but then those plump, pink lips quivered, and I saw no other option. I told myself it was for her benefit, that desperate times needed desperate measures, so I pulled her hard against me and slammed my mouth over hers.
Dear God.
Sweet Lord.
She tasted fecking glorious.
She made little noises against my mouth, small sounds that hummed through my body. I kept my tongue behind my closed lips, but only just managed. I wanted so badly to pin her to the floor. I wanted to devour her mouth, lick her neck, nibble on the small, soft parts of her tender skin.
I felt like a complete wanker. I had kissed this girl to calm her but now my body was betraying me, had me acting like I was just hitting puberty. But just then, miraculously, McShane did something that completely unhinged me: she grabbed my collar, gripped it tight and I loved how aggressive she became. I couldn’t help the pathetic moan that lifted from my throat or the jackhammer rhythm that overtook my heart. Jaysus, she was lovely; all curves and soft, soft skin, smelling like pure heaven, and all I wanted to do at that moment was to deepen the kiss, to taste more of her.
I couldn’t help my hands smoothing over her back, her neck, when I felt her body calming, the frantic shudders leaving her completely, as she melted into me. I nearly whined when she opened her mouth, when she flicked her tongue past my lips. How my heart didn’t fly from my chest, I’ll never know. I reacted, gave back to her what she offered, slowly, but tenderly, forcing myself to take it easy, to not get caught up and maybe have her get frantic again.
I broke away from her, eager for a breath, for just a second to clear my mind. I wanted to speak, but words became twisted in my throat. I could only stare at her, marvel at the freckles over her cheeks, watch the drop of her eyelids as though she was high, as though I’d somehow rendered her incapable of clear thought. She was fecking gorgeous and she tasted so damn good.
“Not exactly the first kiss I was expecting,” I finally managed. I knew what hid behind my small confession, but just then, I didn’t bleeding care. She could think me weak, that I was fecking putty in her hands. I bleeding well was.
“That…that was the second.”
“Me molesting you while pie-eyed doesn’t count.” I tried not to wince thinking about that night on the pitch. God, if I’d only held off, acted like I had any sense a’tall, maybe I could have had this sooner, and more of it. I released a breath, sure that another apology was weighted in my throat. “Just now, that was really the first.” I paused, watched her face to see if she would push me away, if there was any resistance at all to how close I held her. If she had any clue of just how fecking much I wanted to kiss her again. When she didn’t pull away, I went for it. “And here’s another.”
McShane became pliant, and it was so bleeding brilliant. I liked the soft curves of her body, how she molded to me, how I felt every inch of her skin working over me, against me.
I was rock fecking hard.
Unless you’re a bloke, you’ve no clue what it’s like when you’re kissing a gorgeous girl and your body betrays you, wants you to forego common logic and respond to the primal, base instincts fueling your body. It’s difficult. It’s frustrating, but there is something that happens when a man is aroused. We forget our good sense. We forget that we should do anything but grab, pull, thrust, want. It took all my control to not revert to Primal Declan when I kissed McShane.
Really, I wanted her naked beneath me. Or on top of me. I wasn’t fussed and didn’t have a preference. I wanted to feel the weight of her glorious tits in my hands, my thumbs running over her (I’m guessin’) perfect, pink nipples.
Primal Declan won.
I slipped my tongue into her waiting mouth, loving the small, barely noticeable sounds she made. My hands moved over her again and, with the last shreds of rational thought, was able to gently touch and not grope and tug like I so wanted to do.
My mind warred between taking things further, kissing her more deeply, grabbing her arse and grinding myself agains
t her, but before I could make any decisions, her cell phone chirped from my pocket and she jerked her body away from me, the moment broken.
She felt over me, dug into my pocket to retrieve her phone which I’d kept on me during her melt down, her fingers coming perilously close to my throbbing knob. She smirked as I watched her speaking to Sayo with those plump pink lips moving in her speech; the quick smile, the soft features as she spoke. The smooth sound of her chuckle moved in my ear like a song. I never wanted to stop hearing it. In fact, I wanted to hear it more often, to feel more of her, to smell her sweet scent on my pillow; to feel her warm, fit body against mine. Every morning.
This girl made me think impossible things. Wish for something I never knew I wanted.
Bugger me. I was in trouble.
N O W
Five Days Ago
It has been days now and Autumn still refuses to speak to me.
I have sent flowers—white roses, because they are her favorite.
I have sent chocolate—dark, because she finds it sweeter.
I have called. Left messages, texted her…that one annoyed me most.
“Please let me see you,” I sent her only to get a “you hit an old man. Assface” text in reply.
What the buggering shite is an assface anyway?
Yesterday I waited outside of her building for her to leave work. She’d had me barded by the skinny, pimpled-face kid with the ugly green campus police uniform and flashlight on his hip who sat in front of the lobby doors glaring at me for a half hour straight. When she finally left, I chased after her like the sad, pathetic amadan I am.
“Autumn, wait, please. Can I at least talk to you for one bleeding second?”
When she turned toward me, eyes going soft for just the smallest second, I thought I’d get a hug, a kiss, something that told me I hadn’t lost her completely. But then our gazes met, held, and then her anger flared swift.
“Go talk to Joe. He’s the one you should be apologizing to.”
I watched her dart away from me itching to grab her, pull her close to me, tell her I was desperate for her forgiveness. But I stayed rooted to my spot, sighing with a weight of something fierce and thick that felt like shame bubbling in my chest.
Her friends won’t speak to me either. It seems Layla’s intrusion in our fight has ripped quite the wedge between those girls. Mollie and Sayo are speaking to Layla, but Autumn is still not quite as chummy.
I only know this because Donovan has finally decided that he might fancy Layla and began to chat her up. She’s given my best mate small morsels of information, but little else.
My chest still hurts. My breathing is constricted and I quickly realized none of these ailments are physical. I miss Autumn. There, I said it. I miss her smile and her hair and the way she makes soft little moans in the back of her throat when she’s dead asleep.
She is killing me, but then, that has always been the case.
T H E N
Five Months & Three Weeks Ago
She will be the death of me.
McShane with her long, ginger hair that smelled like cotton candy one day and some weird flowery scent I can’t place the next.
McShane who kissed me back like she meant it, like she wanted more of me that day in the basement.
McShane who walked away hacked off when Morrison and I started throwing fists at each other after the match, when he got a bit too caveman for my liking. Pouncy bollocks. He deserved it. Telling me that McShane was his, that I needed to stay away from her.
And now, fecking now, she was blowing me off at this loud, obnoxious club.
I didn’t know what she was fussed about. Really, she should have thanked me. I was only looking after her. But try convincing that stubborn woman of anything.
“I haven’t needed a man since my dad skipped out on us,” she said. “And I got over the domineering caveman shit after Tucker. Now it only pisses me off.”
As though I needed telling. I saw who she is, how she is. I saw that she’s strong, that she’s capable. But fuck me if I couldn’t seem to quell the need to look after her anyway, to protect her. What was it about this girl? Why couldn’t I stay away?
And why the hell did she have to look so damn gorgeous?
I watched her dancing with her friends across the club. She kept downing drinks, Scotch of all things, as though it was water. Her hips moving in that tight dress called to me, had my eyes swaying from her face and lingering there far longer than seemed decent.
But to hell with her if she thought I’d chase after her. I did have some pride, you see.
She moved to the beat, swaying here and there, against her pissed friends, hammered to shite. They danced together with liquid ease, their bodies touching, bouncing, grazing against each other and it was all I could do to keep from running across the club and pulling McShane to me; to have her nestled against my chest, her hot breath moistening my neck.
Shite.
I shouldn’t have been thinking of that. Not just then. Not there, not when I’d had too much drink. Not when I could still smell her on my shirt. Not an hour before, I’d stood behind her, her round, perfect arse fitting like a glove against me, her hair brushing against my nose.
But then, she got hacked off, walked away. Just a bit ago, I caught her gaze, but didn’t smile at her. The air became thick and I swore I could feel a heavy pulse travel between our glances. I loved the way she frowned, how she tried so completely to seem annoyed, fearsome. The look was vicious, as though she could kill me with the slightest lower of her eyelids. Her raspy voice from moments before came back to me. “I am most certainly not a girl.”
Fuck me, didn’t I know it.
The way she moved, the smooth sway of her hips, that voice ringing over and over in my head, I was utterly spent by her. Just watching her frown, those bright gray eyes boring across the crowd…it all made me impossibly hard.
I moved to the railing, leaned over it hoping no one caught how tight my trousers had gotten. I couldn’t make my eyes leave her, couldn’t help but love her scowl, the heat coming from her. She turned, ignored me and yet I did nothing but watch her, like some sort of barmy creeper. She traded partners with her drunk blonde friend; moved her hips against one pouncy wanker after another and finally I had to move away, to get a breath, stop watching her.
I was nearly to the loo and out of Autumn’s sight when a thin blonde from my Chemistry class grabbed onto my arm, tripped into me, likely pie-eyed, and I caught her in my arms.
“Easy there,” I said, eager to push her groping hands off of me.
She giggled and damn, I couldn’t make my eyes jump away from her chest. It was impossible to miss; likely very fake, but huge; and over the booze, this girl smelled good. Not nearly as good as Autumn, mind, but still quite nice.
“Declan, right?” she said, brushing against me.
I looked up, over her head and watched Autumn grind against some thick cretin. Fuck her. She didn’t want me, didn’t need me. I might as well have a bit of fun.
“Yeah,” I said looking down at the too thin girl in my arms. Nothing much there, aside from the inflated tits; no curves, nothing much to hold on to, but her face was nice, pretty, and her lips were full.
“I’m Heather. We take Miller’s CHEM 101 together.”
I nodded, flippant, not very interested. But when the lights in the club lowered, and smoke wafted thick around the crowd, I caught this girl’s eyes, and knew instantly that she didn’t want me to release her. And I thought, okay, McShane, two can play at this game.
“Dance with me, love.”
Heather giggled, nodded quick and I had to keep myself from rolling my eyes. Calling American girls ‘love,’ does something to their libidos. Seems to have them panting and wet like you’ve just recited a fecking sonnet.
She moved against me easily and I was surprised at how strong she was, how determined. Her hands were all over me, grabbing, pulling and I knew she wanted me to kiss her. Heather’s lips
smooched up my neck, her long fingers gripped the hair at the back of my neck, but I held her off. I felt how eager she was when her tongue flicked out to taste my skin. It was laughable how obvious she was.
But then I lifted my eyes up, straight to that gorgeous ginger across the floor, and noticed the way she watched me, knew she and her drunk friend were talking about me; both sets of eyes raking over my face, at how I held Heather close to my chest.
I exchanged a look with Autumn. There was something angry in her eyes, maybe jealousy, and I laughed to myself at the mad, dithering moods this woman had. One minute she hated me, the next she’d snog me rotten—or so I wanted to believe.
When Heather moaned, moving her thick lips up my jaw, I pushed her back, offered her a quick, placating smile. “Excuse me, love. I’ve got something to do.”
I lied. I had zero bleeding pride.
Autumn stumbled, clearly drunk, but I was there and just as her feet twisted again, I caught her around the waist, moved her to my chest.
I hoped she wouldn’t refuse me, or try to bark at me again. I didn’t really feel like hearing the same shite over and over. I wondered if I felt as good to her as she did to me. That glorious, tight body against mine, her round, beautiful tits rubbing against me, had me staggering and made me harder and harder.
“Be nice, now,” I said. I took in a whiff of her scent, moving my nose against her neck, pressing her closer as we moved together in some drunken, likely inappropriate dance.
Autumn gave me this look, as though she was arguing with herself, with the sense in all of this; she and I together, coming back and forth, yelling and snogging, fussing and being unable to stay away from each other. It was fecking ridiculous, really, but we were drawn to each other, though I doubted her stubborn arse would ever admit to that.
