Ruckus (Sinners of Saint 2)

“So I have this filing system in my head, and if you tell anyone, I will deny it, never speak to you again, and tell everyone we know you have hepatitis and that you dumped Dr. Dickface because he gave you athlete’s foot.” He propped one hand on the wooden headrest behind us and angled his body toward mine.

“Now you’re just downright begging me to do it.” I pinched my lips together, conscious of all the flirty smiles I was throwing around.

Dean finished the remainder of his beer before taking mine and chugging it, too, letting out an intentional burp before he continued. “I’m a closet astronomy geek. I label people by what part of the solar system they might be. For instance, Trent is Jupiter because he is so fucking big. Vicious is Arcturus. Red and angry all the time. I can go on, but I have a feeling I’m going to regret it.” He scanned my face, waiting for me to laugh. When I didn’t, he cautiously continued.

“Easier to box people into something concrete, ya know?”

The airhead. The stoner. The party-loving manslut. Ruckus.

Yeah, I had an idea.

“What kind of star am I?” My voice came out thick. I was drunk. I was lusty. I was out of my freaking mind.

Our arms were glued together and our sweat started to mix, but neither one of us made a move to break the touch.

Not even a second passed before he answered, which made me believe he had thought about it before. “You’re Sirius.”

“Sirius?”

“Yeah.” He shifted on the bench, scrubbing at the non-existent stubble along his square jaw. I tried to ignore the fact that he was looking at me with something more than naked desire, but it was becoming too hard with every passing second.

“Contrary to general belief, stars don’t twinkle. There is only one star that sparkles that scientists can agree on. It twinkles so bright, sometimes people mistake it for a UFO. It’s not big, but it stands out. That’s Sirius, and it’s also you. You shine, Baby LeBlanc. So fucking bright sometimes you’re the only thing I see.”

I didn’t know what I was thinking. Perhaps I wasn’t thinking at all. But at that moment, I felt brave. So brave, honesty took hold of my mouth before logic stopped it.

“I want you to make me forget, Dean. Just for one, freaking night,” I mumbled. Staring into space. “Forget about this goddamn town and my judgey parents and…” I let out a giant sigh. And dying.

He tilted his whole body toward me and cupped one of my cheeks, groaning like touching me only frustrated him even more. “Hey. Look at me.”

Not worthy.

Not enough.

Not as good as Millie.

“You’re my sister’s ex-boyfriend,” I mumbled, not protested, trying to reason with myself. Hoping to scrape together some logic and back out.

“We were together for one second,” he snapped.

“You took her V-card.”

“She took off,” he enunciated, crushing the last word between his teeth. “She took off without even sparing me a courtesy phone call. She was never mine. And, for that reason among others, I was never hers.”

“She told me you once asked her to never leave you.” I swallowed, my hands tucked under my sweaty butt as I stared at my flip-flops.

“No offense to Millie, but I don’t want anyone to leave me.”

Silence, and then.

“I don’t want to make you forget. I want to make you remember. And I’m about to, Rosie.” He breathed hard against my skin. “I’m about to rewrite the pages of our fucking history, baby.”

His mouth came crashing down on mine, and his fingers found my hair. I clutched his collar in my balled fists and dragged him down with me, lying on the bench and spreading my legs for him. His lips were hot, wet, perfect, and they didn’t hesitate or ask for permission. They took. They hungrily demanded. My whole body buzzed with heat and ecstasy. He fisted my hair with one hand and dragged his free one between us, cupping one of my breasts and squeezing hard.

His tongue invaded my mouth, conquering me, melting every rejection I had on the tip of my tongue into warm butter. Was I really that drunk, or was he really that good? His hand moved farther south. He flipped my denim skirt and brought his hand to my underwear, rubbing the fabric, creating friction that made me moan into his mouth and lose the remainder of control I clung onto.

Hot. Everything was hot.

My face.

My nerves.

God, it felt like my heart was on fire.

“Fuck, you’re wet,” he said, pinching my clit through my panties. I scraped at his shirt and arched my back, begging.

“Fuck me,” I groaned into our filthy kiss. It wasn’t like anything I’d ever experienced. Our tongues were at war—his winning—our hands desperate and we were grinding against each other like we were trying to start a fire.