Dreams of 18

We probably wanted it ever since we saw each other. Ever since we first laid eyes on each other and got stung by this obsession. This need, this craving, this fever that made us outcasts and different. But most of all, it made us bad.

You’re the girl who makes a man go bad.

I made him go bad, didn’t I? My need for him was contagious and he caught it too.

And me? I always liked bad things anyway.

Things like this.

Things that he’s doing to me right now.

Things like feeding.

He’s feeding on my mouth now and I love it. It isn’t even a kiss, anymore. It can’t be.

My entire mouth is inside his and he’s sucking on it. He’s sucking on it like I’m his candy. Like my bee-stung, cherry red lips are made of sugar and he can’t get enough. He wants me to melt in his mouth; he wants to pierce me with his teeth, lap me up with his tongue.

And like a good little candy girl, I let him. I moan to urge him on. I stretch my calves so much that they burn but it’s such a small price to pay when I get to be closer to him. When I get to give him all the access to me. To my open mouth.

Which he takes in a flash.

In a flash, his tongue is inside and he’s tasting me, the thing I’m made of.

And I moan again.

I moan into his kiss and suck on his tongue like he was sucking on mine. I moan because it’s glorious to be fed on. It’s glorious to feel the sting of his feeding and his tasting.

I’m a masochist, aren’t I?

I fall in love with the sting. I fall in love with his kiss.

I fall in love with him as I kiss him back messily and sloppily.

His hands start to roam once again but this time they do something that I never even dreamed of.

My innocent, schoolgirl dreams weren’t made of this stuff.

The stuff his hands do and completely ruin me in the process.

In response to my shameless kissing, he moves his hands away from my hair and my neck. He moves them down feverishly and gets them under the straps of my dress.

And then, he pulls.

He pulls it so much and with such force that I gasp mid-kiss and scrape my nails over his biceps.

Our lips part and I look into his eyes, his dark, beastly eyes, and groan when I feel his fingers tugging on those straps.

My breath halts when the fabric digs into my shoulders like a rope and I have this silly thought that it’s going to snap. That he’s going to tear off the straps of my dress.

And just like that, he does it.

The straps give way under the unrelenting pressure of his fingers and I jerk again. I gasp when it happens. My hands fall away from his biceps and grip his sides.

He actually tore off my dress.

He actually did it.

“You tore off my straps,” I whisper uselessly, like he doesn’t know. Like he didn’t do it with his bare hands.

One hand, actually. One hand for each strap.

That’s all it took to lay waste to my dress.

“I did,” he pants, watching me like before when he promised he’d go to jail for me. Like he can’t believe he did that, tore off my straps, but he likes it. He wants to do it over and over again.

“I bought it for you.”

“You did?”

I nod, my chest moving up and down, grazing his up and down moving chest. I’m not wearing a bra and the dress is still tight enough that it clings to the curves of my breasts but I don’t know how long he’ll let me be covered up. I don’t know how long I’ll wanna be covered up.

“I-I knew red was your favorite color and I bought it for my seventeenth birthday. Kinda like my gift from you.”

He searches my features, which I’m sure must be as red as my dress. “But you never wore it.”

I bite my tingling, wet-from-his-kisses lips and shift on my feet, which are still up on his bigger ones. “Because I thought I’d look… stupid. I mean, I’m not a dress kinda girl, you know? So I just bought it and wore it in my room. I’d look at myself in the mirror and I’d wonder what you’d think. If you saw me.”

Now that he’s done tearing my dress off, his hands move away from my shoulders and go back down to my waist.

In fact, they grab onto my waist and pick me up. It’s so sudden that all I can do is feel the air beneath my feet as they leave the floor and obey his command when he growls, “Put your legs around me.”

I do that.

I practically grapple him with my thighs that go around his slim strong hips and my hands that go around his neck.