He tastes so good.
Like he's mine.
I never get enough of it.
He traces the hem of my skirt. Then his hands are sliding beneath it. And he's pressing his palm against me, over my panties.
His tongue slides around mine.
His hand knots in my hair.
He pulls back with a heavy sigh.
My glasses are titled. My lipstick is smeared all over his face.
"Here." I wipe his lips with my thumb. But the feel of those soft lips against the pad of my digit only makes me more desperate to have him. "Is it too late to ditch this concert?"
He nods.
"To—" I nod to the backseat.
"We'd get arrested even if it weren't."
"Worth it."
He nods. "For me, yeah. But for you—" He steps backward.
My body cries for his. My heart is singing from the whole him protecting me from my raging libido thing. But my body is having none of it.
"Come on." He motions to the door. "Get in. Let's pick up Em."
"Okay." I slide into my seat. Click my seatbelt. Fix my smeared makeup in the mirror.
We're quiet as he turns the car on and pulls onto the street. We don't have to say anything. That I want to fuck you tension is hanging heavy in the air. It's all I can think.
Brendon pulls into the parking garage and stops by the elevators.
Emma bounces to the car. She's wearing skinny jeans and a ripped up, cropped shirt adorned with the logo of her second favorite band. Darkest Days. Its red logo matches her hair. And her lipstick.
She slides into the backseat. "Hey."
"Hey." That I need to fuck you tone seeps into my voice.
Emma shoots me a what's up with you look.
I shrug.
"Earth to Brendon?" She clicks her seatbelt. When he doesn't respond, she presses on. "You two get into a fight or something?"
Or something, yeah. "You know your brother and his music taste."
"Yeah." She looks to him. Examines him the way she examined me. "You can drop us at the show if you prefer that."
He doesn't say anything.
"Brendon? Hello." Emma taps him on the shoulder. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah." His voice still has that breathy edge. He shakes it off. "Why are you wearing another band's shirt?"