Gods & Monsters

No, not funny. Downright achy and painful. Because it hurts me too.

The first time it happened — we came — was inside the church closet. One second we were making out, and then, oh my God, my entire body went up in flames and my panties were flooded.

I was so embarrassed. It was like I was zapped by electricity, but then it shouldn’t have felt so good, right? Right on the heels of my explosion, Abel exploded too.

I want that right now. I’ve been so achy and restless all night.

Abel drops his head on my shoulder with a sigh and places soft but wet kisses on my collarbone.

“The minute you turn eighteen, I’m picking you up, throwing you over my shoulder and driving you down to the nearest courthouse so you can say I do,” he rumbles, tattooing those words on my skin.

My hands bury themselves in his hair as my back arches toward him, craving the rough terrain of his chest against my soft, rounded breasts, shooting sparks all over.

“You haven’t even asked me n-nicely, yet,” I whimper, baring my throat to his exploring mouth. He hasn’t. It’s been over a year since he brought it up at the treehouse and I told him no. Since then, he likes to joke about it but he’s yet to ask me formally.

“I don’t have to. I already know the answer.”

“A little too cocky, aren’t you?”

“Oh yeah, that’s definitely what I am.” He chuckles, sucking in the skin of my neck, making me shiver and blush. Oops. Double entendre.

The way he’s tugging on my flesh is translating into a melty pull down below. “Abel, no. That’s gonna leave a mark.”

He growls and looks up. The brown of his eyes is completely gone, a drop of honey drowned by a black lake of desire. “One day I’m gonna kiss you in front of the whole world and if they don’t like it then fuck them.”

I read the frustration in his tone, the suppressed anger, and it hurts my heart. No one should be made to hide their love. No one. It’s too pure, too beautiful to ever keep hidden. I caress his pulsing jaw. “Okay. Kiss me at our wedding, then. In front of the whole world.”

A slow smile spreads over his lips and I want to fill my mouth with it. “So, you saying yes?”

I shake my head at him and give him a smirk. “Maybe.”

He plants a hard kiss on my mouth. “Kidnapping you it is, then.”

“Oh my God, you’re crazy.” I laugh.

But he swallows it up with his mouth. He’s kissing me, really kissing me. Like, he’s lost all patience with me and he can’t be a good guy anymore. He needs to be bad. He needs to suck both my lips into his mouth and drink my flavor straight from the tap. He needs to bite into my flesh to get to it, dig his way inside the pores and fuse us together.

The tug on my belly gets sharper. My eyes flutter closed as I squirm on the desk. The wood feels slippery, even as it sticks to the back of my thighs with the sweat.

My hand slides down from his hair and finds his silver cross as I let him devour me. The noises he makes today are even more guttural. Even more raw. No one makes that kind of sound until they are at the end of their rope, end of their life, even.

Maybe our lust is bruising, life-threatening. Maybe we’re both dying of too much love.

“I want you so bad,” he whispers thickly, his hands going under my dress and stopping so close to the hem of my panties. I want to look down and see them under my hitched-up dress but I can’t look away from him, from the sheer need on his face. “You know what that means?”

“N-no.”

Okay, that’s a lie. A big, fat lie. Of course, I know what he means. Of course. He wants… sex. I have seen movies and I have seen the love scenes in them, when Mom’s not around. I know one day it’s going to happen between us. In fact, I stay awake at night thinking about touching his bare skin, rocking against him when we are… not wearing anything.

But — and it’s a big but — I’m scared. I’m a big chicken and I’m scared of the whole sex thing. Even though sometimes I feel like I’m dying for it.

“You can’t lie for shit, Pixie.”

“I’m not lying.”

He rests his forehead on mine and our skins slide against each other, all sweaty and heated. “You think about it, don’t you? At night?”

When he’s asking me in that way, in a knowing way, I can’t deny it. “Y-yes.”

Abel doesn’t stop there though. He continues, “Me too. All night I keep jacking off, rubbing my dick raw, thinking about you. Your smile, your face. Your hair. God, the things I wanna do to your hair.” He grunts like he’s imagining them right now.