Bad Boy Blues

I thought his thumbs were driving me insane but the scratch of his jeans along my thighs turns every breath into something… erotic.

Before I can dwell on that, Zach grabs my face.

His hands are so large that they span my entire cheek, going up to my messy hair. “So, if I shove your panties aside and stick my finger inside you, I won’t find that tiny little piece of flesh that proves you’re untouched?”

I shudder at the graphic picture he’s painted.

Inside me. His finger.

Fingers that are tangled up in my hair right now. Fingers that are rough and raw.

I shake my head. Only I don’t know what I’m shaking it for. Am I telling him he can’t do it? Or answering his question?

“I won’t, huh?” He takes it as a reply. “I won’t find it.”

“No.”

Why am I lying?

His fingers in my hair tighten. “Who took it?”

“What?”

“Who. Took it?”

“Who took what?”

“Your cherry. Who did you give it to?”

My lips part under his hovering ones. When did we get this close? Not touching but breathing over each other’s skin.

Grabbing his wrists, I find my voice. “None of your business.”

His black eyes are swirling. “When’d it happen?”

“After you left.”

His smile is cold. “Did it hurt?”

I jerk out a nod.

“It did. Was he big?”

“Stop. Please.”

“Was he big or not?” He squeezes my cheeks, his fingers curled around my hair in a vise-grip. “Did he stretch you out, Blue? Or is your pussy tight as fuck for me?”

I have no idea what’s happening. I literally have no idea why he’s asking these questions.

All I know is that I’m flushed and shaking and quivering.

Everything inside me is… in chaos. The pounding of my heart, all the extra air that I’m sucking in, the tug in my stomach.

It’s like an earthquake.

I’m a victim of an earthquake. I’m a victim of him.

“He stretched… he stretched me out,” I whisper, looking at him with foggy eyes.

Except, aren’t victims supposed to be in pain? Aren’t they supposed to be either lifeless or close to it?

I’m none of those things.

I’m alive. I have more life in me than anyone else on this earth.

Zach swallows, his own eyes appearing glassy like mine.

“Don’t lie to me, Blue,” he rasps, clutching my hair with mean fingers.

I jerk when he says my name. Well, the name he gave to me. The name that I’ve always, always loved in secret. In fact, I never even acknowledged it to myself.

I’m acknowledging it now.

Maybe because Zach not only says it, he makes me taste it. I never thought you could taste a name, especially not your own. But mine tastes… musky and spicy.

As if it were a truth serum, words slip out of my mouth before I can stop them. “You’ll find it. The… thing. Inside of me.”

His lips part too and he expels a pent-up breath. I take in his air, filling my body with what was once in his.

“Zach, I –”

My words cut off when he moves away from my lips. A moment later, I feel him on my neck. He’s nosing the line of my throat.

I grip his biceps. “A-are you smelling me?”

“Yeah,” he groans.

I flinch and my neck bends sideways. I’m nothing in the face of his aggression right now. The way he’s sniffing my neck, like he’s snorting a line of cocaine. I’m nothing in the face of that need.

Need of a junkie.

“Why?”

“Because you smell nice. Like sugar.”

And sugar is his favorite thing in the world. He’s eating up my scent.

God.

I arch my back when he gets to the triangle of my throat, and I take a deep sniff of my own. What I smell is exactly what I fell asleep to, in his bed.

His blueberry pie and musky scent.

“Y-you smell good too,” I blurt out, then clench my eyes shut in embarrassment.

Zach lifts his head and I have to open my lids when I feel his panting breaths over my lips.

He looks drugged up, I swear.

His pupils are wide, swirling like he really just took a hit of something potent, a narcotic that jacks up your heartbeat and sends you into the stratosphere.

“Do you know what else I’ll find?” he rasps, his fingers touching the pulse on my neck.

“What?”

“If I touch your pussy right now. Do you know what I’ll find?”

The P word is even more intimate than the V word and I can’t stop myself from arching my back even more and fisting his shirt.

And neither can I stop my pussy from clenching, opening and closing like a mouth. “No.”

Zach rubs our lips together. “Wet. I’ll find it wet. And swollen and slippery and fucking horny.”

Slippery.

I’m slippery.

I can feel it. The moisture, sticking to my panties.

“I can smell you from here. Your pussy’s wet, Blue. She’s so fucking wet. She’s leaking. For me. She wants me. She doesn’t hate me, does she?” he says, pouring his words down my throat, jamming it with them.