Page 12 of Daring You

“Oh…oh, my G—” I can’t even finish, because he’s retreating, then plunging, then retreating, then diving, and I moan at each exit, begging him to come back.

Am I saying these things out loud? I might be, but that’s okay. It’s turning him on. His mouth has lifted into an arrogant curl, he’s loving my reactions, but I’m enjoying watching him come even more.

I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him close, his breaths, heavy, molten, searing my neck and jaw.

“Ben,” I whisper near his ear, and his name has turned into a craving, a feeling, a momentous spin that circles me, round and round.

Dizzying. He’s toppling me off my axis, and I never want to find my old world again.

“Ben, Ben, Ben…”

“Astor,” he groans back, his lips moving against my ear.

“Take me,” I say as that primrose path opens up to me again, telling me to tumble, spiral into the thrill. “Don’t ever let me come back.”

“Never,” he answers, then rises so he can see me. “Watch where you’re taking me. Watch, Astor.”

And I do.

Every hill, every crevice, every peak I bring him to, I watch ripple across his face, and I can’t believe that I’m the one responsible for this joyride.

I never want to leave.

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