Page 36 of Beyond the Bright Lights

I groan and refuse to play these games with him. I tug on his t-shirt and he wraps an arm around me. Our bodies collide roughly in an explosion of heat between us. Mylan nuzzles his nose in my neck, breathing in deeply and exhaling slowly, letting his hot breath fan across my skin.

I moan. Damn it, I moan.

He chuckles, that bastard, and pulls back enough to cup my neck and tilt my chin up with his thumb.

“I’m going to kiss you now, Lana. Can I kiss you?”

I manage to control my whimper this time, but I nod once more.

“Tell me, Lana.”

“Just fucking kiss me, asshole.”

And he does.

His lips are soft, almost hesitant, as if he can’t believe I gave him permission this time. So, I open my mouth to let him in. To assure him this is what I want.

I do want this. More than anything.

His tongue sweeps over mine and moves like a dance: graceful, choreographed, beautiful. He tastes like coffee and toothpaste, and I never thought I'd enjoy the combination, but I salivate, begging for more.

I clutch the nape of his neck, tugging him down. I want him closer. I want more. I need more. He smiles against my lips.

“Greedy?”

“Mhm.”

His hard body grinds against me, contradicting the soft, passionate kisses he’s offering. I can feel everything. His hard chest, his abs constricting, his dick straining in his jeans. I move both my hands to roam his strong backside while Mylan takes advantage of my permission to touch. He drags his palms up and down my back, then down to my ass and squeezes hard enough that I grunt and arch into him.

“You like that?” he whispers.

I can’t form words, so I push back into his grip, silently asking him for more. He squeezes again, then moves his fingertips to brush against the back of my legs, making me shiver. He lifts my dress and this time when he palms my ass, only the sheer fabric of my panties separates my skin from his. Panties I almost didn’t wear today.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he groans.

It took me years to love and accept my big fat ass. It’s too wide and too covered in cellulite. But Mylan seems to love it too by the way his cock gets harder against my stomach.

He hooks two fingers inside the band of my underwear, one on each side at my hips.

“What will happen if I take these off, Lana?” He traces one finger back and forth along the elastic. “How wet will I find you? Will it be dripping down your leg?”

I close my eyes and lean my forehead against his chest, trying to contain myself.

“Tell me what you need.” He walks us until the back of my legs hit my bed. Like I did to him that first night, crushing him against the picnic table.

I can’t answer. He’s barely touched me, and I’m about to lose it.

“Do you need my fingers inside you?”

Yes, I want his fingers inside me. So goddamn bad. “Please.”

“Please, what, Lana?”

“Mylan,” I warn, lifting my head and finding his smirking face.

Brat.

“You have to tell me,” he breathes against my mouth. His lips tickle mine, taunting me.

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