Page 29 of Unwanted

I hear him inhale and exhale as all my senses indulge in the increase of smoke.

“This is so much better than being at school,” he muses.

Slowly, I open my eyes and turn to look at him. In one way or another Arlo has been the center of my world for so long. He is safety. He is recklessness. After a childhood filled with disappointment, he was the one thing I could depend on.

He’s now staring at me, giving me every ounce of his attention, and I love it.

I know this look.

I crave this look.

I bask in this look.

His eyes are glassy, his features relaxed and sated. My stomach twists in curiosity as I watch him watch me. He takes another drag, gaze still focused on me, and lets the smoke sit between us.

Without a word he contorts his big body in the small space until he’s straddling me. He slips the joint between his lips and places his hands on either side of my head.

His body crowds mine, and my hands automatically land on the back of his thighs, the ease and effortlessness it takes to touch him not surprising me in the least.

He pinches the joint between his fingers and inhales, long and slow.

I anticipate his next move with every muscle in my body and tip my head up farther, eagerly waiting for him. He lowers his face, his mouth only an inch away from mine.

Pulling the joint away from his mouth, he exhales. I instinctively let my lips part, inhaling the pungent taste. It travels down my throat, settling on my lungs, yet it isn’t the thick, potent air that makes my chest tighten, but rather the determined look in Arlo’s deep brown eyes.

His decision has been made, and I feel myself hardening beneath my jeans in anticipation.

Everything moves in slow motion, his process unhurried and tentative.

When his lips touch mine, my whole body sags into a puddle of immediate bliss. My mouth follows his lead, my lips pliable and compliant, wanting nothing more than to be at his mercy.

He strokes his tongue against the seam of my mouth and I open up, giving him permission to taste me. A low groan sounds in the back of his throat, and every part of me lights up at his approval.

The kiss deepens and I move my hands up and down his thighs, placing them a little bit higher each time. Flirting with all the possibilities and places my touch could wander to.

When my hands settle on his backside, he pulls away and quickly taps the joint on the closed window, ensuring it’s no longer lit but still good enough to smoke later.

He drops it onto the seat haphazardly and returns his lust-filled gaze back to mine.

“This okay?” he whispers.

Uncharacteristically, I take control, tightly gripping his hips and pushing his body down while I capture his mouth with mine.

It’s undoubtedly cramped and uncomfortable, but the second he lands on my lap and I feel his length, flush against the hard shape of my own, it all seems worth it.

With our mouths now melded together, my high from the weed is replaced and consumed by the taste of him.

How did I not know that I wanted this with him?

How long has he wanted this with me?

My experiences with girls have been fleeting. Unmemorable. Vapid.

And guys? Could I confidently say I’d never noticed them before? Or was it that Arlo was the sun, the moon, and the stars, and nothing else really compared?

Now, with every part of me touching him, I was certain it didn’t matter who it was or what gender they identified as, I would never be able to see anyone but him.

After a life filled with neglect and broken promises, he was always there.

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