Page 42 of Kiss-Fist
Shit. I shouldn’t have texted that I wanted him to throw me around my apartment.
Really should have been more subtle. A whole metric ton subtler.
Is that even a word?
Fuck English. Fuck it all.
I groan as I swallow a small mouthful of the liquid and then move out onto my balcony. It’s cool outside, but the sun is peeking through the afternoon clouds, and it warms me. That and the alcohol I’m consuming at four o’clock.
Damn fingers.
Damn vodka bottle seducing me.
I glance down at my phone and wince when I see that my rogue digits also sent two emojis to Thom. Rhett and Mellie have unjustly influenced me. A water emoji and a red circle laugh up at me.
I’m disgusting. I’ve lost my damn mind.
I take another sip and set the still-full glass on my leg, staring out into the distance, hoping to be distracted from my mental anguish. The neighbor right across from me tends to get up to the weirdest things. One time, he was wearing a clown nose and dusting his plants. Sadly, right now, he’s not doing anything odd. Go figure.
My phone buzzes against my thigh, and I jerk, my drink spilling all down my pants.
I gasp at the coolness as my fingers fumble with my phone, trying to see who messaged.
Oh shit. It’s Thom. He responded.
Just in emojis.
I have no idea what they mean. What does a brick have to do with throwing me around? And a policeman? Toilet paper? Shit, is he going to have me arrested for propositioning him? Is he going to try and flushmedown the toilet?
I would deserve it. I seriously would. I’m a fiend.
I sit there for far too long, trying to figure out what those emojis mean when the light above my door flashes. Turning, I stand up, and the drink I set on the table next to me is knocked to the ground. It rolls away from me, and I stub my toe as I rush to answer it.
As it swings open, I realize my pants are still wet.
And Thom is right there, looking freshly showered and smelling fucking delicious. I’m so overcome I don’t even bother to wonder how the fuck he got my address. The only thing that matters is that he’s here. He’s standing in front of me, looking at me like he’s starving.
His tongue peeks out and wets his lips. My eyes track the movement, and I feel myself heat from the inside out. I’m turning into a microwave.
Stepping back, he follows me, moving closer as I let him all the way inside. My head swims, probably more from him than the vodka I’d been sipping. Especially considering most of it ended up on my pants. And oh god, it looks like I’ve pissed myself, doesn’t it?
I glance down to see the wet spot on my thigh, then back up at him. He’s grinning, his eyes almostliterallytwinkling at me.
Shit, I’m drunk offhim, and he hasn’t even kissed me yet.
He’s addicting. A very, very bad habit.
The door closes behind us, and I see him flick the lock. I guess we’re not making the same mistake twice, which I appreciate. I don’t want another cock-block. I wanthim.
A groan escapes my parted lips, and we both move at the same time. His mouth crashes into mine, his tongue pushing inside me. A moan slips from my chest, vibrating against him. He swallows the sound of it down as his fingers grab my ass, pulling me into him.
I can feel how hard he is for me. He must know by now how much he affects me.
My hands paw at his shirt, and a moment later, he pulls away and yanks it over his head.
Fuck.Yes.
He’sglorious. All those muscles, that six-pack. I want to get on my knees and worship him. I bow at the altar of his dick. I’ll say my prayers to it every night. Sign hymns with poetic, dancing movements of my hands. He deserves nothing less.
