Page 41 of Your Echo
And then I’m in his arms.
At first, we don’t kiss. At first, just breathing is enough. He fists the back of my t-shirt and I press my cheek to his chest, letting my hands reach up to cup the back of his neck. His body is hard and wiry against mine, the two of us clinging to each other like we’re scared the sidewalk is about to crumble away so the earth below can swallow us whole.
“Stéphanie,” he mutters into my hair. “Stéphanie, god, you—you have no idea...”
His voice breaks, and so does my last shred of resolve.
“I do,” I say against the fabric of his shirt. My voice sounds thick, as if I’m about to start crying, even though I don’t feel like I am. “I do, Ace. I know. I feel it too. I’ve felt it since the beginning.”
One of his hands digs into my hair and I tilt my face up to look at him. His eyes are blazing, two coals in the dark, and I see a man who is both impossibly strong and disastrously broken inside.
I kiss him. There’s no easing into things. My lips meet his, and it’s like we’ve dropped a match into a barrel of gasoline. We’re just mouths and tongues and teeth and heat. There are moans and curses hissed between gasping breaths. I don’t realize we’ve moved closer to the house beside us until my back is up against the wall.
I thread my fingers through Ace’s hair and pull. Hard. He breaks away from my mouth with a sharp breath and rests his forehead against mine. We’re both panting.
“The things I want to do to you, Stéphanie...”
I arch my back and press my hips into his. He swears.
I want him to do those things, too. I want him to hold me harder, kiss me harder,fuckme harder. I want to know what it feels like to be fucked by him, and then I want to show him all the things I’m trembling at the thought of doing to him.
I don’t care that we’re in the middle of a street right now. I don’t care that our pizza box is probably lying face down on the sidewalk. I don’t care that I’m making a fucking spectacle of myself. I want this. I want Ace to be bad to me, and I want to be bad right back.
I take one of his cheeks in my palm and slide my thumb over his lips, those lips that were made to sip champagne. I’ve never had anything so elegant touch my skin.
He takes my thumb in his mouth and I almost convulse at the wet heat of his tongue. Then I feel the scrape of his teeth and start moaning. He lets my thumb go and leans in close to my ear.
“You act so good, but I bet you know how to be bad.”
“Câlice!” I explode, pushing on his shoulders so hard he takes a step back.
I fall forwards, bracing my hands on my knees as I gulp air down into my lungs.
“Stéphanie?” Ace urges, his voice betraying actual worry. “Are you okay?”
It’s too much. It’s all too much. This isn’t who I am anymore. I buried this girl. I locked her away, and I only let her out when I’m up on stage or tucked away safe in a studio.
“Did I go too far?” Ace continues to plead. “Stéphanie, I’m sorry. If any of that wasn’t okay, I’m sorry. Please talk to me.”
I try to put him out of his misery. “It’s fine. You didn’t go too far.”
I’m the one who did.
I set my mouth in a tight line to keep it from trembling. I won’t do this. I won’t let myself give in.
I straighten up and press my back against the wall again. “I just...I got carried away. We’re in the middle of a street.”
Ace’s face is completely bloodless right now.
“Really,” I tell him, “you didn’t do anything wrong. I should go, though.”
“Stéphanie...” He sounds tortured.
I leave him standing there under the streetlight, a diamond glittering in the gutter.
