Page 67 of Level Up
He smiles at me. “That was really cheesy, thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” I laugh.
He watches me for a moment, his smile fading to something more sincere. “I think you’re more than okay, too.”
I can’t think of anything funny to say to that. I can’t doanything but stare at him, at his face, at his mouth, so close to mine. I get an ASMR-like tingle at the back of my head when I watch him absent-mindedly lick his lips, and it travels all the way down my spine. I feel anticipation prickle at my skin like static electricity, and I barely even have time to register the thought before I act on it.
I want to kiss him.
And so, I do.
And it is, as Victory would say,not cute.
Our noses get in the way and I accidentally bite my tongue a little bit, and I briefly consider running from the room and never speaking to Damien again—but then he’s tilting his head and angling towards me and kissing me back, and it’severything.
If kissing Shawn had been like this, maybe I would have actually wanted to.
Any thoughts I had about this being a bad idea—any coherent thoughts at all, really—are impossible to hold onto as I twist myself towards him, gripping his shoulders with both hands as if I might float away if I don’t ground myself to something.
After the third time his glasses get nudged, he pulls them off and reaches out to put them on the table, but his lips don’t part from mine for a second. His other hand comes around to my back for balance when he leans towards the table, and the way I desperately pull him towards me, pull him closer, causes us both to topple over. My back sinks into the droopy part of the couch—the Pit—and gravity makes him collapse onto me. I move my knee to avoid jabbing him in the spleen and he settles between my legs.
Holy heck.
The weight of him on top of me is at once grounding and exhilarating, and when he starts to push himself back, apologizing breathlessly, I hook my leg over his hip to keep himthere. He grunts when I pull him flush to me, and I can feel that he’s hard, even through the thick layers of fabric between us. The thought sends a jolt of excitement through me, and when I shift my hips just so, the indirect pressure is enough to make me gasp.
He lifts his head to look at me, with growing concern in his hazy expression. Maybe he thinks I’m not okay with this, but I use my leg around him for leverage to shift my hips again and his eyes go unfocused, staring at my mouth. I put both arms around his neck, pulling him down to kiss him again, and he starts to move his hips in time with mine, causing a delicious tension to build deep within me, like compressing a spring.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, it occurs to me how ridiculous this is—I don’t even know what compelled me to kiss him in the first place, let alone why I now have the desperate need to grope at him like a wild animal. (Feral, Pal’s voice offers in my head.)
He doesn’t seem to mind, though. So at least there’s that.
I’m breathing too hard to keep kissing him now, and he trails his lips down the side of my face and neck, his breath hot against my skin, making me grip onto him tighter as urgency swells inside of me.
“Audrey,” he pants into my ear, slowing his hips but not stopping. “I’m almost?—”
“Me too,” I whine, urging him to pick up speed again. I don’t even realize just how close I am until he does, with even more enthusiasm than before, and I swear into his shoulder.
It’s not until he lifts his head, just enough to look at me, that it hits me: I’m about to come in front of another person.Underneathanother person. I spent over a year with my ex, having sex somewhat regularly—though perhaps not as often as he would have liked, hence the breakup—and he nevermade me come. I didn’t even care, really. I thought that was just the way it is.
Yet, somehow, a few minutes grinding against Damien, fully clothed, and I’m about to burst. On some level I’m aware that I should be embarrassed about this, but there will be plenty of time for that later. Right now, I just need to?—
“Well,hellothere!”
“Jesusfuck—” Damien sputters, flailing as he scrambles to get off of me when Malcolm walks in. With the absolute worst timing.
I try to push myself upright, but the saggy part of the couch doesn’t give me any leverage to push against, and I flounder a bit before rolling off the side and landing in a heap on the floor. As if it couldn’t get more embarrassing.
“You know,” Malcolm says with a sadistic grin, “when I said no fucking on the couch, I should have specified that it included dry humping. Do I need to make you a detailed list?—”
“Please fuck off,” Damien grumbles, pulling a lumpy cushion over his lap and swiping his hair off his face.
“I’m sorry, really,” Malcolm replies, though his laughter makes it sound less sincere. He looks down at me, still smiling. “Good to see you, Audrey.”
I nod pathetically as I sit up, though I can’t look him in the eye. I wait for my head to stop spinning before getting to my feet. “I was just about to leave,” I say, heading past him towards the door.
“Don’t leave on my account,” he says, and this time he does sound sincere. “You guys can take the room tonight?—”
“Ireallyhave to go,” I tell him, and he steps aside to let me through.
