Chapter 14
INXS
One hand’s reaching for my waist,
the other my face,
both grabbing,
pulling me into him fast.
His mouth collides with mine,
cold lips first,
then heat—
a match striking winter.
The second we crash,
the ground’s gone.
My fingers are under his shirt,
seeking his warm skin.
His hands are everywhere—
waist,
spine,
jaw—
needing all of me touching all of him.
November winds claw at our hair and clothes,
trying to rip us apart.
He takes me away as a song circles.
One step.
Another.
Until my spine scrapes a pole.
And he’s on me,
grip hooking under my thighs,
lifting me,
my legs wrapping around his hips.
Cello strings turn the moment into montage,
splicing us up,
all cuts and close-ups of kissing,
binding,
grinding,
we're a mess of crescendos as the track builds,
the humidity of us dragging its knuckles across the notes,
pulling me deeper inside it.
My pulse is percussion.
My heartbeats slam down fast with a drummer's rage, thrashing, rattling, warning me to slow down or my heart'll blow.
I can't tell if it's panic or prophecy,
but it's fierce enough to scare me.
I pull back,
a tambourine clashing in my lungs.
We stall out there, eyes chained,
and time doesn’t move—
breath beating breath,
mouths raw,
lips pounding from the kiss.
We’re two bodies stuck in a pause.
“Jane,” I breathe out,
my fingers burying in his hair,
the city burning behind him,
windows glowing like ash tipped cigarettes.
“My middle name is Jane.”
He grins, lips wet and hot,
his nose brushing my cheek.
Then his eyes slip shut as he sinks into my mouth,
tongue tracing lazy.
This time, it's different.
He kisses me with a gothic ache,
a taste that haunts,
a mouth that’s grieved,
all dark devotion and sweet ruin—
a kiss felt for centuries.
The taste of him is champagne fuzz,
cut by winter blueberry bite,
the rush of warmth spilling over snow.
My skin's buzzing.
Every nerve-ending is reaching for his fingertips.
I melt against him, breathing the words—
“I don’t wanna fuck you.”
His laugh breaks ragged,
forehead dropping to mine,
hand locking around my jaw.
“Good,” he rasps.
“I don’t fuck New York girls anyway.”
He's back on me, tongue sweeping inside.
His other hand smooths across my thigh,
finds my ass,
grips tight,
grinding me down against his erection.
One long, devastating drag across his cock,
showing me everything that could be mine.
He groans—
low, shredded, straight into my mouth.
It rips through me,
making me wonder how it would feel with him inside me, the sounds he'd make when he doesn’t hold back.
And it terrifies me.
I’ve never wondered until he came along.
He pulls back to meet my eyes,
lips red, swollen, ruined.
The cold instantly freezes every inhale raw,
smothers the heat from his kiss with frost.
Then he lowers me slow, as if it kills him.
My heels hit concrete.
His mouth brushes my temple.
I’m standing, but it still feels like I’m falling.
“Sonny,” he scrapes out thick,
watching my mouth as his hands drag up my thighs
and slip under my dress.
He traces my hips,
fingers hooking under my thong,
yanking me to him, hip to hip.
“You got no fuckin’ idea what it’s takin’ for me not to drop to my knees right now.” His forehead leans into mine, and he wets his lips, eyes full of desperation. “I wanna eat your pussy so fuckin’ bad it’s killin’ me."
I breathe in too fast—
then not at all.
Then forget how to let it out.
The ache floods faster,
thighs burning,
clit screaming,
everything in me clenching for his mouth.
My entire body’s nodding.
My pussy’s dripping,
Y
E
S.
But my mind staggers backward.
I can’t.
I can’t.
Before,
he was a moment I’d never have again.
Now,
he can’t touch me like that
until he knows what he’s touching.
His eyes trace me, tracking every move,
every breath snagged in my throat.
My hand presses against his chest
to steady whatever’s shaking inside me.
He sees the deny in my eyes,
and his chest kicks against my palm,
wild and rising fast.
“I just—fuck, I dunno,” he breathes. “Was really hopin’ to make you come with the whole skyline around you.”
He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear.
A lifeless laugh leaves him.
“Guess that means I gotta bring you back.”
I look away, overwhelmed,
chewing my lip to keep from giving in.
“You think I don’t want to? I do—I just…”
He nods like he gets it,
his fingers fidgeting,
adjusting the strap of my thong,
sliding it back over my hip
like he’s keeping safe what’s his,
and I’m the one stuck in denial.
If only he knew the junkie in me wants to use him, but I’m fighting it,
bleeding strength,
‘cause he deserves better, more.
Like maybe a reason why
or some kind of explanation.
The truth presses against my throat,
making it go tight.
I don't have another second to think
before it breaks out of me—
“I haven’t liked anyone since I was sixteen.”
The silence falls loud between us.
That's when I realize the music had stopped.
His phone went quiet, neither of us noticed,
and I hate how soft my confession sounds as it stands alone.
But there it is,
in the air,
too late to take back.
And there’s Andrew, staring, absorbing it.
“I was scared, so he made all these promises to reassure me. Then after we fucked, he bounced, and that was that. And I know some girls go through hell of a lot worse—I do. But it still broke me.”
Emotion is clawing its way up,
hard-headed as hell.
But so am I, stopping it before it spills.
“So, yeah,” I force a smile. “I cried.
“And then my dad died three weeks later.
“And I cried harder.”
“Then at some point I stopped cryin’.
“Stopped everything.”
Andrew’s not moving,
making it easy to avoid his gaze
and look past him,
past the rooftop,
past the skyline,
past the whole fuckin’ city.
“By sixteen, Mom’s dead.
“Dad’s dead.
“And I was fucked in all ways.
“So, gotta look out for myself, y’know?
“If nothin’ stays, then nothin’ can leave.
“And shit’s been fine.”
Until you—fucking you—
showed up and spun me dizzy.
Now I can’t tell which way’s which anymore.
My hand lifts like—the fuck’m I supposed to do?
“Yeah, guess we’re doin’ this now.
“Talkin’ about Type. About me walkin’ out.”
If I don’t let it out,
it’s gonna rip me open from the inside.
His hand drops from my waist,
runs through his hair,
hooks the back of his neck,
his eyes on me, nervous.
“Andrew, I get hit on like it’s my second job.”
My hand's already talking,
New York in my veins.
“Not sayin’ that to be some cocky bitch, alright? Not bragging—wish they fuckin’ wouldn’t. Drives me nuts. And honestly? No clue what it is about me or why.”
God, listen to me,
sounding like one of those girls I can’t stand.
Oh no, poor me, everybody wants me.
“But I say no every time. So when I say I don’t do this? I mean I’ve never fuckin’ done this.”
I start counting on my fingers—
“Never been on a date.
“Never give guys the time of day.
“Never kiss.
“Never jerk ‘em off.”
My hands fall,
and I bite the inside of my cheek.
“I don’t even like intercourse.
“Only fucked twice in four years.
“Probably not even good at it.
His faint smile has shock and confusion stamped all over it.
“And kissing?” I scoff. “Last time I kissed anyone—really kissed? Eight fuckin’ years ago.”
He tips his head, shaking it.
“Nah—”
“Yeah. And no, I’m not asexual.”
My chest rises as I try to calm my next breath.
“But then you happened…” I say on exhale.
Silence crashes down,
and the wind pulls at my hair.
We stare,
his eyes pinning me to the skyline,
and nerves spread and spread.
“And you—you’re the first time my chest fuckin’ shook.” My shoulders lift. “So yeah, all the shit I never cared about before?
“I wanted it.
“Every second of it.
“With you.
“But you got no idea what it took just to show up tonight. I—” I start to say, then laugh. “No shit—I called my friend’s therapist, pretended I was her, just to get some fuckin’ advice.”
I turn halfway,
my hand pushing through my hair,
my other coming over my mouth
to get me to shut the fuck up.
“I can’t believe I’m sayin’ this shit out loud.”
An empty laugh leaves me.
It's hollow—the shell of one.
“I walked out at Type ‘cause that's what I do—I leave first. And I walked back in ‘cause my chest—it’s still fucking shaking. But the walking back in part?” I cock a brow. “That was a mistake, Drew.”
He tries to look away but can't for more half a second. His eyes drag back to me, jaw lit silver by the moon.
“I should’ve never given you my number.
“Should’ve never come here tonight.
“‘Cause there’s no way this'll end right…
“I’m gonna hurt you.”
I hold his stare so he sees the truth.
“I will fuckin’ hurt you.”
The wind hits my face
and I hate that I’m shaking.
“But now you’re here. I’m here.
“This rooftop.
“And this perfect fucking night.”
He moves in—
But I stumble back,
my spine catching the pole.
He stops cold, jaw locked like Jersey steel.
“Sorry,” I breathe. “That wasn't about you.
My body just... doesn't know any better.
" I shrug. “Flinching is another battle I'm still fighting." I shake the nerves out of my hands, collect myself. “Truth is, I tried to shut the door on you, Andrew. But you keep gettin’ in, got your foot stuck in there, and I can’t make myself push you out.”
I force my gaze to crawl back to his.
He’s staring at me, lost.
As if he can’t remember where he is,
like the rest of the world packed up and left.
I squint at him. “I’m not pulling some reverse-psych bullshit here, okay? I’m not tryin’ to guilt you, or trap you, or make you feel things you don’t. I just—don’t wanna pretend or be somethin’ I’m not.
“Or smile when I wanna scream.
“Act chill when I’m fallin’ apart.
“Or lie just to hide.
“I really, really don’t.”
Another deep breath.
“Not with you.”
Then—
Silence.
He’s staring at me.
And staring.
Like I cracked open his chest with my bare hands, and ripped his heart out, flatlining him.