15. Good Vibrations
Good Vibrations
SNOW
And I mean, it really speeds up. It feels like I have a vibrator between my legs, but it's all One.
"I—oh my—One—sweet holy fae hell—" I lose all coherence as my body climbs higher and higher.
"That's right, you're going to come for me. And when you do, I want you to look right at me." His other hand closes around my throat with just enough pressure to make me lightheaded and intensify every sensation in my body.
I fight to keep my eyes open, but they keep threatening to drift shut as pleasure and heat engulf me.
My toes curl so hard my calves cramp. Pleasure barrels through me too fast to brace for it, shoving me right up to the edge until I’m gripping the couch and his hair like either one can save me.
My head lolls, and I'm seconds from coming undone.
"Look at me," One snaps without mercy.
I meet his gaze just as I break. I gasp, desperate for air that just won't come as I hit that dizzying height. My back bows as a loud wail escapes me. He releases my throat to clap a hand over my mouth, smothering the sound.
Still, I do as he says, keeping my eyes glued to his while the orgasm wrecks every functioning brain cell I have.
His hand still clamped over my mouth, his weight still pinning me, One watches me come like he needs to memorize every second or he’ll starve. To fill that empty place that loneliness has hollowed out for so long.
Like I’m the thing keeping him here.
So I stay.
I stay with him until the last wave leaves my body trembling beneath his.
Then I'm clawing at his pants, unfastening and yanking at them until his cock springs free. I push him until he's sitting on the couch, pants halfway around his thighs.
"You get the birth control shot?" I ask him.
"Yeah." There's a dazed expression on his face even as he answers.
Before I'm too far gone, I reach over and lock the door to the dressing room. Ripping off my pants, I waste no time sinking onto One's cock.
He hisses at the contact, his fingers digging into my hips.
I rock on him wildly, still feeling the aftershocks of my previous orgasm, wanting—no, needing him to lose control like I did.
One's eyes glaze, his mouth parted as I ride him hard and fast.
"S-Snow," he practically chokes out, and I know he's close.
Turning around, I balance my hands on his knees, spreading my legs wide and leaning forward to give him one hell of a view.
I rock and stretch on his hardness, even as I pant and start to climb toward a second orgasm.
The fingers of one hand still dig into my hips, but his other hand grips the hair at the base of my skull, tugging my head back, forcing my spine to arch.
"Oh fuck, just like that, my little stalker. You're gonna—" His words cut off and his body tenses as he comes in me.
The sensation of him filling me up sends me over the edge. I gasp and open my mouth in a silent scream. It's not like the first one that damn near rattled the teeth out of my head, but it hits a seven on the Richter scale.
Heh. Seven.
The music has changed. Kiki's number ended somewhere in there, and something new is thumping through the wall.
The room comes back a piece at a time. One row of vanity bulbs. Sequins. My pants, over there, not on me.
She could be back any minute to find I've turned the dressing room into a whorehouse.
On shaky legs, I gather my pants and dart to the adjoined water closet to clean myself up. When I come back out, One is standing there, fully clothed, face flushed, running a hand through his curls, pressing them flat. They spring right back up.
I grab a towel and wipe down the couch, toss the rag in the bin, take One's hand and lead him outside.
"That was..." he starts but doesn't finish.
"Amazing? Mind-blowing? Hot as hell?"
"My first time."
Whoa. My legs screech to a halt. "Wait, what?" Then I remember. Before he touched me, he asked if he could try something as if he'd never done it before. In my haze, that didn't register.
He tugs his hood back over his head and slides his hands in the front pocket, continuing to walk, forcing me to scramble to catch up. "I mean Four has, and I was there, but this was different...more."
"What about the others?" I ask, a plan already forming.
He shakes his head. "Just Four, and just the one time. As much as he likes to act like the player of the group." His eyes glaze over. "Well, it's true."
One is dragged inward, and I assume he’s fighting with Four. After a minute, I tug his hand, forcing his attention on me.
"I guess our nightly dates need to consist of us saving magic-kind and me banging it out with every single one of you," I say.
By the way he focuses on me, I can tell I've effectively silenced whatever internal bickering was going on. I swing his hand with a devilish grin.
"And don't worry, next time we end up with a spooked mage, I'll make sure to be quicker, so I don't get conked out."
One stiffens. The warmth in his face disappears. His hand slides free from mine as he takes a step back, shoulders straightening like he’s putting armor on.
"There's not going to be a next time, Snow."
"I swear I'm fine," I say, holding my hands up to show him how fine I am. "After Kiki's quick fix, I feel all better. Though I could totally go for about three gyros and a side of fries," I say thoughtfully, remembering her mentioning once that after someone gets healed, they end up hella hungry.
One scrubs a hand down his face. "Snow, there won't be a next time because I don't want you following me around anymore."
"Pfft, what are you going to do without me? You'd be bored out of your mind," I tease.
Especially after what just happened. I mean, we're kind of dating. I'm dating The Seven. Or the ones I've met anyway. I still haven't met Three, Five, or Seven.
...I'm not sure I want to meet Seven.
One's face empties of all expression until I don't recognize him. He doesn't look like any of the iterations I've met, and something cold drips in my stomach.
"You aren't helping. You’re in the way, and do you know why? Because you are just a human."
My brain skids sideways so hard I almost miss the next breath. "What?"
"You keep following me around like a desperate puppy because you want to be like me, well guess what? You won't be like me. Not ever. No matter how many times we fuck. You get that?"
His words hit so hard, my hands press into my stomach trying to suppress the pain of the phantom punch in the gut.
I swallow, but my throat has gone too tight. "You don't mean that."
His jaw jumps.
That tiny movement is worse than an answer.
Because he does mean it. Or he wants me to believe he does, and I'm not sure which is crueler.
"You think because you've seen pieces of me, you understand the whole," he says. His voice has gone cold. Surgical. "You don't."
A laugh slips out of me. Not a funny one. More like my body is trying to cough up the shard lodged in my chest. "Right. Sorry. My mistake. I guess I got confused when your tongue was in my mouth, and your dick was inside me."
His face tightens, but he doesn't look away.
Good.
Look at me, asshole.
Look at what you're doing.
"I thought you saw me," I say, and I hate how soft it sounds. I hate that my eyes burn. I hate that some pathetic little part of me is still waiting for him to take it back.
Something flickers behind his eyes. One of the others maybe. Or a conscience. Hard to tell the difference when both apparently show up late.
"What I see is a girl pretending she's special, pretending to be more than she is, and who won't stop bothering me. That was fun." He jerks his head in the direction of the club we came from. "But the fun's over now."
I look myself over to see if my body has been riddled with bullet holes. I've never been shot down so quickly or hard in my life.
Then I nod slowly, as something inside me goes very, very still.
"You're right," I say.
He blinks, thrown off.
"No, I mean it." I force my shoulders level, though my whole body wants to curl around the impact.
"I'm human. I bleed when someone hits me.
I get concussed. I need drag queens with healing magic to keep me from spending the night in a hospital.
I can't split myself into seven different emotionally constipated men just to avoid having one honest feeling. "
His mouth parts.
"I'm not like you," I add, quieter. "Thank the fae lords for that. Because when I care about someone, I don't make them feel disposable five minutes after I've touched them."
For a second, his brows pull up in the middle, and his throat works hard. Then he puts it away, piece by piece, until there's nothing left.
Of course he does.
One takes a step back, and somehow that hurts worse than anything he's said. Like he's already removing himself from the scene. Like this is a mission completed, a bad habit corrected. A human girl put back in her place.
"Humans should be with humans," he says.
It is so lame. So cowardly.
My body wants to argue. My stupid, traitorous heart wants to throw itself at him and prove I can take more. Hit me harder. I'll still get up. Push me away. I'll still follow. Tell me I'm useless. I'll become useful if it kills me.
And that’s the worst realization of all.
Because I would.
For him, I would try to become something I'm not just to stand close enough to matter.
The thought humiliates me so completely my tears dry before they can fall.
He disappears into the mouth of the alley, hood up, shoulders rigid, taking all that storm-taste and cedar-steel warmth with him.
I stand there until the night swallows him completely.
For one stupid, humiliating second, I still feel him.
His mouth. His hands. The weight of him under me. The warmth of him inside me. His voice calling me beautiful like he'd reached into the ugly, mismatched cabinet of my soul and found something worth displaying.
Now I'm a mess he regrets touching.
Just a human.
The words don't land once. Again and again they eat at me, each time finding a softer place to bruise.
Then I press one hand to my chest, right over the place that is still stupidly, stubbornly trying to reach for him.
"Stop," I whisper.