Kiara
Lana hands me another glass of wine as I realize I’ve zoned out while she keeps telling me about her new crush. There is a new one every month. I love whatever is wrong with her.
I take the glass and snap out of my thoughts.
“Anyway, tell me about you and that Varner boy,” she says, sitting back next to me and tucking her legs under her, sipping from her glass.
“I haven’t seen him for five days,” I say and stare into my glass for a second. “He’s sick.”
“But you text all the time. I saw it.” She smiles, and I give her a knowing smirk.
He’s kind of an obsessive texter. More of a caller in the evenings. My cheeks warm up when I think about it.
“Yeah, we do,” I admit, feeling my face heat.
“So? What’s going on with him?”
“He’s so,” I pause, thinking how to put it. “So present. He remembers everything I tell him. He remembers when I work, keeps checking if I’ve eaten, if I’ve slept. It’s so,” I let out a quiet laugh. “I’ve never felt so taken care of.”
“Okay, that actually sounds hot as fuck.” She raises her eyebrows and sips her wine.
I’ve been spilling all the details to her for the last week since I can’t see him.
“Jesus, Lana, I miss him so much,” I groan and let my head fall into my palm, staring at her while she does the same.
“I’m jealous. That’s so cute,” she squeals.
We end up watching a movie while I keep checking my phone. I told him he could call me later when Lana leaves, and I kind of wish she’d just go already.
I’m the worst possible friend.
?
“See you,” Lana says, hugging me before heading toward the front door.
I clean the glasses and turn off the lights before heading upstairs to my room, immediately grabbing my phone and dialing him. He picks up right away and his voice instantly sends familiar shivers down my spine.
“What took her so long?”
“Don’t be mean. You should be glad she kept me company, since you’re playing the sick card.”
“Fair.” There’s some noise on his end, but I ignore it.
We’re silent for a second. I exhale and throw myself onto my bed.
“I wish you were here,” I almost whisper.
“Say that again,” he says quietly, and I giggle.
“I wish,” I say slowly, “you were here, and—”
“And?” he hums, voice low, teasing.
“And I miss you.”
“You sound so adorable.” There’s a quiet exhale on his side.
“Don’t get cocky.”
“Too late. Do you think about me?” His voice is deeper now, almost demanding.
“You know what, not really,” I lie.
“Stop lying and tell me how much you think about me, Kiara.”
I exhale and unconsciously run my hand along my lower belly, his voice making my blood run hot.
“A lot,” I whisper.
“Do you still wish I was there?”
I can’t tame the smile.
“Don’t make me beg.” I arch my back on the bed and slip my hand down to my pussy.
“I’m downstairs.”
My heart stops.
I hang up and jump off the bed, running from my room down the old staircase and opening the main door with such force it almost flies off its hinges.
He’s standing there in a black hoodie and jeans, messy, pale and absolutely irresistible. I get weak in my knees, but he barely lets me open my mouth. He grabs my face and crushes his mouth to mine like he’s been starving for days.
I stumble back, my hands sliding up his chest, and he follows, kissing me like he needs it to stay alive.
His hoodie smells like rain and something warm and familiar that makes my brain melt. He kicks the door shut behind him, sinks both of his hands in my hair and mumbles without pulling away from my lips.
“Is your—mom—still at work?” he murmurs against my lips, the words barely formed because he refuses to pull away.
“Till—morning,” I whisper back, kissing him between every syllable.
“Good,” he breathes into my mouth. “Fuck—I missed you so much,” he murmurs, voice low and rough like it’s been clawing at him for days.
I try to answer but he kisses me again, harder, backing me into the wall until my legs go weak. His fingers tighten on my waist and suddenly I’m off the ground. He lifts me without effort, my legs locking around him automatically.
He doesn’t stop kissing me. Not when he stumbles on the stairs. Not when he pushes the door to my room open with his shoulder. Not even when he hits the dresser with his elbow.
He drops me on the bed, not gently, just desperate, and follows immediately, his lips already on my throat, my jaw, that spot that makes my breath catch. He pushes up my T-shirt, kisses my stomach like he’s been dying to eat me.
“Don’t you—wanna see my room?” I manage, laughing breathlessly as his hair brushes my skin. “You’ve never been here.”
He doesn’t even look up.
“Mhm… it looks great,” he mutters against my skin, kissing just below my ribs, thoroughly uninterested in anything except me.
His hands slide up my sides, his mouth following, warm and hungry as he slips my T-shirt off.
“You’re all I thought about,” he mumbles before he gets back to my chest.
Does he have any idea how far he’s pulling me in?
I want him—everything he is, everything he’s willing to give. The days without him carved out a space in me, and now I want him to fill every part of it.
I take the hem of his hoodie and slip it over his head together with the T-shirt under it.
His carved, broad body hovers over me, shadows tracing every line of him.
Veins run up his arms and hands, thick and raised, like my touch woke them up.
One runs across his bicep and disappears when he moves, another coils along his forearm, pulsing under my thumb when I slide my fingers over it.
His abs tighten when he exhales, and my eyes trail down the sharp indent of his V-line disappearing under his jeans, making something low in my stomach twist greedily.
His skin is warm under my palms, smooth over muscle, not so smooth on his lower abdomen—the thick black happy trail leading down from his navel, darker and softer than I imagined, pointing exactly where I shouldn’t be staring, and I absolutely can’t stop staring now.
He’s perfect.
Raw and real and absolutely ruining me just by existing this close.
He slides my bra off and leans in, taking my nipple into his mouth, his lips moving slowly, like he’s testing my reaction, then moving deeper, hungrier.
The sensation drops straight through me, tight and overwhelming, my breath catching as I lose control of the sounds leaving me.
“Let me kiss you,” he mumbles against my skin, his voice desperate and pleading.
I don’t know if he’s asking or not, but he’s already stripping my jean shorts down my legs, then kissing me everywhere the edges of my panties meet my skin. He sits up again only to take off the last piece of fabric off my body.
His mouth grazes the soft skin right above my pussy, teasing me, as if making sure I’m desperate first.
Finally, he gets lower and starts kissing my soft spot. A silent groan escapes his mouth and vibrates against my pussy as he takes my legs and holds them so firmly, like he’s starved and doesn’t want to let go.
“You’re so sweet,” he mumbles against my pussy as I grip his hair with my fingers, gasping from the pleasure and fear combined. He pulls away just so he can slide two fingers inside me, roughly.
I squeal out loud from the sudden pressure. His mouth grazes my lower belly, his long and scarred fingers sliding gently in and out of me. His skin is so rough in the most delicate way. I’m afraid nothing will ever top this signature harsh touch of his.
“Mhm, I need you to cum for me, Kiara,” he mumbles against my skin before his tongue touches my clit again, gently sucking on it.
I don’t know what to hold onto, I’m gripping the sheets under me, his hair, my breasts and everything is too much in the best way possible.
He keeps eating me, sucking me, gentle but hungry, his fingers curling slightly inside me when my body starts shaking with orgasm, totally falling apart for him.
His deep moans mix with mine as my hips squirm in his hold. He gets up to my lips, giving me a taste of myself while his fingers are still inside me, savoring the cum, slowly moving like he doesn’t want to let go yet, like he’s enjoying the mess.
He lifts himself up, sitting back for a moment, still caged between my legs, his chest rising and falling, then slowly slides his fingers out of me, watching every inch of them appear with satisfied half-smile. His abs tighten in this position and he looks fucking unholy as I look up at him.
His body is huge over mine, firm, red and blue bruises spread along the tight muscles.
I want to kiss every wound he has, lick it, suck the pain out and make him feel better.
He lowers himself until he’s almost touching my lips, his hair falling on my forehead, then slips the fingers covered in my cum to his mouth.
My lips part, breathless.
After he takes them out, he immediately kisses me.
Fuck, that was… Fuck.
I press my palms down to his V-line, my fingers grazing the thick trail of hair while I open his belt and his jeans, taking him out.
He’s hard, thick and veiny, and he’s going to slice me in half, but I don’t care, I want it. Yet the intimidating size makes me gulp and send some quiet prayers.
“Kiara,” his voice drops into a warning.
“Mhm,” I hum against his lips as his forehead falls to mine in surrender, sliding my hand along his length for a moment, grazing the pumped veins all the way to the tip before dragging his tip through my pussy, through the slickness, and positioning him at my entrance.
“What are you doing to me,” he breathes out, desperation written all over his face.
Still, he doesn’t do anything and I’m losing my mind, my hips moving toward him, wanting him desperately, but he freezes.
When I look into his eyes, I see the glimpse of pain again.
I want to be the reason it goes away.
I want to be the one to take off whatever he’s carrying that I can’t see.
He lowers his mouth in the spot under my ear, half-kissing, half-whispering to me, “I want you to know that you’re everything to me and I don’t want to hurt you.”
He trails soft kisses along my neck.