bookyunn

the very specific kind of hunger that had been building all night at the party that one of nicholas' close friends (maki? was that his name?) had organised — the lingering touches, the whispered jokes in your ear, and the intimate way he’d held your waist a little too long.

“we should—” he starts, clearing his throat.

“go upstairs?” you finish with a shaky exhale. he nods, but neither of you move. not for a while, at least. soft, sensuous music plays in the background, adding to the electricity thrumming in the air.

say you love, say you love, say you love me. losing all my innocence in the back seat.

then, something snaps.

you unbuckle your belt as nicholas lets out an audible groan, urgently beckoning you to him. you’re climbing over the console—knee hitting the cup holder, skirt riding up, purse falling somewhere onto the floor—and dropping right into his lap because waiting is, apparently, no longer an option.

“fuck—” he hisses, hands automatically latching on to your hips. “you couldn’t wait five minutes, baby?”

“no,” you snap, grabbing his jaw and kissing him hard. “you were staring at me the whole drive. if anything, you did this, weno.”

he groans into your mouth like he’s been holding himself back all night and this is the moment the restraint finally shatters. the moment he's finally allowed to express exactly how deep his need for you runs.

your lips clash eagerly, teeth clicking and pants mixing — the kind of make-out that isn’t graceful but feels like a goddamn eruption under your skin.

his fingers dig into you, dragging you down against him, guiding your movements even as he kisses you like he’s been dying for it.

“you’re—nghh—impossible,” he mutters against your neck, sucking, drunk and sloppy and utterly perfect. “good girls are supposed to be patient.”

“i was,” you gasp, hips grinding down without waiting for his permission. “for hours, by the way. it really sucked.”

his laugh is raspy and ruined, hot against your throat.

“we’re literally, h-hah, two feet from the front door,” he sighs, head dropping back as your clothed cunt rubs against his hard-on deliciously. “we should go inside.”

“oh, yeah? tell me to get off,” you challenge, breathless as your fingers languidly run through his beautiful, pink strands to tug at them. not only does it drive nicholas crazy, but it also annoys the shit out of him.

two birds with one stone, right?

he opens his mouth and closes it just as fast, choosing to tighten his hold on you instead as he musters a weak glare. god, the sight of such a gorgeous man trying his best to resist coming undone in mere seconds makes you feel so fucking powerful.

“that’s what i thought,” you smirk, pecking his nose affectionately.

his eyes flick up — dark, glassy, and intoxicated with want.

“keep talking like that,” he warns, voice barely a whisper, “and you're not gonna be able to walk tomorrow.”

you giggle, pressing your lips to his to shut him up — frenzied and desperate as your tongues dance, and clumsy enough that you accidentally bump the horn. the two of you jolt and proceed to simultaneously break into giddy laughter before crashing back together.

your hands roam his toned chest, his big arms, his sharp jaw — practically everywhere you can reach. his hands are on you too, tracing, squeezing, and greedy without meaning to be.

“fuck this,” he whines, bucking up into you, and your eyes nearly roll back at the sound. “you’re gonna make me lose it right here, baby.”

“what's stopping you?” you taunt, meeting his movements more urgently this time, feeling him gasp against your mouth and wanting nothing more than to watch his smug facade break under you.

“you're—” your cocky boyfriend chokes out, reduced to laboured breaths and a clouded gaze, lips parted like he's already gone, “—gonna be the death of me.”

“good,” you wink at him, grinning devilishly. “die happy, pretty boy.”

and, without breaking eye contact, he deftly unzips your skirt with the intent of a man who plans to.