Page 293 of Disarm
“To society,” he says. “Color?”
He keeps doing it, the asshole, dropping the word in like a drumbeat. Grounding.
“Verde,” I say, forced to scan my own body for real data. Heart racing, yeah. Chest tight, yeah. But my brain isn’t sliding into that slick, aimless panic. It’s focused.
Here.
Hungry.
Caleb hums in response, and something brushes my ankle and I jerk my foot up. A second later, hands plant on my hips from the front, and he pushes. My back hits the wall next to the ladder with a soft thud, the impact knocking a breath out of me. Caleb is right there, pressed in close, the mask inches from my face.
Up close, it’s obscene—in the best way. Neon yellow, those X stitches over the mouth, and the glow are just creepy enough. The fairy lights throw weird reflections over the surface, rippling.
Behind it, his real eyes gleam. He’s breathing a little hard, cheeks flushed behind the plastic.
“You look like a slasher film reject,” I say, breathless.
“And you look like a snack,” he replies, voice muffled and low through the mask. His hands slam into the wall on either side of my head, caging me in. His thigh wedges between mine, nudging my feet apart.
“How’s the volume in your head?” he asks, tilting his head in a very playful way.
“Seven,” I admit. “But, like… horny seven.”
That makes him laugh. “Scientific scale,” he says. “Mmm, I’m like a horny twelve.”
Then he stops talking.
His masked face dips and he kisses me, or tries to. Plastic bumps my nose instead, and we both huff out a frustrated noise.
“Hold on,” he mutters and shoves the mask up just enough to uncover his mouth, the top half still covering his eyes. It should look stupid. It doesn’t. The edge of the mask cuts across his face, neon and shadow, and if anything, it’s hotter—half-monster, half-very-real-boyfriend.
That’s when he grabs my jaw and crushes his mouth to mine.
Everything goes white around the edges.
This isn’t the careful, measured kissing from earlier. This is messy and wet and wild, teeth clicking, breaths tangling. He licks into my mouth like he’s staking a claim, like he owns the way my lungs work.
He fucking does.
I open for him without thinking. My hands find his hips, fingers digging into the curve hard enough that I’ll probably leave marks. Caleb makes a sound—almost a growl—and presses in closer, thigh sliding up between my legs. Pressure lands right where I need it, sudden and perfect.
“Oh, fuck,” I gasp against his lips.
“You okay?” he pants.
“Yes,” I groan. “And don’t you dare fucking stop.”
He doesn’t.
Rolling his hips, grinding his thigh up and forward, my dick rubs against the rough cotton of my sweats, a hot, delicious friction that makes my knees threaten to give out. I’m half pinned to the wall, half holding myself up by the handfuls of his ass I’ve grabbed. Caleb chases my mouth like he’s starving, biting my lower lip, sucking it into his mouth and letting it go again.
“Been thinking about this all day,” he mumbles against my jaw. “About you, pinned. About you letting me pin you.”
“Yeah?” I manage, trying not to whine as he rocks us together, the drag of his cock against my hip making my head spin. “You like seeing me like this?”
“Love it,” he says. “Love you ridiculous and messy and not in control for once.”
Heat flushes down my spine as his hand slides up under my T-shirt, fingers skating over my ribs, nails scratching just enough to sting. I suck in a breath, arching into it.
