Page 70 of White Lights
“At some point, you’re going to have to accept that I’m a stud.”
Dez thinks back to the moment just before she fell. The clip of her dad. Mo’s scream. She’d been trying—senselessly—to protect an on-screen version of her brother from fifteen years ago. Was that her mistake? That she forgot she was making a film?
“It felt so real, what I was watching.”
“I know.”
“And down there, it felt so infinite,” she says.
“I know,” Rafe says again.
She remembers Zarlengo’s warning from the first day of class: Sometimes Visionaries are seduced by their own visions and fall into self-absorbed rabbit holes. He said sometimes these filmmakers could become irretrievable.
It sounded absurd, until now.
“The good news is,” Rafe says, stepping closer to her, so close shecan feel his chest against her back. “You never have to go back. Unless you like making the same mistake twice.”
His breath tickles her ear, sending a rush through her. Speaking of mistakes …
His fucking mouth.
She moans when it grazes her skin, the feeling a pure and joyous rush that washes over the fear of the past hour. It’s enough to make a girl forget she almost just died. She rolls her neck to give Rafe access to the sensitive place at her nape.
Right. There.
He drags his lips across her skin. He kisses her neck, making slow circles with his lips. She reaches to unbutton her shirt, to lower it to her shoulders so that his mouth can reach more of her, her upper back, her shoulder blades. He breathes in, breathes out, exploring her body, somehow always keeping his mouth where she needs it. His breath alone is just about enough to make her come.
“Rafe,” she says, her voice husky and low.
“You destroy me every time you say my name.”
“Rafe.”
The destruction is mutual. She spins around and wraps her arms around his neck. She falls onto his mouth with hers.
There should be a different word thankissingto describe what happens next. It’s not like anything Dez has ever felt or done before. Even hotter than the first time she’d kissed Rafe. Because what they’re both saying with their mouths, with their hands, is that they can’t resist the searing force between them. They might hate each other, might piss each other off multiple times a day, but there’s a hunger between them that won’t be denied.
When sexual attraction is this palpable, everything feels like fucking, and nothing is close enough. Dez absolutely needs him, his firm body, his huge hands, the way he smells, and his irresistible mouth.They could go at this all night, all year, a lifetime, and she doesn’t think she’ll ever get enough.
She runs her nails lightly up and down his chest. His hands find her ass and squeeze like he’s claiming it as his. Anyone from Acheron could be walking by her Lens. Could they sense the hot shit going on in here? Dez doesn’t care. Can’t stop. In fact, she hopes they can. The thought of someone watching her fuck Rafe right here turns her on exponentially. She imagines herself going down on him while a whole host of last-years watch her, and before she knows it, Dez is dropping to her knees. She puts her hand on the hot, hard bulge of him through his pants.
“Dez,” he groans. “Wait.”
Jesus Christ, not again.
Rafe takes her hands and pulls them away from his body, guides her back up to standing. He steps backward, opening up a cold distance between them.
“We can’t,” he says, out of breath.
“We really can,” she says, trying to sound casual, feeling like a violin string about to snap.
“No. Listen to me. I’m serious.”
She sighs. “Are you seeing someone else?”
“No,” he says quickly.
“Then what? Your religion forbids it?”
