Page 10 of No Sweeter Poison

“Are you sure?”

“I—” His hand wanders further, grazing the edge of my underwear and I catch my breath. He must misinterpret this as something else because he stops and grips my chin.

Hard.

He says, “Look at me.”

I do.

“Where are you? What’s your name?”

“I’m Dahlia. I’m in your apartment…” I hesitate. “At least I think it’s yours. I saw a photo of a woman on one of the shelves.”

“That’s my sister, Lettie.”

“Good to know. This could’ve gotten awkward.”

To be fair, the photo was of him, the bartender from earlier, and a pretty girl in the middle. It’s hard to find context like that so I crossed my fingers and hoped it wasn’t an ex he couldn’t get over.

Or worse, a current girlfriend.

Before I can say anything else, his hands come up to either side of my face and the bruising force of his kiss against my lips sends my mind reeling.

I’ve never been kissed like this, with such urgency and fervor. Yet, unlike the other inexperienced —albeit eager—boys I’ve kissed before there’s a silent confidence in the way he moves. The nip of his teeth at my bottom lip that easily urges my mouth open under the pressure of his. The luxurious stroke of his tongue as he explores with the willingness to be guided, if need be, but the surety that he won’t. My hands fist in the fabric of his button down but there isn’t much purchase with the garment being so form fitting. I feel the thrumming of his heart and the pulsating heat of his skin, burning right through the cotton. He’s all hard, clean edges and solid muscle, a stark contrast to all the places I’m soft and yielding.

We stagger back several steps until my back hits the wall and he has an arm around my waist, holding me steady. His grip in my hair tightens slightly, angling my head backward, and an unfamiliar sound claws its way up my throat; a sigh, a moan, something in between, as he slides his knee between my thighs and keeps me pinned in place. I lean forward and kiss him back. His touch is dizzying, maddening, the way he sucks, and licks and his teeth tug and nip but it’s never hard enough to cause pain. Just enough to hint at what’s to come.

Heat builds in intimate places as our breaths mingle in the darkness, his scent heady and intoxicating. With his knee between my legs, he no longer needs to keep hold of my waist. The hand not tangled in my hair travels up the length of my body and leaves a path of fire in its wake. Up my thighs and over the swell of my hips to the curve of my waist. Finally, he cups one breast and through the fabric of my blouse, pinches the nipple before rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. I gasp and bite down on his lip, eliciting a deep rumble from his chest as he pushes me further against the wall, any gaps between our bodies closing as I feel the hardness of his erection press against my stomach.

It makes me delirious and crazed, like suddenly kissing him isn’t enough. I want to touch him the way he’s touching me, I want the layers of clothes between us to be gone, I want…I want…

I want. I have never simply wanted before and so to be at the mercy of someone who is so willing to give is an unfamiliar sensation.

He pulls us back inside the apartment and I follow.

THE MORNING AFTER

Dahlia

I can’t make out much in the darkness.

Windows, dresser, doors, bed. Moonlight dancing across light wood floors. In seconds, his shirt is gone and my heels get kicked off to a faraway corner. I take his lead as he guides me through the room and when my legs bump into the bed, he stops and unbuttons my blouse while I unzip the back of my skirt. I step out of the garment and he hooks his arms under my thighs, depositing me on the bed like I weigh less than a handful of feathers. A gasp escapes my lips but he captures the sound with a kiss, something like lightning traveling through my veins the moment he touches me.

I expect the entire encounter to be short, brutal, and without ceremony. There isn’t anything romantic about one-night stands and the logical thing to do is keep my expectations low. Do it for the plot, romanticize my life for the summer, and reduce this little encounter to a color-coded page in my journal. And when I’m old and wrinkly I can look back on this and say God, I was hot. Can’t believe I pulled that guy.

Except nothing about this feels frivolous, silly, or easy to forget. When he touches me, it brands my skin, the memory of his hands on my body something that’ll haunt me long after the night is over. He touches all the parts of me that ache, kneads my breasts in his open palms, follows the dips and curves of my figure with the tips of his fingers in the darkness. One hand travels behind my back and hooks under my bra strap. It comes undone and my breath catches when he licks the underside of my breast, his tongue flicking my nipple as he goes. He repeats the process on the other and the hand not pressed between my shoulder blades teases the edge of my underwear.

“Show me.”

I’m too dazed and delirious to understand what he means.

“What?”

Alejandro pauses briefly, long enough to readjust himself above me. He uses one arm to prop himself up as he looks down at me, eyes nearly black. After a beat, he says, “Take them off.”

I swallow the lump in my throat. No one’s ever ordered me around before and I’m torn between absolute humiliation and morbid curiosity. Either way, I’m burning up from the inside out, cheeks hot and core aching. I grip the waistband of my underwear and lift my hips, pushing them down as far as I can in the position I’m in. Alejandro pulls them down the rest of the way, paying them little regard as they get tossed into the darkness, joining the rest of our clothes on the floor.

Without warning, his finger plunges inside me, and I gasp, gripping his biceps until my nails pierce his flesh. He lowers his mouth to my ear, voice low as he removes his finger and glides along the wet seams of my sex. “I’m asking you to show me.”