His hair is dark as sin. Mid-length curly locks pulled back to a small knot behind his head. Some of it has escaped and they're behind him, rolling into loose curls. His eyes are as dark as his hair and his countenance is cold like ice. He has some stubble on his jaw yet there is no mistaking his angular jawline. His face is a sculpted masterpiece. He looks exotic; foreign. Like an Arab prince; like a Roman emperor.
His deep-set eyes are on me and for a moment I don't know what I planned to do earlier.
I can hear my heart thumping wildly in my ears as he leans in closer to repeat the question in a whisper. My head is still pounding and I'm not sure I can walk unsupported. But something more important is nagging at me and it comes with another crippling wave of dizziness. I make to move from his arms and I stumble again and it all turns black.
***
My eyes slowly open. I'm in my house. The environment around me feels familiar; smells familiar. But there is also something woody and wild in the air, like beech trees and yew. It's him. I soak in his scent. It's the only thing I can do. I'm in his arms and it feels warm, unlike earlier, when the night cold had taken over.
I had opened my eyes then but had sooner closed them. The streetlights were too bright and I couldn't walk. I had sunk deeper into the leather in his seats before he had carried me inside.
Now we're inside and my eyes are open, but I don't think my brain has fully kicked in, else I would be wondering how he got me past my front door. My keys are still in my pocket.
He is carrying me upstairs now. His slow purposeful trip down the hall both comforts me and sets me on edge. I can hear my heart thumping again in my ears. Since my head is on his chest, I know his heart is beating at a stable rate and his breathing is pretty even. I try to focus on that.
I'm surprised he knows which of the bedrooms is mine, but I don't dwell on it. The door is not locked- never locked- and he pushes it open with his back. I'm still hanging onto him, my hands around his neck like a panda hanging onto its cane. The major difference here is that the opposite is the case. He's the big, tall, heavily-muscled one while I'm tiny- really tiny compared to him.
His gaze turns down and I shut my eyes. But he already knows. "How long have you been awake?"
"Been on and off sleep," I say. The sleep had sobered me up just a bit and my words are sounding not as bad as my blabber earlier. And it seems he notices. His brows draw together.
"You sound like a fucking dream," he says.
I blink twice. A dream, I repeat in my head as his words awaken a blush that creeps up my body. That's what this feels like. Like I'm dreaming. It's like those dreams where everything just happens so fast and you're only half-conscious throughout and you don't know that you can literally change the course of everything that goes on in the dream until when you're awake.
"Ready for bed?" He asks and I nod wordlessly.
He lays me on my bed and pulls the covers up to my abdomen. I stare up at him as his thumb rubs my lower lip, caressing it open and now I stare up at him open-mouthed. His hand slides down my neck and I swallow. It's pure electricity as his hand moves across my skin. My eyes are glazed and dilated.
"Don't get this drunk again, baby," he whispers.
Another pet name. That familiarity. My brain is currently annoyed that it has to work to figure out this puzzle and not just enjoy the moment. But it has to 'cause all my other senses have been dulled by alcohol, so my brain sends the signal and I ask him: "Have we met?"
He takes in another breath. "That voice. Can you moan with it?"
"I-er-" I'm confused for a moment.
"Yes, we've met," he says. "But we haven't kissed yet."
"So do we kiss now?" I ask. I must be deliriously drunk.
A muscle twitches in his jaw. "Will you remember it?"
"I don't know." Maybe it's best that I don't remember these decisions.
"You have to remember, little siren," he says. "I am not a one-night stand, no matter what you think this is currently. I'm not your next. I'm your stop. After me, no one else. You can call me your end."
My lashes flutter up and down as I blink at him. I'm not sure my brain has the words for this, or any other words. If there had been words, they would have fluttered away, because his lips claim mine in that instant.
He sucks on my bottom lip and bites down sharply and my mouth opens in surprise. He slides his tongue in and it's a burst of pleasure all the way. His tongue caresses my tongue, my palate, stroking in the most sensual way and I moan in response. But my sound is swallowed by his mouth. By the time he's done, my lips are swollen. He trails kisses down my neck and my breathing hitches.
I can hear my heart beating now and it's not from fear or discomfort, but arousal. Pure, biting arousal. His mouth reaches my shoulder and he sinks his teeth in my skin, biting sharply, but not enough to hurt me.
Pain breezes past my consciousness to welcome the pleasure and I moan out.
"Fuck. That is even better than when you say words." He bites again, drawing out another moan from me. He kisses the spot. I feel his tongue drawing on my skin and it's out of this world.
I don't think anyone has made out with me like this. In no time, I'm wet. But he's leaving. With a good night peck to my forehead, he gets up.
"I'll see you tomorrow."
My brows climb up. "At the club?"
"No, I will be telling you when you're sober. But we will definitely be meeting tomorrow."