Chapter 16: CHAPTER 16

"Why are you messing with me like this?" I whispered, clutching his shoulders as I tried to shake sense into him.

He'd been so serious the entire game. Earlier he'd been laughing and joking with that dumb drinking challenge.

Now, he was subdued. I heard his breathing, silence as he looked at me. It was then I realized his usual blue eyes were drowmed to a darker, stormy shade.

"You're drunk," I said, coming to a conclusion.

"I can handle my alcohol. "

In the dimness, with the thrum of the party muffled by the door, and the shots in my belly, I dared to touch his cheeks. They were warm.

Yes. Definitely drunk.

He leaned into my touch, his lips pressing into my palm like he did in health class. Unlike then, I didn't draw back. With no one watching us and the darkness shadowing our features, the moment felt oddly intimate.

I sighed. "How much longer are you going to use me to keep your admirers away."

"You're wrong." His reply was dismissive. But instead of explaining he dragged me to the futon.

His body pushed my back against the pillows, clamoring over me like a heady wolf. My pulse quickened. This didn't feel like a game anymore. And he had yet to crack one of his usual jokes.

"Cross?" Uncertainty leaked at my call.

Finally, a chuckle, but it wasn't lighthearted. "I tried to be a gentleman. You pushed me to this, so stay still." He brushed my hair to the side, baring the curve of my neck.

Immediately, I knew his intent. I pushed against his chest, but he overcame me easily and inhaled at the juncture.

"You should've sat on my lap," he murmured.

The feel of his lips, the warmth of his breath, it made me squirm beneath him.

"Can't you... suck something else? Like a finger? I'll do it," I volunteered.

Technically, the dare was for me, not him. It's surprising he took it upon himself to complete it.

I felt his chest shake with amusement. His eyes glittered. "There's only one thing I'm letting you suck. Are you sure?"

The familiarity of his teasing voice would've calmed me if not for the content of his words.

Understanding, I gasped, smacking him across the shoulder. He used the movement to slide his hands around my waist and dredge our bodies closer. His scent seeped over me. Cologne, pineapples, and something bitter. Probably the alcohol.

"You can suck my finger," I tried again, wiggling my index in front of him.

His teeth flashed as he tried to bite it. I squeaked, moving it further away.

"Fine. I'l give you three options," he conceded, though I questioned with his current state of mind if they would actually be better.

"I can suck your neck," he said, nipping the curve

and causing me to inhale sharply. "Or.." his mouth dragged lower, heat spilling into the hollow of my chest. "I can suck your breasts. Both of them." He buried his face in between them.

My legs jerked, but he only wedged himself in-between them more comfortably. I smacked his back. "Stop playing."

"I’m not."

I huffed. "What's the third?"

His hand slid from my waist, down past the hem of my dress and met the bare skin of my thighs. He seized them tightly, before trailing upwards. The fabric of my dress shifted with him, scrunching an inch before I clamped on his wrist and glared.

This was too much, even for him.

"I am tired of your stupid games," I hissed. "Leave me out of it!"

His eyes burned into mine. "I am tired of you saying this is a game. I'm serious. I would love nothing more than to see you under me, panting, out of breath, screaming my name while I suck "

"Shut up!" I screamed, clamping his mouth with my other hand. "Fine. My neck. Do it. Please."

He smiled victoriously beneath my palm, his chest rumbling as he laughed. This time, he was merciful enough to draw his hand from beneath my dress, settling it back on my waist. He lowered, taking his time running his nose along the slope of my neck, inhaling, before sealing his lips there. The edge of his teeth as they latched was dizzying.

Warmth spread through me, and against my better judgement I gave him more access. He hummed in approval, sucking harder. I dug my fingers into his back, nervous. Never in a million years did I ever think I'd be under Cross this way, allowing things that did a number on my emotions.

"Cross.." My voice was small. He continued, moving lower and starting all over again at my shoulder. "I-It's going to leave marks."

He exhaled and continued nonetheless. Something that sounded suspiciously like I know' was allI heard. My heart thrummed within me, caught between pushing him off and pulling him closer.

The weight of his body over mine, the iron grip at my waist, the way he held me close like I was his..kissing, and nipping, and sucking my neck so captivated. Even the way he insisted this wasn't a game. As disorienting as all this was, I felt wanted.

It was foreign to me, it made me feel special, and a large part of me reveled in it.

But I knew.

Cross was drunk. And probably very horny, if the growing hardness above me was any indication. And now his mouth drifted lower, towards my chest.

Gathering my bearings, I smacked him. He grunted.

"One more," he rasped, almost begging.

I stayed silent. This was probably the last time we would ever be caught in a predicament like this. And as my mind whirled, one truth rooted itself: Amy had dared me to prove I could capture the playboy's attention. Tonight, after alcohol and dangerous games, I had proof. Evidence etched against my skin. It was so twistedly perfect.

It appeared Forrest took my silence as a yes. His mouth closed over the skin just beneath my collar bone. When he inched lower, chasing the swell of my chest, I stopped him.

"That's enough."

He lifted his head, eyes smoldering. "Can I kiss you?"

"No."

His voice softened to a whisper. "I want to be your

first kiss."

I shoved him off me, and he allowed it, only to drag me over his lap. My vision swayed. Oof, the alcohol was hitting, Now that I think of it, for all he drank Cross was doing pretty well. His words weren't slurred, he wasn't clumsy in his movements, only reckless in his actions.

Held in his arms, I allowed myself to rest on his torso and closed my eyes. His chin rested over my head, the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest soothing my troubled mind. If I didn't know any better, I would think he was enjoying this moment too. Most likely he was tired.

Thinking of his earlier statement, I asked, "How did you know...about my first kiss? I didn't tell anyone."

He didn't answer right away. When my lids fluttered opened, I realized he was busy staring at my lips. I blushed.

This must be it.

The behavior that made other girls fall. With a stare like that, anyone would feel like the most beautiful girl in the world.

He finally answered. "A hunch. Your reaction confirmed it."

Of course. I ruined it for myself. He made it difficult to play it cool. And even now, the reason I'm less antsy is because he's under the influence.

Moments passed, hazy and quiet, before I decided it was best we left. If we stayed too long rumors would grow. Better they saw it was just a hickey than invent something else.

"Let's go." I stood to my feet, dragging him toward the door. The party had to be ending soon anyway.

His fingers latched to my hips, walking so close behind me he may as well be my shadow. I fiddled with the lock and turned it.

"Clara... I'm turned on," he said. I could feel his breath in my hair.

"I know," I muttered. Been known, actually. It's the reason he's been touching me so much. And I had to keep driving that thought to dissuade my heart for wishing otherwise. This was no romance, this was carnal.

Then, as if to further prove his point, Cross groaned, pulling my hips back as he ground into me. "I have a raging hard-on."

Against my wishes, scarlet painted my cheeks. Thankfully, I was faced away from him. "Trust me, I can tell neither of your heads is thinking clearly."

And tomorrow he'd laugh it off as a joke. Another dare. Another story. While I'd carry it for weeks, convincing myself it meant nothing and that it didn't change anything between us.

He's done so much more with others, and for me this is the first of all of this. Could've been the first kiss too, but I could never give it to a drunk Cross.

Drunk Cross made me feel like he's interested in me, and that was the most dangerous belief of all.

Playboys don't fall for anyone. They don't have the capacity to. So no matter what he says, or does, it's all as real as a daydream. Time to wake up.

I yanked the door open. The party's noise rushed in like a slap, hitting me witha sudden timidity I didn't expect. Cross remained close behind me, his hands unmoving even as we made it back to the center of the party. It comforted me to not have him disappear all of a sudden. I wanted us to move past this and not make it awkward tomorrow.

By now the game was finished and the circle dispersed. Bodies had dwindled and plans were being made on how to go home. When we neared the others, Cross slid my hair aside and planted a chaste kiss where he'd branded me. Noticing our arrival, the stares were full of shock. Gasps and whispers rippled through the room. I could feel their penetrating gaze, tracing the three bruises blooming

down my neck, and on the way Cross hovered, like I was his marked prey.

I bet they did other things…

You don't think they're together, are they?

A guy can never just be friends with a girl.

It was jarring. On one hand I wanted to separate and silence the speculation. On the other hand, his imposing presence was the one steadying me. I wanted to vanish. Hide. I needed to get out of here.

Fast.

"Where's Amy" I mumbled, looking around. "We need to go home."

Cross shook his head. "You're not driving."

I spotted Amy. She was sprawled on the couch with Eliza, both completely knocked out. It explained why I hadn't seen them around while I'd been playing. I detached from Cross and went to her, shaking her awake.

"Wake up, we have to go now."

Heavy eye-lids blinked. She looked around, taking a moment to reorient herself. Thankfully her purse was with her. It had the car keys and my phone since I had no pockets. As I searched her purse a large hand halted me, his voice firm.

"You're not driving, Clara." He took in my anxious movements, my pleading eyes. In spite of it, with unshakable composure, he zipped her purse closed.

"Let me call a ride."

He geared us to the door, Amy still half-asleep and very much drunk. On the app he had me type my address and paid for a driver. In less than five minutes, a black vehicle appeared, its neon logo pulsing on the dash.

Cross opened the backseat door, helping Amy in first who was a wobbling mess. I walked behind them, and despite my decent balance he still held his hand to assist me.

"I’m not as wasted as her, I can manage," I said, but still held his proffered hand.

"I know. I like holding you."

I pretended I didn't hear that. Halfway in, my hand engulfed in his, I gave him a small smile. "Thank you. I'll pay you back."

He leaned down and pressed a kiss at the corner of my lips. Dangerously close. "There's only one reward I want."

I gulped. It was tempting. So easy to turn my head and-no. I already made enough mistakes. "You haven't done anything to earn it."

"Give me a chance." He swerved up, his mouth closing mid-cheek in a suction, before letting his tongue run, and biting. I squealed at the wetness, recoiling but not without feeling the line of his teeth, a satisfied grin at my reaction.

In different circumstances, I wouldn't have minded kissing Cross. With the yellow moon caressing his strong jaw, highlighting the sensuous tilt of his red lips, it was a temptation my alcohol-induced self almost gave into. I could easily kiss him, give in to the fantasy, then bury it.

But we'd done too much tonight. Lines had blurred and my heart couldn't take anymore.

"Goodnight, Cross."

I closed the door, but not before hearing…

"Goodnight, beautiful."

Cross's POV

The door behind us closed, sealing us in the room.

​I leaned my back against the wood, the lock clicking home like a final sentence. The muffled bass of the party was a dull throb in the distance, but in here, the only sound was the jagged rhythm of Clara’s breathing. I stayed subdued, the shadows of the room swallowing the edges of my vision. My head was heavy, not with the alcohol, though it was there, a dull burn in my gut but with the sheer, crushing weight of her being right in front of me.

​My eyes felt darker, stormy. I could feel the heat behind them. I watched her, watching the way she clutched my shoulders, her small hands trying to shake sense into a man who had lost his mind the second he carried her down the hall.

​"Why are you messing with me like this?" she whispered.

​I didn't answer. I couldn't. If I spoke, I’d admit that I wasn't messing with her. I was drowning in her.

​"You're drunk," she concluded, her voice soft with a sudden, annoying pity.

​"I can handle my alcohol," I bit out. My voice was steady, even if my pulse wasn't.

​In the dimness, she reached out. Her fingers touched my cheeks soft, tentative, and so warm it felt like she was branding me. I didn't pull away. I leaned into her touch, my lips pressing into her palm. I’d done it in health class as a joke, a way to make her flush and stutter. But here, with no audience and only the darkness to judge us, it wasn't a joke. It was a surrender.

​I felt her sigh, a small puff of air against my face. "How much longer are you going to use me to keep your admirers away?"

​"You're wrong."

​The reply was dismissive, a reflex to protect the truth. I didn't explain. I couldn't tell her that Jennifer and the rest of them didn't even exist when she was in the room. Instead, I dragged her toward the futon.

​I pushed her back against the pillows, my body following her down, clamoring over her like a wolf that had finally cornered the only thing it ever wanted. My pulse was a riot in my ears. I wasn't cracking jokes. I wasn't smirking. I was focused on the way she looked under me, her hair spilling across the fabric, her eyes wide and uncertain.

​"Cross?"

​I chuckled, but the sound was rough, stripped of any lightheartedness. "I tried to be a gentleman. You pushed me to this, so stay still."

​I brushed her hair aside. The curve of her neck was pale in the moonlight, a perfect, elegant slope that made my mouth water. I leaned in, inhaling the scent of her soap, old books, and that intoxicating vanilla.

​"You should've sat on my lap," I murmured against her skin.

​I felt her squirm, her body a soft, frantic weight beneath mine. Every time she moved, it ground us together, making the alcohol in my blood spike.

​"Can't you... suck something else? Like a finger? I'll do it," she volunteered, her voice desperate.

​I felt a tremor of amusement shake my chest. I lifted my head, my eyes glittering in the dark. She was so focused on the dare, so focused on the technicalities. "There's only one thing I'm letting you suck. Are you sure?"

​Smack.

​She hit my shoulder, a sharp sting that I welcomed. I used the opening to slide my hands around her waist, dredging our bodies closer until there wasn't a sliver of air between us. The scent of her was everywhere now, clashing with the pineapple and the bitter edge of the shots.

​"You can suck my finger," she tried again, wiggling her index finger in front of my face.

​I flashed my teeth, nipping at the air near her hand just to hear her squeak. I wanted her reactive. I wanted her focused entirely on the heat of the moment.

​"Fine. I’ll give you three options," I conceded. I wasn't giving her an out; I was giving her a choice of how I was going to ruin her tonight. "I can suck your neck," I said, my mouth returning to that sensitive curve, nipping just enough to make her inhale sharply. "Or..."

​I dragged my mouth lower. The heat was spilling out of me now, uncontrollable. I pressed my face into the hollow of her chest, into the swell of her breasts. "I can suck your breasts. Both of them."

​She jerked, her legs kicking out, but I wedged myself between them, pinning her down with my weight. I felt her smack my back, but it was weak, her resolve crumbling even as she told me to stop playing.

​"I’m not."

​"What's the third?" she huffed, her voice ragged.

​I let my hand slide from her waist, moving past the hem of her dress. Her skin was like fire under my touch. I seized her thighs, my grip iron, and started trailing upward. The fabric scrunched under my hand. I felt her clamp onto my wrist, her glare fierce even in the shadows.

​"I am tired of your stupid games," she hissed. "Leave me out of it!"

​I froze. I let my eyes burn into hers, the pretense finally snapping. "I am tired of you saying this is a game. I'm serious. I would love nothing more than to see you under me, panting, out of breath, screaming my name while I suck…"

​"Shut up!"

​She jammed her hand over my mouth, her cheeks probably scarlet. "Fine. My neck. Do it. Please."

​I smiled beneath her palm, a victorious rumble shaking my chest. I was merciful enough to draw my hand from her dress, settling it back on her waist, but the mercy ended there. I took my time. I ran my nose along the slope of her neck, inhaling the terrified, electric energy coming off her before I sealed my lips against her skin.

​I latched on. The edge of my teeth was a warning as it scraped along her neck. I felt her give in, her neck arching, providing more access as I hummed in approval.

She dug her fingers into my back, her grip grounding me. I sucked harder, branding her, wanting everyone in that party to know exactly who she’d been with for the last twenty minutes.

​"Cross... it's going to leave marks," she whispered, her voice tiny.

​"I know," I exhaled against her skin. I didn't care. I wanted the marks. I wanted the evidence.

​My heart thrummed against her ribs. The weight of my body, the way I held her waist, it was possessive. It was carnal. I was kissing, nipping, moving lower toward her shoulder, trying to find every spot that made her gasp. I felt her thrumming under me, caught in the same disorientation I was. She felt wanted, and I wanted her to feel it until she couldn't remember her own name.

​But I was drunk. And I was desperate. And the hardness between us was becoming impossible to ignore. I moved my mouth lower, chasing the swell of her chest again.

​"One more," I rasped, the word coming out like a plea.

​She stayed silent. I took it as a yes. I closed my mouth over the skin just beneath her collarbone, my teeth grazing the bone. I wanted to go further, to chase the heat down to where her dress started, but she stopped me.

​"That's enough."

​I lifted my head. My eyes were smoldering, the alcohol and the proximity making everything feel like a dream I didn't want to wake up from. "Can I kiss you?"

​"No."

​"I want to be your first kiss," I whispered. It wasn't a guess anymore. It was a fact I’d known in my gut for years.

​She shoved me off. I let her do it, but I didn't let her go far. I dragged her onto my lap, my arms wrapping around her as she rested her head against my torso. The room swayed, the silence finally settling over us. Her eyes were closed, her breathing soothing the jagged edges of my mind.

​"How did you know... about my first kiss?" she asked, her voice hazy.

​I stared at her lips. They were soft, tempting, and so close. "A hunch. Your reaction confirmed it."

​I watched her blush. She thought this was the playboy behavior that made other girls fall. She thought I was just performing. She didn't realize that for all the girls I’d been with, none of them had ever made me feel like I needed to beg for a kiss in a dark room.

​

​"Let's go."

​She stood up, her movements a little unsteady, and dragged me toward the door. I followed, my fingers latching onto her hips, walking so close I was her shadow. I didn't want the space between us to return.

​"Clara... I'm turned on," I muttered into her hair as she fiddled with the lock.

​"I know," she muttered back.

​I groaned, a low, frustrated sound as I pulled her hips back against me, grinding into her one last time before the door opened. "I have a raging hard-on."

​"Trust me, I can tell neither of your heads is thinking clearly," she said, her cheeks painted scarlet.

​She thought I’d laugh it off tomorrow. She thought it was a joke. I wanted to shake her, to tell her that I’d remember every second of the way she tasted, but the door was already opening. The noise of the party rushed in, hitting us like a wall of sound.

​I stayed close. My hands didn't move from her waist as we walked through the center of the room. The circle had dispersed, but the eyes were everywhere. I saw the gasps and I heard the whispers. I didn't care. I leaned in, sliding her hair aside one last time, and planted a chaste, lingering kiss right on the bruises I’d left.

​I watched the shock ripple through the room. I watched them trace the marks on her neck. I felt her wanting to vanish, to hide, but I held her steady.

​"Where's Amy?" she mumbled.

​I saw Amy on the couch, out cold. Clara detached from me, looking frantic, but I stepped in. I wasn't letting her drive. I wasn't letting her go anywhere without knowing she was safe.

​"You're not driving, Clara." I zipped her purse shut, my voice firm, unshakable. "Let me call a ride."

​I geared her toward the door, helping a wobbling Amy into the back of the car I’d ordered. Clara followed, and even though her balance was fine, I reached out. I needed to touch her one last time.

​"I'm not as wasted as her, I can manage," she said, but she took my hand anyway.

​"I know. I like holding you."

​I saw her pretend not to hear. I saw the small smile she gave me.

​"Thank you. I'll pay you back," she said.

​I leaned down, my mouth stopping just at the corner of her lips. "There's only one reward I want."

​"You haven't done anything to earn it."

​"Give me a chance."

​I didn't wait. I closed my mouth over her cheek, a deep suction that I followed with a bite. I wanted her to feel the line of my teeth as she recoiled into the car. I watched her, highlighted by the yellow moon, her eyes wide and alcohol-glazed, and I knew she was thinking about it. She was thinking about kissing me.

​"Goodnight, Cross."

​The door closed. I stood on the curb, the cool night air hitting my face, and watched the taillights fade into the dark.

​"Goodnight, beautiful," I whispered to the empty street.

​I touched my own neck, the ghost of her hands still lingering there. Tomorrow, she’d try to wake up from the daydream. She’d try to tell herself it meant nothing.

​But I’d already marked her. And I wasn't going to let her forget it.