Black Ties and White Lies(29)

I’m mostly pissed off that I’m not already kissing her by now.

I look up from trying to get the zipper undone, finding her watching me closely. Her cheeks have a perfect flush to them. Her deep inhales and exhales confirm that she feels the same things I’m feeling.

“Stop looking at me like that,” I snap, looking back at the zipper. I pull on it again, but it won’t budge. However she managed to get the fabric caught, it’s going to be harder than I was expecting to get her out of it. If she hadn’t put something on that was so perfectly molded to her body, we’d easily be able to slip it over her head and get it off that way.

“How am I looking at you?” She takes a tiny step backward, pressing herself against me even more, even though it isn’t necessary.

“You’re looking at me like you want to be—need to be—kissed,” I declare. The hand not holding the zipper slides slightly down her waist, gripping the fabric at her hip.

“And what if I do?”

My fingertips dig into her hip, bringing her body flush against mine. “Don’t say things you don’t mean,” I warn, leaning in so my lips flutter against the tender skin of her neck.

“I’d never.” Her small hips grind against me, snapping whatever resolve I had left.





Beck forcefully grabs me by the hips, spinning me to face him before I can do it myself. The sudden movement gives me no choice but to grab his forearms to steady myself. He guides our bodies across the small room, pressing my body against the mirror. It’s cold against the exposed flesh, but it makes no difference to me. I’d stand in the coldest of places to have Beck looking at me like he wants to devour every inch of me.

His hands move from my waist to my neck. He isn’t gentle as he pulls my face closer to him. There’s a slight pain in my jaw where he grips me so tight, as if he’s afraid if he were to let go that the moment would end.

My mouth parts with the brush of a thumb across my lips. He runs it across over and over, making my knees weak in anticipation of kissing him. “Violet,” he rasps, eyes focused on his thumb.

“Why do you call me that? It isn’t my name.”

He pulls at my bottom lip. “It is to me.”

“Why?” I grab at his sweater, attempting to pull him closer so he’ll just kiss me already.

His penetrating indigo gaze finally moves from my lips. He makes eye contact with me briefly before he’s grabbing a lock of my hair.

“Your hair,” he explains, holding it between us. “You had purple streaks in it that summer. They were the perfect shade of violet. It’s the first thing I ever thought when my brother brought you home.”

“What was the second?”

“That I fucking hated the way my brother knew how you tasted when I didn’t.”

“Maybe it’s time you find out.” My breath comes in spurts, my heart threatening to beat right out of my chest.

“About fucking time.”

Whatever answer I could give is taken away by the press of his lips against mine. I’d much rather this response anyway. Beck cups my face in his palms, his thumbs pressing into my cheeks as he kisses me with expertise.

First kisses are usually awkward and without rhythm. That isn’t the case with Beck. There’s the excitement of kissing for the first time but also familiarity with the pace. Our bodies knowing exactly how to kiss without ever having done it with each other before.

His tongue fights against the seam of my lips, determined to get inside. I open willingly, savoring every last second of the kiss. It’s wild to witness Beck come unhinged like this, to feel him lose himself in kissing me. It’s much more than a kiss, it’s as if he’s marking me. His body is hard against mine, forcing me even deeper against the mirror. The glass is cold, his body warm. The soft curves of my body press into the hard slopes and planes of his. If I didn’t grip his sweater so tightly, I’d melt into a puddle at his feet. Even if I didn’t hold onto the fabric like my life depended on it, the tight hold as he cups my face might be enough to keep me on my feet.

“Margo” he mutters, his voice strained as he bites my bottom lip between his teeth. “Fuck,” he groans out, searing his lips to mine, tongue swiping against them. “If your lips taste this delectable, I can only imagine how phenomenal other parts of you taste.”

My thighs clench together at his words. I’d do anything to have him taste me anywhere and everywhere he desired. “If your tongue is that good in my mouth, I can only imagine how good it is at other things.”

I feel his growl against my lips as he traps my mouth with his again. His palms drop from my face, inching up the bare skin of my thighs instead. I hate that I wasted time ever kissing anyone else. None of them knew how to kiss the way he does. He does it with haste, but such expertise, that I could get lost in doing it forever.

His fingers play with the hem of the dangerously small minidress. He slides them underneath the fabric, reaching up to palm my ass. The fabric now bunches against my waist. If the zipper wasn’t still stuck, we’d easily be able to get it off and I could feel his mouth press against other parts of me.

“Violet,” he says, breaking the kiss, his fingers still kneading my ass.

“Hm?” I answer, my body in a trance from kissing him. Later on, I’ll dwell on the nickname, obsessing over the fact he gave me one in the first place. I’ve never loved a nickname as much as the one he’s penned for me. Furthermore, the meaning behind it will be stuck in my mind for weeks to come.