PANTY RAID

89| Escapism

Dayo's Mustang tore out of the beach's public parking space, tires screeching and leaving a trail of burning rubber as it accelerated onto the main highway.

The engine released a guttural growl, a primal roar reverberating through the vehicle. Dayo clutched the wheel, his grip vice-like, painting his knuckles white as the car thundered down the two-lane path.

A wave of emotion crashed through him. He had never felt rage so deep churning inside of him, tearing at his guts. He felt ice-cold inside. Emotionless. Like his heart has been ripped out of his chest and cremated inside a glacier.

He was driving at a breakneck speed, swerving like a madman through the wild maze of the city traffic and barging through multiple red lights. He knew he was playing a dangerous game by pushing the speed limit, a high-stakes gamble that felt like tempting fate with the Grim Reaper himself. But his raging anger eclipsed common sense.

He shut his eyes for a brief second to dislodge the memory of Eniola and Kam kissing. But the image was tattoed in his mind, haunting every thought and tainting whatever remained of his feelings for her.

She had made it clear she wanted nothing more to do with him. She'd meant it, he thought sickly. He allowed his anger to overwhelm the pain from the knife that was lodged in his heart. He'd be damned if he tried to talk to her again. If she truly wanted nothing more to do with him, to hell with her.

She's just another girl and you're going to move the hell on, he told himself.

xXx

Kam's kiss was sweet and tender. His lips were soft and warm against hers, and she felt his fingers stroke lightly where he curled them around the nape of her neck in a firm, but gentle grip.

There was no rush of adrenaline, no urgency to mirror the dire need to consume her, to make her feel weak with unquenchable desire. Rather, it was tentative as if he wasn't sure what he was doing. It made her warm inside, but she didn't feel overwhelmed. It didn't stir her blood.

He wasn't kissing her like a man starved to the precipice of death. Like an addict needing his fix. He wasn't kissing her like he couldn't get enough of her. His kisses weren't all-consuming, hot, and possessive. He wasn't kissing her the way Dayo kissed her.

The two couldn't be compared: one was like striking a matchstick against rough sandpaper, igniting a wildfire that consumed everything in its path; the other was like a flicker of a damp matchstick, struggling to catch fire, leaving only a faint glow that quickly faded away.

She knew she had to stop him when he tried to coax her mouth open with his tongue. Pushing against his shoulders, she broke off the kiss and stepped back.

"Eniola?" he said, sounding confused.

"You shouldn't have done that," she managed to say.

He ran his finger over his lips, as though rubbing the kiss deeper into his lips, his gaze locked onto hers. "I'm sorry I couldn't stop myself," he said, his voice husky. 

Eniola sighed softly. "I can't do this, Kam. I'm not ready to get into another relationship, not with you or anyone else. I'm still healing, and if I let this," she motioned between them, "happen, I'd only be using you as a rebound from the pain I'm trying to escape."

He drew in a sharp breath and reached for her, hesitating before letting it fall back to his side. "I'm sorry, princess. I really shouldn't have done that. I just...I couldn't hold it in any longer."