Tangerine

Chapter 100

Soundtrack: Blood, Sweat & Tears - I Love You More Than You'll Ever Know

Dedication: flourish (flourish) hi, lovely :) you are so kind and sweet and before i get into blabbering, i would simply like to say thank you for being so great. your views on tangerine are much appreciated and well past anything i could ask for. i'm so glad that you stumbled across this little story. i'm currently blushing from how you said tangerine "really scratches the itch." hopefully this chapter does the same. i don't know if many will notice, but this chapter is twice as long as usual because, well, i just really couldn't split it in two. here's to you x

·

A kiss, a nip, a sigh.

Louis and I make our way across the bedroom, lips leading, hands pushing and pulling. Blindly, we find the bed. Louis lays back and I climb on top of him. We're so close to being naked it hurts ‒ we've got merely a bra, a thong and some silky boxers between us.

"Fuck," Louis breathes, resting his forehead against mine.

"I know," I echo, kissing his lips.

"No- I know, fucking that too... but I can hear my bloody phone going off," Louis groans, plumping his lips for another suck of a kiss.

"It's past two-AM, Lou, who would be ringing you now?" I raise a hand to his visage, tracing my fingertips through his hair.

In a word, this feels questionable. The twist in my stomach tells me so. I trust Louis, but maybe he isn't being fully open. Maybe he's hiding certain things, which- of course, we're in an open relationship and he's not talking about the other people he's fucking, or... I don't know. Something doesn't feel right. And it sucks, because I just thought I had it all figured out.

It's that man, from the family gathering. Plus Harry ‒ Christ, that stunt earlier today. Plus me and other fucks and... bloody hell, for all I know, fucking Father Christmas could be on the other end of Louis' call right now. At this point, I'd believe it.

"It's okay, I know who it is," Louis groans, painting the pad of his thumb across my lips. "It's ten-AM in London. Charity stuff. I should get it."

"Get it, babe," my hands trail down smooth, exposed sides.

"I don't wanna get it," Louis whines, resting his weight completely on top of my figure from above.

"I don't wanna go to school!" I sing teasingly, like a child. "I just don't wanna!"

Louis emits a raspy laugh, kissing down my neck, down my chest. His stubble is rough, soft yet coarse.

Fuck, he turns me on.

Grudgingly, Louis climbs out of bed and filters through the pockets of his jeans. His mobile is buzzing, tangled in the heap of clothes he brought up from the pool. Louis answers the call, "Louis Tomlinson." He puts his mobile on speaker.

An older woman's voice begins speaking on the other end. She weighs her sentences kindly, formally.

It really is his London charity that rang him. Shit, I feel guilty for doubting him so quickly, even if it was in my own head. Why do I do that? I remain quiet.

·

Louis talks with the woman on speakerphone for the next five minutes or so, naturally rejoining me on the bed. We stretch out next to each other, on our stomachs atop the cool blankets, completely stoned.