Dark Places

49 | do i have a death wish?

❝your pussy is god, and i love it;
gonna kiss me real hard,
make me want it.❞

☽

I'M KISSING HIM.

I fumble, clinging to his collar as I shove the apartment door open. Drake grabs at my waist. Larina tugs at my jacket. It's a spiderweb of shivering sighs, tangled limbs, exploring fingertips, hips against hips against hips. Her septum piercing, pinpricks of icy metal, grazing my skin between snickering kisses. His long, dark fingers, tattooed knuckles, burying beneath my skirt. It's a feverish spiral, a breathless descent, a chaotic cocktail of intoxicating sensations in the dirty darkness, silhouettes shrouded in moonlight, hazy streaks penetrating shadows to expose fleeting fragments of flesh, ink, hands pushing and pulling and touching, touching... touching...

The apartment door slams shut.

I jerk back and smash into a counter, riding out a rippling hot stroke of pain, wallowing in it, as I arch into her. Larina catches a hem, hitching it up to palm my ass. "Fuck." It slips out in a hushed whisper, weaves itself under my breath, sputters into a string of Spanglish. "Oh, oh, eso es, así, mami, it's—" But Drake devours my plea, refusing to break the kiss. "Mmm."

His thumb rubs at the sore spot on my hip, soothing a throbbing ache I can't begin to describe. I'm going to tear his clothes off and fuck him. "¿Bien?"

"Sí, sí, sí, I—"

Larina curls a hand around my thigh and whips me around, shoving me back into him. Drake hits a counter, sprawling, elbows, shoulders, wrists, and I fall into him as it showers over us—a deafening crash collision, glass and silverware being flung and flipped, clattering, rattling, clinking from a drying rack to the kitchen tiles, casualties of our carelessness.

"Oh, shit." I stifle a breathless giggle in the echoing aftermath. "I've got roommates," I whisper melodramatically, but Larina cuts me off, lurching forward to seal a searing kiss, and I almost forget why I should be quiet. Mmm. Drake lets out a soft, tortured grunt as I grind into his cock. His hot, hot, hot breath, just barely fanning across the curve of my cheek. Ah. Now. "Fuck, in my— my..."

Before I can attempt a more eloquent command, Drake wriggles out from behind me, hooking an arm around my back, and strides forward less than gracefully. It triggers a subtle domino effect, tipping me off my heels, and I go tumbling into Larina, skittering across the kitchen tiles to slam her against my bedroom door. "Oh, yeah," she sighs, flirting a hand up to Drake as I fumble for the doorknob. "I think you riled him up, Luz." Her fingertips sweep down his neck, tug at his sweatshirt, yank at the zipper seductively. "Hmmm, too many wild ideas, Drake?"

Oh, Drake always has too many wild ideas.

"Ah, going into a dark bedroom with two women who hate me?" he snorts humorlessly as I twist the doorknob, pressing a hand beside her head to swing the door open. "Do I have a death wish?" Larina steps back, off-balance, and Drake nudges at my hip to shove us into the smoky darkness of my bedroom. "Maybe."

Despite the hollow chill, upon immediate impact, it's mesmerizingly beautiful, a faint dusting of moonlight eclipsing the empty space, as if night had fallen too softly, leaving silvery contours, curves and edges of a haunting intimacy.

The door closes quietly.

"I did find out something about Luz tonight." Larina eases a hand against his chest to push him aside, pressing me into the door. Her lips latch onto my neck, and I moan, knees buckling, pinned beneath her body. Defenseless. She hums, tuts, snickers, lifting her head, an inch, to look at Drake—a silent observer, just... lingering in the shadows beside us. "I can give you a pointer, Drake."