“Whydid you do that?” I whisper, pretending to look through clothes while I wait for his response so that it seems like I don’t care.
“Because you needed a change room.”
“I would have figured it out on my own.”
“It’s her job—”
“And it was your job to not be taking women home from the clubs.” Fuck. I hate that I just said that. I turn on my heel at his tight brows, and I think he’s as offset by my attitude to keep trying. But then he grabs my wrist, and my arms break out in a wave of chills. I turn my eyes to him as he nods to the co-workers watching us.
“And it’sourjob to look like we’re in love.” I swallow at his proximity, his eyes trailing to my lips. I sense a hint of second-guessing, feel the pull of our bodies growing strong until our foreheads touch, eyes dancing between one another as he whispers, “Make them think you want to fuck me.”
I lick my bottom lip and grab the back of his neck as our lips collide. His mouth feels so good,toofucking good. His tongue is expert, finding its way between my lips, kissing me like his life depends on it, like hedoeswant to fuck me, and I know we both do.
I’m not anywhere. I’m simply between existence and the heat of our bodies colliding together. His lips sink perfectly into mine, and I hate myself for wanting him more this way. His hands slide around my waist, and I grip his hair tighter, not wanting to pull away but knowing that if we don’t stop now, I’m going to wind up talking him into following me into the dressing room until we’re both too drunk on each other to continue to follow the boundaries I carefully set in place. I can’t fuck him. Can’t even afford to think about fucking him. It’s too risky.
But even with every thought telling me not to, I’m pressing my hips into him more, feeling his pulsating bulge pressing against my swelling heat. A dizzying rush of longing overcomes my body at such a rate that it concerns me. That’s when I pull away. And even though I want to bring him back again, I don’t. I regain my breath as his eyes find a spot somewhere past me– a dazed expression captured in his distant eyes.
“I’m gonna,” I take another breath, clearing my throat for no reason. “I’m gonna go try stuff on.” He nods a little too vigorously and crosses to the men's section before I’ve even moved an inch. After a second, I huff and turn towards the dressing rooms.
“Okay,” I whisper under my breath and make my way to the change rooms. Either the lights here are messing with my eyes, or stars have come down from space to rest in my head, for God knows why. I touch my lip as I approach the dressing room door— peculiar that our kiss is the same when I’m sober, maybe even better…
I have to shake this feeling before I do something (or someone) I’ll soon regret. But I'm certain I don'tneedto make anyone think I want to fuck Antonio San Giovanni. Idowant to fuck Antonio San Giovanni.