Chaos

“Oh yeah?” Shawn asks me over the music someone just turned up, and to stall for time, I lean toward his ear. He leans forward to meet me, and as I breathe in the scent of his shower-fresh cologne, my mind goes completely blank. I’ve lost the ability to form words, even simple ones like thank you. He’s moving away soon, and I’m blowing my last chance to tell him how I feel. With my cheek next to his, I turn my face, and then Shawn’s eyes are right in front of mine and our noses are practically brushing and his lips are centimeters away—and my brain says fuck it. And I lean forward.

And I kiss him.

Not quickly, not slowly. With my eyes closed, I press a warm kiss against his soft bottom lip, which tastes like a million different things. Like beer, like a dream, like the way the clouds swept across the moon tonight. My brain is flickering between wanting to melt into him and needing to jerk away when Shawn makes the decision for me.

When his lips open to mine and he deepens the kiss, my heart kicks against my ribs and my trembling hands anchor themselves to his sides. His fingers bury in the thick of my hair, pulling me closer, and I’m far too lost to ever want to be found. I fist my hands in the loose fabric of his T-shirt, and Shawn breaks his lips from mine to purr low in my ear, “Come with me.”

Before I know it, my hand is in his and I’m following him through the crowd. Up the stairs. Down a hall. Into a dark bedroom. The door closes behind us, and in the faint moonlight casting a soft glow throughout the room, those delicious lips claim mine again.

“What’s your name?” Shawn asks between kisses, his talented mouth dropping to my neck.

I think I might answer him if I could actually remember. Instead, I’m drunk on his lips and every spot they’re touching, on his hands and the way they’re charting forbidden territory across my skin. His touch sends shivers dancing over my goose bumps—and then heat, a fire licking over my neck, my arms, my heart.

“It doesn’t matter,” I pant, and a soft chuckle sounds against my neck before Shawn straightens and gives me a smile that turns my knees to gelatin. He tugs at the knot of my flannel shirt and lets it fall to the floor between us. Then his fingers hook into my tank top and tug it over my head.

I’ve made out with guys before. I’ve passed first base and have lingered at second. But when Shawn tugs me toward the bed and lays me down on top of it, I know I’m being drafted into another league—one that I’m probably not ready for but will try to be good at anyway.

Because it’s him. Because it’s Shawn. Because even though I didn’t come here for this tonight, now I think I’ll die if I leave without it.

With my body sunken into covers that aren’t mine, I pull him down on top of me so I can feel his lips again, moaning when every inch of his body molds itself against the dips and planes of mine. My fingers slide beneath his worn-soft T-shirt, and together, we tug it over his head.

“Shawn,” I moan as I kiss him, the hardness inside his jeans sending me over the edge. I say his name just to make this real, to convince myself I’m not dreaming.

“Fuck,” he breathes, and he separates our bodies only enough to unbutton his fly as he’s kissing me. He unbuttons mine right after, and I wiggle out of my jeans and panties as he kicks out of his jeans and boxers. A foil wrapper is between his teeth a second later, and then he’s rolling a condom over himself and I’m sneaking a peek down below and biting my lip between my teeth.

Everything is moving in fast motion, so fast that my brain keeps shouting, this isn’t really happening. Shawn is a sweet dream kneeling between my legs, and when my gaze travels back up to his face, he’s smirking at me. “This has got to go,” he says, plucking at my bra strap, and I arch my back to unclasp it.

He removes the last item of clothing I’m wearing from my shoulders, and then his eyes are drinking me in and I’m shivering under his gaze. His calloused palm cups the ample swell of my breast, and he massages it gently before flicking his thumb across my nipple the way he would flick the tuned string of a guitar. I gasp at the sensation that ambushes every nerve ending in my body, and Shawn’s eyes lock with mine again. He holds my gaze as he positions himself between my legs. As he eases forward, I feel pressure, then pushing and stretching that make my eyes squeeze shut. My fingers sink into his back, pulling him as tight as I can get him, and my chin anchors in the warm crook of his neck.

“Are you okay?” he asks, and I lie by raking a hand into his hair and sucking his earlobe between my lips. He doesn’t know he’s taking my virginity—because he doesn’t need to know, because I don’t want him to know.

What would he think? Would he stop?

He starts moving again, slowly, and I command my body to relax, to loosen for him so it doesn’t hurt as much. This wasn’t quite how I envisioned my first time. I imagined scented candles and music and . . . for the guy to at least know my name.

Oh my God, my virginity is being taken by a guy who doesn’t even know my name.

“Kit,” I blurt, and Shawn continues moving in and out of me as he pants, “Huh?”

“My name,” I answer with my eyes still squeezed shut. I turn my face into the heat of his skin and fill my head with his scent, needing to remind myself that candles and music don’t matter because it’s Shawn, and that was always something too perfect to even dream of.

“Kit,” he says, and when he pushes into me this time, my toes curl and a breathy moan drifts from my lips. He pulls away from my vise-grip hold to kiss me, and my body responds to him, adjusting to the increasing tempo of his thrusts. ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">