There’s a DJ in the corner, tables littered with glass alcohol bottles, and the distinct smell of weed.
Different location, same party I’ve seen a dozen times.
Zayd gets himself a drink and hands me an unopened can of soda, tossing his shots of rum back faster than I can sip my own drink. How we’re going to get back to campus with him drunk off his ass is beyond me. I won’t get in a car with a drunk guy, regardless of any bets.
“Becky’s in the corner,” he tells me, pointing her blond head out. She’s twerking on John Hannibal, his hands all over her hips. To be honest, they both look ridiculous. “Let’s make our way to the middle.” Zayd reaches down and takes my hand, his fingers burning a brand into my skin. My throat feels suddenly dry, and I throw back the rest of my soda before Zayd pulls the can from my fingers and hands it to some random guy. “Pleb,” he explains, like the other students at Burberry Prep are his personal slaves.
“I’m not really a good—” I start as Zayd spins and then pulls me into his arms. A pop-rock song starts up all of a sudden, and I realize as he grins that this is his music.
“Just mold your body to mine, and I’ll take care of you.” Zayd pulls me close to him, and I quickly find out that the way he moves his body is as infectious as his smile. He’s a born performer, bouncing to the tune and mouthing along to the words as he grabs my hand and gives me a spin. He even dips me, and I find my heartrate picking up as the crowd moves back from our spot in the center of the room, directly beneath the crystal chandelier above our heads.
Nobody else seems to know how to dance to this sort of music, so they just watch. Becky Platter is front and center, her face burning. Harper stands beside her with her hands on her hips, eyes narrowed on us.
“Show off!” she calls out, and the group gathered around her titters.
“Kissing you is like kissing the stars. Fucking you is like sleeping with sirens. Your touch is a hot iron that burns, and I love you and all of your scars.” Zayd’s voice coos out of the speakers, this husky purr that gives me goose bumps. If he weren’t such a jerk, I might actually look him up on Spotify or iTunes or something.
The song ends, but another starts up right away, some dark, sweaty hip hop beat that Zayd embodies with his dance moves. His pelvis is pressed against me, his hands on my waist. The way he looks at me as we move is … I have to shake my head to clear it. I feel drowsy from the heat, and the dancing, and the way he’s holding me.
His hands slide up my waist, and my breath comes in rapid pants. I’m seriously close to passing out, and I can’t decide if it’s the press of the crowd, the heat, the fact that I haven’t eaten since lunch … Zayd is full of wild chemistry, I can’t deny that. He’s been a jerk to me, but my body doesn’t know that. Without even meaning to, I find myself leaning into his touch, my arms going around his neck.
He presses his sweaty forehead to mine, and we grind together, working our way through three more songs. At this point, I think I can feel his hardness pressing up against me through the red fabric of his academy slacks. It’s super distracting.
“Zayd …” I start as his mouth brushes up against mine. This is a bad idea, I think, but then it’s happening and my breath is leaving in a rush. Zayd’s lip rings tease my skin just before he closes that distance between us, his tongue sweeping my lower lip before he drives into my mouth. His inked hands tighten on my hips, and our bodies slow their motion, lips taking over the rhythm.
I’ve only ever kissed one guy before Zayd, and that was Zack. Zayd’s kisses are completely different, white-hot and sure of himself, like he knows he can get most any girl he wants. When Zack kissed me, it was with a dark possessiveness that scared me so bad that I stopped talking to him for a week after. Then he broke up with me, and I … maybe he was adverse to my kiss as much as I was to his?
My arms tighten around Zayd’s neck, and he presses deeper into me, melding our bodies into one. His tongue sweeps my own, controlling the kiss, but not overpowering me. It feels so good that it’s hard to remember that he hates me, that he probably kisses all the other girls just like this.
