Page 75 of The Commons

His golden eyes flash with a smile and he stands up in the same beat. Just as he does, I turn my face away to hide my smile. Gosh, I didn’t expect him to go that low or do all that.

Just as my eyes return to him and my mouth opens to exhale, he grabs my butt in his erupting palms, pulling me up, pushing me against the wall.

His tongue grabs mine and ties it into his like that’s where it belongs, and I cannot feel my tongue without feeling his. I feel him press on my lips with his as he rips my mouth wide open with the strength of his grip, entering into its depths. My tongue is no longer its own. It feels itself surrendering to the arsenal of Pesh’s affectionate attack.

Just a day ago, he was trying to get rid of me. And now he’s using this opportunity to kiss me mercilessly, to engrave on me that I have finally exposed myself before him.

I would like to say that I had never kissed Pesh before, ever since the Chemistry Hallway. But. That simply isn’t true. Maybe logically it was, but pragmatically, it simply isn’t true. For I had kissed Pesh before.

I had kissed him in my mind with my endless thoughts about his mind.

I had kissed him in my soul with my endless caring for every inch of his being.

I had kissed him in my lips with my endless attempts to awaken his to speak the truth of his identity.

I had kissed him in my dreams, despite all my attempts to feign a disinterest of attraction.

But now, I am not kissing him. He is kissing me. I am simply reacting to an ocean of emotion, unprepared, unanticipated, uncontrolled, unforeseen, unpremeditated on my part, unimagined to happen this fast, or even to happen at all, especially from his part.

I can’t say our kiss is one of intimacy. It is more of passion. It is more of a reflection of a recent obsession, of one that begs your entire attention. It is more of a kiss of surrender to a challenger who’s met his or her match in one another. It is not one of submission, for to submit one needed to desire the true essence of what it was submitting to. It is one of surrender. We merely surrender our pride in this moment. Yet still, it is not a surrender of pride, for the pride was never a part of either of us to begin with, only a glimmer of pretense that we utilized as a defense mechanism to survive in The Commons.

But in other ways, it is of intimacy. I think we are kissing each other because we knew our hearts and souls were made of the same material in the very moment we had met. So we decided that the only way to reach one another was to clash, in hopes of breaking the other’s walls down, in order to step into each other’s worlds and claim territory somehow.

His hands are ripping through my behind, jabbing over my skirt down to my thighs, and shoving me tightly to his addictive arms and chest while slamming me against the wall at the same time.

My head surges to the wall. Oh my.

He grabs my butt, pulling it up even more. I dig my hands through his hair, barely holding on, so satisfied. I lock my lingering legs on his back, sliding it up, but he grips my thighs, sprawling my legs to yank wider apart and my jittering feet to dangle in the air. It’s as though he wants to let me know that I don’t need to hang on. My only job here is to indulge and to drown in the invigorating vehemence of his burning passion sweeping through every part of me. Wow.

He now wraps his two hands around my back in a vice-like grip as if forming an unbreakable lock, and I didn’t think it could get any tighter than it previously was.

His body is like a fortified tower. Fortifying every part of me and locking me up into his brewing intimate treasure.

He cuffs me so securely into his chest, my body squashed into his.

He is cuffing my tongue like a fortress. His tongue is ripping through me. I almost feel the need to say thank you to him for what he’s doing to me. So much pressure I had suppressed inside of me, and he’s making sure he finds every last one of them and swallows them up in the soul of his mouth, bringing every part of me to my knees. Leveling the blades right here and right now, once and for all.

Pesh’s hands have a mind of its own with an unquenchable hunger that cannot be appeased or satisfied. There are not many things I know in this life, but this one thing I do know: Pesh’s hands will screw me if it’s the last thing it does before I leave this life. Its hunger is invigorating and demands to be worshiped. He is ripping through my body, my waist, my thighs—capturing every inch of my curves into his grip, capturing places above my clothes, jabbing his palms into places on my waist, places on my thighs that I didn’t even know I could feel sensations in, places on my back I didn’t even know exist. And his tongue is devouring mine in increasing hunger.

Screw me for ever thinking I could mess with Pesh and have my heart unscathed. “Screww me.” Crap! I don’t realize when I say that out loud.

His eyes dart into me, stopping immediately.

“I didn’t mean it like that, I meant like I’m screwed, not like you screw me like that.” Nothing I say will make this better. And yet I keep talking, and he now ignores it, kissing me again, eating me up. “I was saying that—” I try to explain, still feeling so stupid.

He pushes me closer to himself. I’m just trying to get out a single sentence, and I can hardly speak over the force of his tongue. But it’s so nice.

“I’m listening.” Then he continues like he’s not sure if he wants to hear what I have to say or if he wants to shut my lips up some more.

“I mean, I don’t want to do that unless I’m in the most committed relationship possible. Under… uhh… umm… God!” Oh my gosh.

“What?” His deep voice thunders.

“Um, it’s—” I stutter just as his left hand grips my neck. “Nothing…”

Why do I keep talking when he is giving me no space to?

“I was just saying…” My feelings overtake my manners, and I speak fast—knowing if I don’t, he’ll kiss me again and shut me up. “I only want to do that with one person. I just want one person to screw me over and over again. Until they screw the crap out of me.” That may have been a bit much.