I’m sweating and delirious as he drags me onto his lap. The hand that’s not on my neck has found its way to my hip. The motion of our tangled limbs was just enough to pull my torn blouse out of its neat French tuck, so there’s a sliver of skin at my waist there for Bastian’s free hand to caress.
His lips are softer than I would’ve guessed for a guy who only ever says rude things. I’d have thought a mouth like his would feel rough and jagged. Maybe fanged, if I’m onto something with the vampire accusations.
But it’s not. It’s soft and velvety, and yet still solid, a contradiction that makes no sense but is true anyway. The broad plane of his chest feels like it goes on forever as he tugs me closer to him. The hard peaks of my n*****s stab through the sheer fabric of my blouse and my flims
