eleven


And this is the only immortality you and I may share, my Lolita.


His lips are frozen beneath mine. Stuck together with glue, pursed tight and stone and unyielding. I feel his right arm digging into my stomach. Hard. (And hard.) The jut of his elbow hits right above my belly button. I groan and push harder, not willing to be rejected. Not in this haze, not in this night.

I wrap my hands around his neck until he's forced to yield at least slightly, head bent to the side, lips opening slightly as I force.

"Bella," I hear, muffled and far away. I ignore it.

I open my mouth and my tongue touches his lips and I hear him say: "Oh, oh, oh." (Oh.)

He's responding now, hesitant. Reluctant. Fingers barely brushing the back of my shirt as I scoot myself further between his chest and the steering wheel. My fingers entangle in his hair, squeeze and twist. He moans, and when I open my eyes I see his own clenched ferociously shut.

His hands roam up underneath my shirt and I swear it's never like this, not ever. I straddle him and I feel him there just waiting and pushing up into me and all I want to do is get closer and closer and closer and

His lips are cool and wet and his tongue is cool an wet and I feel his stubble against my cheek against my neck as his lips travel further down down down to me

And

(Sigh.)

And it's reverent. It's worship.

My palm slams against the fogged glass as lips and breast meet just like they were waiting and wanting and wanting and

He palms them both almost angrily, almost violent. My head is thrown back and I don't think either of us is going to stop until we're completely done, completely spent. Furious. Bruised.

We are tangled together but I manage to tear his shirt off, limbs brushing limbs brushing limbs. His chest hair is thick and foreign to me. I'm used to boys, young boys. (Not men, never men.) My hands run up through it and over to his neck again, and he's staring at me with those half-lidded eyes like he can't see.

Like he won't see.

Through his jeans I feel all him of him, pushing further and further and further. He's moaning into my neck like he just can't get off, like he just can't finish, like he just can't. I bite down on his neck, just below his ear and I've almost got him, almost got him.

With his hands on me like this—like I've wanted more than I can even think—I swear to God I'm immortal.

And when we're just about there

His phone rings.


i know it's a short chapter but i couldn't mix it. top quote (c) vladimir nabokov