Dance With Me

Tamara

Badump! Badump! Badump!

Lord, no, no, no, no, no! It's happening again. That tingling, sensational feeling I usually get whenever he's near. Especially now that he's a few inches away from me, half naked, looking innocently, preposterously and ruggedly... hot!

Jesus!

"Bunny," He called again, more softly and tenderly this time, slowly coming down to my level, eyes still locked on mine. "Do I scare you?"

Oh, my God, what is this? I think my heart's about to explode. The look in his eyes was so... vulnerable and so... fragile. I don't think I've ever seen Devin Sinclair like this before.

"Please, answer me."

"No!" I managed to reply, my voice unrecognizably husky. "No, you don't scare me."

"You sure?" He enquired, voice softer than ever, and the way he looked at me made me feel things... fluttery things in my stomach. I hate this. I shouldn't be feeling this way.

I let out a long, shaky breath. "Yes."

"So if I try to touch you, you won't recoil again like you just did?" He queried. Why are you doing this to me, Devin?

"Yes." I tried to sound as flat as possible, but failed miserably. "Now can we please... get back to the... interview..."

The words died in my throat, my breath hitching, my pulse rising as Devin's hand slid up my lap. His mere touch instantly made my nipples tighten hard against my bra, sending electric sparks skittering down my spine.

And the weird thing was... I liked it. I freaking liked it.

"Devin..."

"I can't pretend anymore." He whispered softly, giving my lap a gentle caress. I was quick to cover my mouth with my hand, to suppress the soft moan that was about to escape my lips, "I... I uh..." He looked like he was struggling with his words. He glanced down at the floor, sighed softly, "Fuck it!" He cursed under his breath and glanced up at me again.

I couldn't move. I just... froze there... rooted to the couch, heat rising in my neck.

"I like you, Bunny." He dropped the bombshell. My jaw dropped instantly, eyes widening, heart slamming so hard against my ribs that I found it hard to breathe. "I really, really like you. I think... I think I always have, but... I have been so scared to admit it." He paused for a second, then went on, "So... when... when you... act like that... recoil in horror when I come close... it... it breaks my heart. I'm terribly sorry for pushing you and choking your arm that day, I didn't mean to." He shifted a little nervously, "Look... I guess what I'm trying to say is... I don't want you to fear me, Bunny. I... I want you to... like me like I like you."

This was probably the time for me to respond, but I was too stunned to speak.

Extremely stunned.

Devin Sinclair, notoriously known for being a sexist fuckboy, the "I don't do feelings" guy, is here... looking so vulnerable and being genuinely expressive for the first time since I've known him... confessing that... that he... that he likes... me? Me?

Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God!

"Can you please say something?" He asked gently.

"I-I-I... I... I... I... don't know what to say..." I choked out the words.

He maintained eye contact with me for a long while, the air between us thickening with each passing second.

Then suddenly, his hand found its way to my chin and gently pulled me closer. I stayed still, breath ragged, heart pounding, not resisting, waiting for him to do it.

Instead, he stopped a few inches away, his ragged breath fanning my face, eyes still fixated on mine as though asking for permission.

I should have pushed him away. I should have yelled at him to stay away, kicked him in the groin or... anything. But instead, I just sat there with bated breath... and did absolutely nothing.

I don't know why. Maybe I... maybe I wanted him to?

"Do you... want to?" He asked, voice gently than ever.

I didn't move back. I didn't speak.

I couldn't.

My mind was screaming no... every reason I despised him flashing like a warning sign.

But my body? Yeah, it betrayed me first. And shamelessly answered for me.

A small, reluctant nod.

That was all it took.

A smile of happy relief crept up his lips. He leaned forward, and our lips finally met in a soft, tentative kiss.

It felt like a dream.

The feel of Devin Sinclair's firm but sweet lips against mine sent electric jolts skittering not only down my spine... but to my whole body. He tasted of lipstick... probably Trixie's... but weirdly enough, I found it intoxicating. And at this point, I've lost all my sense of reasoning.

At this moment, I realized just how much I ached for him. How much I've been aching for him all this while, but have been in great denial... especially after seeing the outline of his fat cock through the soft fabric of his wet pants that day at his house.

My lips opened for him, hungry. Our tongues met and twisted together, wet and desperate. Our mouths slammed hard, no holding back.

His hand gripped the back of my neck, fingers sliding deep into my hair, tugging just enough to make me shiver. Our breaths mixed fast and hot, panting into each other.

The kiss turned filthy, deeper. A needy moan slipped out of me when his hand finally slipped between my thighs. My eyes rolled shut, lost in the heat, as his soft lips found my earlobe and sucked.

"Ahhh!" I cried out, loud and shameless... his fingers had just pressed right against my soaked panties, feeling how drenched I already was for him.

That snapped me back to reality.

I shoved him hard, sending him sprawling out on the floor. He sat there, breathing breathlessly, all types of confusion written all over his face. My eyes flicked down to his shorts, then widened in horror.

God! He was hard. Really hard! He had nothing underneath, which made it easy for me to see it... all of it.

Fat. Thick. Throbbing! Begging to be released from the cage called gym shorts.

Jesus!

"I'm not... I'm not... I'm not... one of your... conquest objects!" I managed to choke out the words, though breathlessly. "You think you can just... say that you like me... and and and... and I'll open my legs for you?"

Finding my legs, I scurried to my feet and started to pick my scattered stuff on the couch.

"Wait, no, Bunny, that's not..." He tried to get to his feet, but I shoved him back down.

"Don't call me that!" I screamed, then bolted for the door.

I didn't look back. I kept on running.

Oh, my God. Oh, my God! I kissed Devin Sinclair! And... and nearly had sex with him! Oh, my God.

Oh, my God!

...

I know what you're thinking.

"Everything was going so well between them... the mood, the atmosphere, the genuine confession, the kiss, until she fucking ruined it. And she's such a bitch for shoving that sweet, poor boy to the floor like that... twice."

Yeah, well, you don't know anything.

You don't know anything because Devin Sinclair is no sweet, poor boy. In fact he's the exact opposite of that. He's the type of boy you wouldn't want your daughter, female friend or relative to associate with.

And what you just witnessed is the unprecedented incident that led to my deadly obsession with him, which threw my life off course.

And it all started because of that stupid interview assignment. Professor Harlan, I'll forever hate you.

Now why don't I take you back to a few months ago, before I moved here, to Palmridge? Hmm?