Delinquents (Dusty #2)

by Mary Elizabeth Sarah Elizabeth

Love is pressure so hard it feels impossible.

  His entire frame shakes.

  I open my eyes and see the tremble in his shoulders that I feel in his arms. All heart and sinew, he looks down at me and his black overflows as he starts to push. Sound drops out as he enters. Pressure becomes acute and overwhelming, but I lift into it.

  Love pushes with weighted hips and everywhere goes dark. I’m swallowed by the same black that surrounds him and I cry out, but there’s no room for my voice anymore. I’m too small for what I need most, and it makes everything hurt.

  Above and everywhere, Thomas sinks to a place inside me I’ve never felt, and the darkness I'm in glows purple around the edges. Cries turn into tears. I need him deeper, through and past and under all the pain stinging me. I want to wrap my arms around him so badly and bring him closer, but instincts keep my hands on his shoulders because I feel like I’m all that holds him up.

  Barely breathing, ragged and sharp and immeasurable, buried in my body-space stays still long enough for me to breathe too.

  Seconds pass.

  Maybe minutes.

  I don’t know.

  Under and around love like this, there is nothing but hot and dark and full.

  I open my eyes, but my head’s tilted back. All I see is ceiling, and when I take a breath I can’t help the little sound that comes out of me, because I feel him when I inhale. Thomas groans against my chest and it echoes warm and deep around my heart, but I feel pinned. I feel brimming, and red, and I need him to move.

  Trying to shift, to adjust and accept, I slide my hands from his shoulders to his neck, into his hair. It brings back shakes he just got a handle on, and I can feel control slipping from his breathing.

  Love is suffering through going slow.

  He’s dying to sink into me.

  He needs to fuck.

  Already-fullness aches and pressure stings around a spike in his breathing, and I swallow hard as he takes my left hand in his right.

  Blinking, I think maybe he’s going to pin it down again, or place it over his pulse, and this thought makes my corresponding beat flutter sweetly through the pangs of parting.

  But he doesn’t.

  He brings it down instead, between his hips and mine.

  I’m confused that there’s space for our hands, and at first all I feel are flames.

  Then he places my hand on myself, and my heart convulses.

  I feel how tightly spread and stretched my body is around his, and fear rushes renewed and twice as strong through me as Thomas brings my fingers up, placing them at the base of himself, showing me.

  He’s only halfway.

  I can’t breathe again.

  I can’t be still again or open enough again. I can’t again. There’s so much of him left. I can’t—

  Love without end brings my hand back up and places it over his wild-flying heart. He palms my inner thighs with his other hand, spreading me further for himself.

  “Be still,” he says lowly.

  Looking into me, his black runs over, and I give myself to it. I lose myself in Dusty’s oblivion and watch him watching me as he presses down on my leg, making me open so much wider.

  When he pushes this time, I feel my soul split.

  Helpless, my lids drop and I will every part of myself to open, open, open.

  Thomas pushes and pushes, and I try to breathe through it, but I can’t.

  Until he drops his forehead to mine and his air is on my lips, and then breathing is all I can do as he braces his body against my own. He pushes all the way into me, and I break to make the shape forever takes.

  My eternity moves deeper without missing a beat, and it burns like open fire, but I hold on.

  Be soft, I think. Be easy for him. Be open for love.

  Rocking his hips forward, Thomas moves my entire body. I wince, and he brushes his lips across my cheek.

  “Shh.” He kisses me with soft lips and softer breath. “Shh.”

  I don't know if he’s trying to comfort me or himself or both of us, but it works. When he rocks forward again, there’s a swell of satisfaction around the sting of him, and I blink my eyes open again.

  My boy’s blurry this close, but even out of focus I can tell he’s aching. His eyelids are closed tightly and lips I crave are pressed thin with endurance. His skin burns against mine while his strung-out heart surges with a madness I know all too well. We’re in a room, in a city that feels nothing like home to me. We’re further gone than I ever imagined we could be, but this beat, this dangerously swift rhythm under my palm is natural to me.

  “Shh,” he whispers again, kissing the side of my parted mouth as he rocks deeper.

  And just like that, I melt.

  Between softly-assuring murmurs and love’s hard-beating heart, I surrender, and I know my sunken-soul feels it, because he starts to move.

  Not fast.

  Not rushed.

  But so heavily.

  Closing my eyes and opening my lips, I ride every push he drowns me with and let him hear new cries. Little and innocent and delicate and deep, notes I’ve never made fill my ears and grow longer, sweeter, as Dusty starts to truly move.

  More than all the way inside, he pushes deep into me, and the way he moans lights my whole body up.

  With one hand around my side, he slides his other through my hair, tilting my head back as he fills me with sworn and purposeful rhythm. He drags his lips down my cheek, over tear tracks and back to my neck where I feel him, trying to kiss but his lips won’t close and his breath feels so good on my skin. Moving like he wants to cover me completely with himself, he kind of pants and moans as he starts to say something, but it’s too low. I can’t hear it at first.

  Pulling back to fill me deeper, Thomas curves his fingers through my hair and tilts my head to the side. He brushes the shell of my ear with his thumb as he strokes with strength I feel everywhere. It’s overpowering and unavoidable, and this time I hear him.

  “I knew it,” he whispers, pushing permanently deep. “I knew it. I fucking knew it.”

  I feel his words more than I understand them.

  I know with every pound of my heart and drop of his hips that nothing will ever be the same now.

  It sends a spark through me that unhinges my boy, and he’s moving again. He angles my hips to take more, and I cling to him, unashamed of how much I love his loss of control.

  Because I do.

  I love this person reveling and fulfilling, all-consumed and unconstrained in passion. I love him falling into me, and I love the hurt that comes from securing myself to him because that’s how I know it’s real. I cherish the way my chest feels ripped open every time he breathes in, and I'm enamored with his sounds, lost and conflicted and steeped in unbearable need. I die for his suffering muscles and his barely-withstanding bones, and the blood beating so hard through his veins I feel it under my fingers means more to me than my own.

  Dusty loves me too hard, too deep, too far, but it’s the kind of madness I crave. It hurts but it’s familiar to me and comfortable like home, because loving this person has hurt for as long as I can remember.

  It’s how I know I’m doing it right.

  When he can’t get any deeper, when love is as all the way into me as he can be, he digs. He works himself unfathomably into my world, and he makes my marrow quiver and my tingles sing.

  I look up to find his black dripping as he moves. Low lashes are wet, but his eyes are fixed. Every push is enlivened and purposeful. He’s not going to stop. He can’t.

  He digs and his heartbeat abounds while mine throbs to the same abandon and with every beat, he fastens us. Prodigious love carves me out with every thrust, creating a space inside me solely for himself. I’ll never get back the pieces he’s taking away, and only he will ever fit.

  I slip.

  I feel like I pour.

  I want to come, but the physical flames that burn with every slide are too tight, too sharp, and Thomas slows like he knows, but
he doesn’t ease. His strokes are just as long and heavy and unchaste as before, but he moves with lush intent now. Strained shoulders square and gorgeous lips pout, and I swear I feel his pulse where we’re connected.

  He’s close, and I know it.

  And I’ve never wanted anything like I want this.

  Slowing further, this boy slides with deep ease and basks in filling me. His jaw drops and his mouth hangs slack as I lift into him, asking for more with my hips. Rocking soft little circles where he’s inside me, I open my lips right under his and hold his face in my hands.

  “Dusty … ” I whisper. “Dusty, Dusty …”

  Love falls hard.

  He fucks me.

  He fucks so fiercely, so utterly without constraint that I cry out loud, and he digs his teeth into my chest, biting and pushing and pulling as he comes.

  It’s warm.

  It burns like capturing and completing and forever, and I don’t let go.

  I can’t.

  My soul floods apart inside me and doesn’t stop after he gives me everything. It’s slick and full and overwhelming, and opens nervous uncertainty in the back of my mind because I can feel everything about who we are changing.

  I sting and pulse and flow with love, but the boy with my heart in his teeth keeps moving.

  I’m tender under Thomas but can’t bear the thought of stopping him.

  The moon’s glow and city night light cut through the dark, outlining the boy who’s as naked as me now. Narrowed brows and too-long hair that won’t stay pushed back stand out in shades of ivory and ink and silver as he moves.

  Tireless love presses his weight along me with steady rhythm and I close my eyes, basking.

  He’s not inside, but he's making me feel wet all over, like we're rocking in a pitch-dark, swelled-full raindrop. I think of summer storms and the ocean in June, and I hear his voice burn low around me.

  “Let me,” he whispers, pressing my shaky legs apart with his hands, spreading and sliding against my softest, sorest place.

  I have nothing to compare this or him to, but it’s been hours, and Dusty’s still so hard.

  Digging his fingertips into my skin as he slides his hands to my hips, he kisses under my ear as I bite my lip.

  “Bliss,” he says heavily, like my name is a rule in itself. “You have to let me.”

  I’m scared of the sting and the stretch and the pain, but I crave the intensity, and love slides slowly, showing me how badly I need him too.

  His swift, even, dead of night pulse encompasses me as he lowers his chest to mine. He leans close, so that his lips are by my ear and mine are by his as he presses into place, and I gasp so sharp, so deep it hurts.

  Love pushes a note from the center of my soul, and it comes out of me in a cry I can't control. He moans for it and his proud sound sinks into my skin with his breath.

  “Fuck,” slips from him and feels like it drips down my neck.

  Wrapping my arms around him, I brace myself for the fullness of forever-love and with a smoother, deeper drop of his hips, Thomas gives me everything.

  I cling to his arms and grip fistfuls of his hair as he moves. I dig with my nails like he digs with his pace, and he curses and groans when I break flesh, but it makes him move harder.

  “Baby,” he groans.

  “Leigh,” he moans.

  “Fuck—”

  Dusty handles me, making me take every push, but I can feel him losing himself in me, and as he moves with inexhaustible need, little aches and tight tingles pulse together around him. I don’t come, but I meet every surge of his hips with my own, and I feel the shake that starts in his wrist. It climbs up his arms as he fucks me, and it makes his shoulders shudder. His stomach lifts and falls unevenly against mine with his shallow breaths and all of his muscles flex. He comes so hard I shake too, and as love makes me whole again I cry.

  I can't help it.

  “Relax,” he tells me, up on his knees and holding my hips, rocking right against my hands.

  I don’t want him to stop, but he’s been building this lush, bottomless ache in me for hours, and it's killing me. My head is gone. My heart’s worn-out and I have no idea if this is normal.

  I don’t know what normal is for sex.

  Thomas has slowed down, but he hasn’t stopped. He’s just feeling me now, moving with deep adoration and shameless strokes, and it’s torturous—

  How good it is.

  Feeling Dusty.

  Inside me.

  “Leighlee,” he calls quietly. His voice sounds like I feel: indulged.

  I open my eyes to beautiful black and find lips he can’t un-pout curved up.

  “Relax,” he says again. “Stop trying to push me out.”

  His smirk as he says it sends me flying, and I fall back. Shifting closer, disordered hair and bare-bones divine, delicious for my eyes and glorious to my heart, tireless love presses my knee into the bed, making me feel all of him. He works and overworks both of us, and I roll my hips for what I can’t get enough of either.

  I finally have all of this boy, and he—this part of him, our sex—is better than anything. My lips quiver and my legs shake. Every part of me squeezes and tingles and wants, and new euphoria dismisses everything else. Our sex dizzies and demands. Thomas and I aren’t just connected; we are connection undivided. It’s addictive and it’s staggering.

  When he groans, I feel his body echo the sound.

  When he’s all the way within, I feel every heedful beat of his greedy heart.

  When he breathes, I breathe.

  And when he can’t—

  I tense tightly as endlessly insistent love holds me where he needs me most and pushes us to a place so sweet I cry. I cling to him, desperate for relief, but the deeper and heavier he moves, the deeper and heavier the ache grows, and I can’t help it.

  “Thomas,” I plead with my whole body, pressing my lips together between words to keep my shaky grip. “Please, please …”

  “Open,” the flame making me ache says, lids low as he rocks above me. Bringing his thumb to my mouth, he presses on the corner and drags it along my lips and teeth, making me part. “Let me hear you.”

  My jaw falls slack, and I sound as low and lustful as I feel. I sound bare and beyond, and the person who gets this from me, the only one who’s ever had me picks me up so he’s all that’s touching me in the world.

  “There,” Dusty whispers, on his knees and moving with all of me wrapped around him. “There, baby.”

  My head falls back as reason and meaning and purpose take me apart. My soul guides me from the inside to fulfillment I was born for, and I burn into contact with his.

  Love is mind-numbing and vision blurring.

  It’s divine and lush, enticing and surreal and so real.

  I sing for love, and I am the most myself I have ever felt.

  Everything's waves of almost-dawn light and overflowing forever as Thomas lowers me back to the bed. He’s everywhere at once, moving hard and moaning so lowly, so scraped-hollow sounding I think he’s hurt, but his rhythm goes wild. What sounded like pain warms into the sexiest unsteady breathing pattern ever as he chases himself into me, and when he comes there’s no air. He pushes everything but himself out of me and turns all perception into sensation.

  I cry rapture.

  I taste red.

  We fall under together, both of us in so deep over our heads I barely hear myself.

  “Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop …”

  Dusty bends us so close I feel his arms and legs shake. Pressed to mine, his stomach rises and falls with the effort of breathing and his chest and shoulders are flushed hot. There’s sweat along his forehead when I brush his hair back and hold onto disarray, but black eyes are locked and his body is deeply persistent.

  Rolling his weight into me, wholehearted love whispers:

  “Never.”

  Sunrise pours through broken blinds, stinging my waking eyes. I turn to hide from it without thi
nking, and my whole body aches through that mistake.

  I bury my wince and turn my face into pillows that smell like love.

  Everything throbs.

  My thighs and between them radiate soreness so strong they pang with my heartbeat as I pull twisted blankets over me and curl up. I blink my tired eyes open on where my boy should be, but find a closed bathroom door instead.

  The line of soft light underneath it is cruelly bright, and the small sounds behind it are muffled, but I hear them.

  The two of them.

  Tap, tap, tap.

  Together.

  Sniff.

  I close my eyes and I can still feel Thomas, inside and all over. I swallow, and the sullen-selfish boy who carries my life in his lungs has dug himself so deeply into me, I swear I taste him on the back of my tongue.

  Tap, tap, tap.

  But love has made me weak.

  Sniff.

  I let him have Her.

  My cheeks are pinker than they’ve ever been.

  Leaned against the bathroom counter, I lick my kiss-bitten lips. They tingle and I blush harder. Fogged around the edges from the shower we took together, the mirror in front of me reflects a brand-new girl. Under soft and un-made-up lids, my eyes shine and my pupils look deeper. Sensitive skin glows against thick white terry cloth and love’s marks are fresh-red on my chest.

  I smile. I can’t even help it.

  I look younger and older at the same time, cherry-strawberry blond and so alive. Under the hotel towel, my curves feel more curved and my bones hum. My muscles ache, and all along my hips and thighs are supple blue-violet impressions of abandon. My legs are weak from opening and allowing all night long, and between them, I’m carnation-turned-scarlet, swelled and so sweetly sore.

  I feel florid like the word galore.

  I feel like pure, organic allure.

  I feel like truth and fulfillment have sturdied my backbone with strength I didn’t have before this, and it’s a good thing, because when I step out of the bathroom, daytime has painted our hidden den in startlingly unforgiving light.

  Our bed’s a disaster and empty cigarette packs and old coffee cups on the table stand out. Broken desk parts and shattered iPod shards litter the thick carpet, and when Dusty turns to face me, he’s tucking his affair into his right front pocket.