my hands are shaking from holding back from you // vercatee
The fashion show goes over very well.
Not that Nick is trying to win her good favor, or anything like that. She's his friend, and this is something they'd both enjoy. Wanting her to enjoy herself, versus wanting her awe and excitement to be his causeā¦ Dangerous difference. If it were any other girl, he'd be pulling out the moves. He'll, if this were any other girl, he'd already have gotten her in bed by now. Instead, he ignores the tension charged space between them and keeps his eyes straight, because it's not fair to Lud. His best friend.
It's only at the after party, a few hours and more than a few drinks (for everyone else) in, that he feels the crackling of energy spark once more between them. Nick swallows around the lump in his throat, refusing to let his eyes settle on Kristen.
She looks particularly striking tonight. One time she'd worn the color midnight blue for a date with Ludwig and asked him if she looked okay. Okay? She'd literally taken his breath away when she walked into the room, a hitch in his throat that he couldn't rid himself of. Something about it emphasized her eyes, her lips, the glow of her skin, like a siren song to dive into that dark blue sea. "Oh yeah, that color looks good on you," is what he managed in the moment, falling back on his practiced nonchalance.
Kristen's dress tonight is that same color, almost as if taunting him. The color also rests upon her lids, and he's found himself quite incapable of tearing his eyes from hers all night. She's transformed, through this simple color. She couldn't possibly know the effect the deepening tone has, as if she could ever predict it.
"Do you know where the coat room is?" Kristen asks, calling for his attention like she always seems to. He can't ever seem to stay stuck in his head, her questions always tripping him up and pulling more from him than most are capable of. His eyes flick back to her, and her gaze holds him in a way that makes his gut flip. Kristen wets her lips before smiling at him, a flash of teeth under ballroom lights. āI wanna go for a smoke."
Nick is stunned into silence for a moment, eyebrows raising past the crack in his facade. "I thought you didn't smoke," he replies, managing to not sound choked. There's a heat in her eyes, but with their clarity, he wonders if he misjudged the amount of champagne she's had. He knew they had sparkling cider optionsā¦
"I don't." Kristen stands, holding her clutch, and Nick clutches at the table. How is he supposed to turn her down if she's sober? How is he going to handle being just a rebound to her?
"Yeah," he replies slowly, "it's just around the corner fromā"
"Could you show me?ā she interjects, eyes striking him through his core as her eyelashes flutter. Before heās even thought about it a second longer, heās standing, offering her his arm. Heād expect his heart to be racing, and though itās thudding on every beat, he remains steady. Thereās a clarity of mind with it now, in the certainty of whatās about to happen.
His self control is reduced to nothing when she looks at him like that. Suddenly, with a flash of eyes, his knees are weak and heās doing everything she asks. Her slight hand presses into his arm with a surety that feels final, like a death sentence. And this is his march to the gallows.
Ludwig is far from his mind when he pushes open the door to the coat closet for her, and she just walks in, tugging him along with her. Heās shutting the door behind them with a certainty in his gut. An anticipation. Despite the betrayal he's about to commit, he feels the heat wavering in his gut, a clenching that's already got him half hard. A man could drown in this heady enticement, in the way he had felt her hip brush against his own. In the dress hugging her frame, in the hope that she chose it for him. And him alone.Ā
Kristen releases his arm and takes a moment to look through the coats, like sheās actually planning on finding hers. Heās completely mesmerized by her, entirely at her mercy, in her midnight gown. Did Lud even realize how ethereal she was, glowing in the dim closet and the sparks catching on the dark sky outlining her waist, her hips, herā¦.? His mouth goes dry.
Ā āIāve been enjoying this party a lot. Shame I only had one glass of that champagneā¦ it tasted really good.ā
The certainty in her soberness reminds him, for a moment, of his last visit. Some party on a rooftop, where he'd actually been coaxed onto the dance floor. There was something so light and vibrant about her, more than a few drinks in. Free, loose. Unburdened. Her hips swayed under where she pulled his hands, and God, but he wanted her. In that moment, lights casting vibrant blue across her skin, his desire was almost overwhelming. And there was nothing he could do about it.
Which is why when she tugged him away to the empty patio and pressed into him, when she leaned up, the skin of her cheek brushing his, when she askedā¦ Dear God, she did ask. She wanted him, if only for a moment, if only for a lapse in judgment, in the circle of his armsā¦
He could only say, "Kristenā¦. I'm not hooking up with you. Not when Iām the only sober one."
At the time, he'd seen the sting of rejection in her eyes. He had hoped she was too far gone to work out the double meaning, that it wasn't a never, that he doesn't want to turn her down. God no. It was incredibly hard then, when her eyes were filled with the stars of New York city lights, unfocused and bright. The flash of wanting, desire. Her body pressing into him, face flushed and just the faintest scent of sweatā¦
She'd pulled back, mouth forming a small 'o' before pursing. Her eyes, despite the shine, were intent on his for the longest moment of his life (so far). She pulled away, but he caught her hand and brought her back out to the floor.
That was months ago, now, practically a year, and they hadn't spoken a word of it since. He'd refused to hope, or consider it, but then she'd opened her door wearing that dressā¦ Deep blue, with glitter that catches his eye at every turn. New, she said. Bought just for this occasion.
Now, in the present, he can feel his pulse in his fingertips. His hands shake as he stares at her, keeping his demeanor calm. Almost disinterested. Almost, but not quite. āIād thought you had more,ā he comments. āI make a good sober companion.ā
āOh, I know that. Butā¦ā she slides closer to him, and he almost sways forward. Gravity is tilting all wrong in this closet, like it depends on her, where she stands. But this is fine. He could make this moment last a lifetime, could have one good night with her to flush it all out of his system, to remember fondly. To remember in the dark of his bedroom, with his secretly betrayed roommate down the hall, hand unbuckling his jeansā¦
āThere are some things I want more than a good drink, tonight,ā she says, and heās so entranced by this sly seductress version of her. A side he never expected her to have. It feels shiny and new, even to her, and heās cast under her spell. āIām not a big champagne fan anymore, anywayā¦ā
It feels heady, this thing between them, and he steps closer to her, within arms reach now. āAnything I can help with?ā he asks, voice lower, a little raspier.
Her eyes are big and dark as she looks up at him, the slightest tilt to her lips. Before reason can find him, his hands slide over her waist, each hip nothing more than a handful, and steps into her, breathing her in. Just once. Just one time. He would commit his sin and never regret it, carry it with him through this lifetime. Thou shalt not covet thy best friend's ex, and yet he's sliding their noses together. Kristen hasn't said another word, hasn't needed to, and her hands slide up his chest. Desire in the skin of a woman, radiating a heat that spikes his own.
"Kristen," Nick murmurs against her lips, his last and only expression of reverie. He is no fool, he knows she couldn't want more than this from him. He'd watched Ludwig chase her, and watched her fawn after Shayne, too often to not know the difference. Reverie and longing have no place here. Not tonight. Not even in his sweetest dreams could she love him back. When her breath hitches, he bids those feelings adieu for the night. Let it go to mourn later.
His lips crash into hers, claiming what he so badly wishes he could call his own. He presses her against the door, kissing her with a fire he's never felt before. One of her hands slides into his hair, tightening with every lap of his tongue, every nibble. She opens up to him with such ease, and with the way she wraps one leg around his waist, he wonders if their desire - even if only that - might be matched. She mewls into his mouth as one hand grips her rear, holding her closer to him.
The skin of her shoulders are already bare, and when he tugs on the dress, the strapless gown pulls dangerously low, the edges of two dark circles making their appearance. He dives to kiss from her jaw, all the way down to that tantalizing brink. Long and hot kisses that she sighs through before dragging him to her lips again. He kisses her through the fantasy in his head that makes her out to be queen and goddess, worthy of worship and all she demands. In the quiet of his own mind, that may work; the story he's built up. But this, where he unzips her dress just enough to pull it down over the swell of her chestā¦ This is flesh, blood, and sweat. This is real.
He'd take this reality over fantasy any day.
He grinds his hips into hers, and he is forever grateful that in slacks, it only takes one solid tug to remove the first clothing boundary.
She flips herself around in his arms, and the detachment will probably help him keep his head. This isn't romantic. This is dirty. This is a dark closet, his fingers slipping under her dress to drag it up. He'll be disgusted with himself later, for chasing these urges, but fuck. Fuck. She wants him. How could he ever say no?
His own pants are already halfway down his thighs, and he pushes them down further, as if it will make this encounter feel anything more than desperate. She's wearing lacy black panties, thin and easy to tug down. His skin tingles with the knowledge of just how prepared she came. She wore her sexy underwear, she didn't drink. Kristen.
"Kristen," he can't help from murmuring again, bending over her to press his chest to her back.
"Nick," she half whines out, grinding her hips back into him. His knees almost buckle from pure sensation, and his briefs-clad boner bucks to meet her instantaneously. A sense of urgency rises in him, a realization that he needs to go faster. Despite how much he wants to cherish every second, he simply wouldn't last. Well. At least he'll still last longer than Ludwig.
His underwear joins his pants down his calves. At the point of no return, his hands are shaking. Heat clenches his gut as his fingers brush over her wet folds. Her whole body jolts, the lightest touch as much of an earthquake for her as it is for him. He can barely hold himself back, but once-in-a-lifetime opportunities need to be cherished. Even if just for a moment. He takes in the sight of her, finger sliding inside her slick heat. Kristen, here either himā¦ around him. She gasps and automatically clenches around him, and if she could see him, he'd sure he'd be putting on a smirk and a show, like this means little to him. Like it's just a hook-up, just chemistry, a simple solution that, when shaken, will bubble up and explode. He can only hope to save the fallout for when he gets home.
As it is, though, he's just staring at her figure in awe. Reverence. She wiggles her hips and he feels almost dizzy, giving a few pumps before he's pulling his hand back. His whole body is shaking with restraint, now, as he lines himself up, one hand gripping her hips like his life depends on it. He almost tries to savor it, but Kristen pushes back against him, and his hips buck in reaction, the head popping in. He groans, an almost guttural sound, and she has no right to sound as pretty as she does. He can't hold back, his mind entirely blank now. All that matters is her.
Kristen can't keep still under him, and he slides his other hand up her back, pressing between her shoulder blades. Their desperation is almost matched; here, where her hips meet his every thrust, where sheās gasping and audibly swallowing her moans.
He fucks her like heās pictured a million times over, a relentless pace that has her mewling and shuddering. Nick gets lost in the slickness, the heat building up in this small room, the claustrophobia that pinpoints every bit of his focus on just them. Sweat builds in the worst places, but god, she feels fucking perfect.
āYouāre perfect,ā he gasps out almost blindly. Heās not even sure if she hears him, or understands the weight of his words. How deeply he means it. She clenches around him and keens though, and he knows sheās getting close. He slams into her harder, no holds barred, and her hand covers his wear it holds her hip.
Nick's other hand finds her clit, and it takes barely a few strokes before she's bursting, coming alive and apart around him. His other hand races to clamp over her mouth, driven to pounding into her further by the sound of her.
He wonders if Ludwig has ever made her sound like that.Ā
The desperation he'd been fighting to keep down bursts out, and he pulls her up to press their bodies together, even if he can't see her face. He fucks her like a man possessed, a man in desperate love who only has one chance. He can feel his name begged into his hand, and his face presses into the crook of her neck, inhaling her. He's so close he can barely stand it, but he can't bear to let go yet. His fingers renew their efforts, stroking and rubbing and playing, wishing they had the privacy so he could hear her. So he could have her every way he wants her. Kristenās hands grip at him, his hair, his wrist, his arm, clinging to him as her body climbs to its second release.Ā
āCāmon Kristen, you can do it,ā he murmurs into her ear, the edge of desperation making his voice almost gravelly. āCum for me again, one more time, please.ā If his voice is close to breaking on the last word, then thatās between him and the Devil. Maybe itās the final push she needed, though - she seizes around him, crying out into his palm, drenching him as he buries himself to the hilt and joins her at that peak. For all the sins heās just committed, heās never felt closer to heaven in his life, spots sparking behind his eyes in tones of midnight blue, glimmering sapphires. He feels unspooled, ripped open, and all he has the strength to do is hold her, hold them both up.
The headrush slowly fades, the sensations of the rest of the room filtering in. Thereās actually a slight breeze under the door, and as his trembles subside, it cools the sweat of his exposed skin. He loosens his arms, catching his breath, savoring her scent. Heās never gotten this close to the root of her scent, and he finds himself adjusting his head to press into the top of her head instead. Inhaling slowly. His knees want to buckle, but now he has to be stronger than heās ever been. Now he has to let go.
The girl he loves, who heāll spend the rest of his days thinking of, will only entirely be his for as long as sheās pressed against his chest. Time is running out. He presses a long kiss to the crown of her head, knowing heāll smell her everywhere he goes.
Kristen pulls away slowly. And he lets her go.
