"You break it, you buy it
You kiss it, you keep it
First you try it, then you leave it."
Two times blue by Debbie Harry

Chapter seventeen:

My stomach turns and romps at the same time. I feel eyes on me, but only Dylan's promisingly immerse my gaze, proscribing it from straying. His hazel eyes are so blistering and daring, silently deriding me for acting like a sinful, bad girl while I'm nothing but a virtuous prude. We're not the only ones in the room, yet all I'm sentient of is Dylan. His intense eyes. His dominating stance. The space he occupies.

I don't know what impels me to do it more. His exquisite gaze and the insistent urge to unveil every part of me before his scrutinising eyes, or the imprudent, reckless side of me, dying to show him the venturesome, untamed side of mine. Both scare the breath out of me, but that doesn't stop the hands that slowly creep toward the buttons of my shirt, avid and edgy at the same time to peel that piece of clothing off and show him that I've got nothing to lose. That I'm not a courtly, sheltered chick who's afraid of surfacing. I twist the first button out of the buttonhole, my eyes never leaving the scorching gaze of his. I hear Cheryl chuckling seductively next to me, but my gaze doesn't waver. My hands just move to unfasten the second button, tardily and sultrily. The creature that has possessed me is beyond tenacious, and it's slowly deforms me into another person. A bold, brainless temptress. The thought of me becoming like the rest of the girls of my age– shallow and incautious– doesn't disquiet me like every time. It's hushed down, displaying no sign of dynamism. Not even the audience is capable of hindering me or catalyzing any embarrassment. Dylan's eyes are radiating with fire straight toward mine, ready to set my whole body ablaze. His naked chest is heaving in fast breaths, and I wonder if everyone can see it; the conjoint ardency that the both of us have maneuvered into the staring battle of ours.

My fingers fiddle with third button, feeling the bridge of my bra brushing my fingertips. Aware of the vigorous hum in my stomach, I can't conjure the memory of me dressing up today. Which bra am I wearing?

“Stop.” The word comes from the person I expect the least. It should make me feel relieved, but surprisingly, it makes me feel perturbed and insecure. My fingers cease immediately, and instead of taking off my clothes, they're itching to hammer his beautiful face into an unrecognizable shape.

“What the fuck, D?” Cheryl shrieks. “You can't just tell her to stop.” She throws her arms out, frustrated.

Instead of answering her, he grabs his Henley from the ground, walking toward me with a hell-bent gaze, which is met by my ferocious one. He stops directly next to me, leaning down to whisper in my ear, “Let's talk in private.” I don't get to come back, before he strolls away toward a stairwell.

That's it. He's not getting away with that.

“Anyone cares to take his place?” I ask, my voice loud enough for him to catch, and I sneak a glance at him over my shoulder. I'm not crestfallen when I see him frozen like a pyramid by the stairs. A couple of guys raise their hands, and I pick one, spying quiet steps walking back to where we're standing. The moment the guy is settled in front of me, I grab the hem of my shirt.

“A game is a game.” With that, I don't let myself overthink it, pulling the shirt over my head, not even bothering with the buttons.

Cheryl claps her hands together–raring. I descry her looking at my bra-clad breasts like her Christmas present. It makes me feel a little uneasy, even though my heart is already walloping so fast and hard against my chest. I feel his eyes looking at me from the side, but I don't accede myself to look back at him, grabbing a ball, before shooting it straight into a cup. The guy opposing me has already lost his shirt, and now he's working on his shoes. Greg shoots next, scoring, and Cheryl zealously takes off her tank top, begetting me to drink the shot.

I creep closer to whisper in her ear. “Don't you dare miss a ball.” I warn, not the least bit joking. I don't want to take off any more clothes.

A glint shines in her impeccably-lined eyes. “Vicious, I like it, but I'm the dominant type.”

I roll my eyes, focusing once more on the game. It feels like everyone is gawking at me, even though no one is actually bestowing me their attention, except for Cheryl, and maybe Dylan. The guy scores another ball, and it goes inside a Shoes Cup, and I kick mine off, while Cheryl downs the drink. The game goes on, and Cheryl and I command the game all the time, until a ball lands inside the inevitable cup, and just before I even cogitate taking off my pants, Dylan's voice cuts in, and I'm taken aback when ascertain that he's close.

“That's it. Your point is made. Can we talk now?” This time he doesn't whisper. He stands in front of me, blocking my view of the table.

“In case you haven't noticed, I'm in the middle of a game.” I nonchalantly ventilate, giving him my most nettling fuck-off smile.

His face doesn't change from its placid state. “Oh yeah?” He solely raises an eyebrow, before he offers me his back, and with one swipe, he sends the cups and the balls flying off the table, inducing a set of gasps from our audience. “Here, the game is over.” He declares, shooting me a pestilent smile in response.

Again, I should be relieved, but both the alcohol and my blemished ego are making me act like a nutcase. “Alright. I'll still fulfill my side of the game.” I grab the waistline of my jeans, undoing the button, but I'm immediately stopped by his hands clutching mine in an ironclad grip.

“Stop.” He strains to pull my hands away, but I keep a robust grip on the waistline. He huffs. “Now you're acting like a slut.”

My eyes widen in shock, and my hands go lax around the waistline of my jeans, but my state of shock doesn't stay for long, before my knee shoots impulsively toward his groin. His hand moves fast, blocking me, but not fast enough to knock off the elbow that Cheryl thwacks in his side.

“Did you just call me a slut?” Cheryl yells in fury.

His teeth grit in pain, but other than that, he doesn't show anything away. “What the fuck, Chi! Have you lost an ear? I didn't!”

“Your words implied that, prick.”

He rolls his eyes, not even bothering to clarify or apologize for his words. He leans in to whisper in my ear once more, his voice hard. “I'm not going to beg you to come with me. Follow me, unless you want to stay here with them all alone.” He walks away, this time not halting.

I survey the crowd, before my eyes fall on Cheryl's face, which is directed toward me, her eyebrows hefted up. No, I don't want to stay with them, and that's why I grab my shirt and follow him up the stairs. I don't even survey the hallway we walk into, following him with purpose​ and aggravation in my eyes. He opens a door, barging in with me shadowing him. The moment we walk in, he forcefully slams the door shut, grabbing me by the elbow straightaway.

“I remember telling you to stick with me. Why do you like defying me so much?” He asks between gnashed teeth, and the amount of anger in his eyes throws me off.

I try to wrench my arm away, but it's no use. “I'm not a fucking puppet. If you're a control freak or something, fetch yourself a fucking slut to satisfy that stupid ego of yours.” I can't help it as my voice rises. “Which reminds me. I'M NOT A FUCKING SLUT.” I yell, my chest raising up and down in rapid, laborious breaths.

His voice doesn't alter a bit; in fact, he depletes it to a dangerous level. “You insisted on taking off your clothes even though I gave you an out.” He shrugs, as if it's the most analytic thing in the universe.

I grit my teeth. “Well, I'm sorry you were forced to see me without my shirt.” I don't know why I find myself blurting that out. If anything, it divulges my insecurities, even though I reckon that I shouldn't have any about my body. I'm in a good shape and I take care of my health very well, but the idea of him being turned off, distresses me so much that I want nothing but to mantle my skin, which drives me to straighten my shirt, ready to wear it.

That sparks his interest, making his eyes gleam in mischief. He tips his head to the side, the side of his mouth tilting up a mere inch. Moving closer, his eyes pore over me from head to toe, which reminds me of my nearly naked top, and instinctively, I cross my arms over my chest, obscuring as much as I can, and his eyes glint even more with a countenance that I can't cognize. He stops directly in front of me, a few inches separating our bodies, and bends a little to cope with my short figure, so our faces are not far apart. “Why, aren't you insecure?” His voice sounds marvelled and disbelieving. He extends his hand, grabbing my shirt and with one tug, causing my hands to uncross and the shirt to move to his possession. He inspects it for a moment, before he hurls it over his shoulder, before ever so leisurely, he sleathily creeps his hand toward my chest, stimulating a sudden flutter in my stomach. He clasps the gore of my bra between his thumb and index finger, tugging slightly, and my breath hitches, my heart skipping a beat. He moves his thumb back and forth across the front of the gore, as if feeling its material under his finger. His searing eyes inspect his fingers all along, before they finally worm upwards to reencounter mine once more, the amount of heat in his eyes capable of igniting me and the whole room on blistering fire. It looks like we're in a feverish staring combat, and neither of us is willing to yield. He opens his mouth, and that gravel tone of his makes my body combust in goosebumps​. “Who would've known that a frisky one like you would feel like that?” He vents out a sardonic laugh, before his face turns suddenly serious, and I feel his grating voice deep in my boneless insides. “You shouldn't, though.” He says, thumbing the gore of my bra leisurely. “No one should be insecure with a body like yours.” He rasps, his eyes poring into mine.

That helps ignite my body on fire, with both ire and desire. “I'm not insecure.” I lie, gritting my teeth, before I withdraw, spying his hand as it falls away.

He should've​ yielded​ and let me be, and maybe then that burn would've died off. But he doesn't. He moves even closer, and just like that, my freewill flies with wind, and I find myself frail like a little lamb, waiting for the wolf to bounce.

He advances closer, and I find myself retreating. That doesn't halt him. Instead, he walks with determination and conceit, and too fast, I find myself pressed back against a massive cupboard, with him towering over me, his eyes deflagrating with dark lust. I open my mouth to croak out in an indecisive voice, “Step back.”

As if he never heard me, he steps even closer, his head bending down toward mine. One of his hands extend to touch my arm, and pokily and entrancingly, he drags the tips of his fingers down my arm, inducing a shiver to fleetly erupt down my spine. He notices, and his luscious lips spread into a teasing, victorious smile. “Do you want me to step back?” He asks, stepping even closer, before he bends down, so our faces are inches apart. “Is that a no?”

My chest contradicts in response, and it feels like my eyes have become glossy from staring at his lecherous eyes alone. My hands move back to flatten against the hard wood, and my throat works as I swallow, having no will to open my mouth and say the rational thing. I part my mouth to say yes, but then one of his hands surprises me when it wraps around my hip, the heat of his hand burning through the denim of my jeans all the way to my tingly skin. He clutches my other hip in his other hand, and in one swift move, he pulls me flat against him, and I let out a stunned gasp when I feel hardness pressed firmly against my antsy stomach.

“Yes or no?”

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My apologies for being late guys. I run an extremely busy life, and I tend to be very forgetful. Guess I need an app to remind me. I've seen some angry comments, and I wanted to apologise. Have a good day x.