Be My Bad Boy

He moved in so that the length of his body was against mine. His chest pressed against my breasts, feeling my hard nipples, his legs wrapped around mine, his cock rubbing against me.
Every part of me yearned for him to kiss me and my struggling now became a writhing to get closer to him, to press him against me and feel his hardness.
Then he kissed me.

He kissed me like I was his for the taking. Not the slow, teasing kiss of that first time but sure and rough and demanding. His mouth crushed into mine, his tongue ramming inside me. Flesh on hot flesh. My leg rising up to circle his waist.
While he had my arms pinned against the wall, my hips thrust against him, grinding into him. His mouth moved from my lips to my neck, sucking and biting. I squirmed tighter against him.
This was a bad, bad thing but I didn't want to stop. The adrenalin from running coursed through my body, heightened by his kiss. This was bad, bad, bad. The refrain kept going through my mind but somehow, the thought of the badness just made me hotter.
He let go of my wrists and moved away from me but I grabbed his hips, that hollow I’d noticed earlier, and pulled him closer.

At that moment, I wanted him and to hell with the consequences. I wanted him to take me, right there against the wall in that dark alley. I rubbed myself against him, against his hard cock, my fingers entangled in his hair, his fingers stroking my breasts. Heat emulated from our bodies, all sweaty from the run and getting sweatier. His skin tasted salty under my tongue.
I moaned as his fingers worked their way down, to feel the wet cotton of my panties between my legs. I moved against his fingers as they inched their way inside the elastic. I needed to have him, his fingers, his cock, anything.

And then…
"Look, pashers!" I heard a voice call out. Then some kids giggled.
Andy pulled away from me and swung toward them but they'd run off, their foot-thuds and laughter echoing down the alleyway.
I straightened my skirt and ran my fingers through my hair. I know they were just a couple of kids but it struck me how I must have looked to them. I’m not one of those girls who spread her legs as soon as some guy acts nice towards her and I’d seen for myself how Andy treated women. How he could be so nice to their face then talk mean about them behind their back. I’d seen how he changed from his hurt, vulnerable little boy act, to nasty and snarling.
If I let him near me, he’d be like a wrecking ball, destroying everything in his wake.
Hannah, I told myself, you have to be stronger than anyone.
But I couldn’t meet his eyes and as we walked back to the car, I still ached for his touch.
Well, not so much walked as hobbled. My feet had been torn to shreds on the run. I'd been too pumped to notice but now every step made me wince.
"Lean on me," He said.
I shook my head.
"Don't be stupid, you can't walk."
He put his arm around me and supported my weight. I tried not to limp but, with each step, the pain got worse.
"You should take your shoes off," he said.
"You're kidding. Who knows what's on the ground? Broken glass. Syringes."
"True," he said then swept me into his arms.
I wanted to protest and make him put me down but it was the only way to get home. I kept my body stiff and resisted the urge to sink into him and lean my head against his chest. I held my breath so his scent didn’t disarm me.
"You're a lot heavier than you look," he said.
"I can walk." I struggled to get out of his arms but he gripped me tighter.
"It's okay, I skipped my workout today."
Then we got back to the main street and he put me down for a rest.
"I can walk home from here," I said. My place was only a block away.
He hesitated and looked at me as if he wanted to say something but held back. Was he expecting me to invite him back?
The silence between us stretched out uncomfortably but I couldn’t say those words. The gates had come down, the steel wall erected. And, even if I wanted to invite him home, the thought of my crummy flat stopped me. He'd thought it looked bad from the outside, what would he think if could see the inside? It was one thing for him to believe I was a rich princess who was playing at this but if he knew the truth, if my image of being that perfect princess shattered, what would happen then?

Notes

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