Read Online Bittersweet by Sareeta Domingo - Free Book Online

fingertips slipped just under the fabric of my shirt when I stumbled off my stool, the way his eyes conveyed heat that I can still feel on my skin, the way I can still remember the feel of his breath in my ear… I close my eyes for a second, knowing I must still be a little drunk.
    “Where to in Dogwood?” the cab driver asks over his shoulder as he pulls off.
    “Uh, the Fairview Hotel, and…”
    Greg turns and looks at me expectantly. Oh. “And, um, Clyde Avenue.” I bite the inside of my cheek, embarrassed for thinking that there might only be one stop. Jesus, I only just met this guy anyway, why would we…
    I think it’s going to be Option One, super mad with Max when I get home.
    Greg and I both stare forward in silence as the minutes tick by, with the driver’s low talk radio the only noise inside the cab. I clutch my purse in my lap, fighting the urge to text Max and start berating her now, but then we take a sharp right as the driver turns onto the highway, and I slide across the vinyl seat right into Greg before I can stop my progress.
    “Shit, sorry. Guess I should buckle up,” I mutter, but he turns and looks down at me as my body presses up against his. He opens his mouth as if he’s about to say something, then changes his mind. I start to move back to my side of the cab, but he uncurls the fist he has clenched on his thigh and reaches over to brush a finger up the exposed skin of my leg. I watch his finger trail up from my knee to the hem of my skirt, which has ridden up my thighs a little, but this time I don’t seem to feel the urge to pull it down. Goosebumps break out where he touches me, and my lips part as he moves his hand away again.
    “Don’t be sorry,” he says in a low voice. “But if you don’t strap in, it could be dangerous.”
    I think we’re talking in metaphors again. I can feel my breath getting faster, and I risk a look at his eyes. They’re still trained on me; I sense them more than see them now in the darkness of the cab on the highway. But then he turns away, concentrating on the back of the seat in front of him again. I can see his chest rising and falling, like he’s trying to calm down. Why’s he fighting this? I feel my pulse strengthen. I’m not sure if I can handle mixed messages.
    I shuffle back over and pull at the seat belt—but suddenly Greg is pressing in next to me, his fingers clasping over mine on the buckle. I let go and he pulls, then clicks the belt into place next to my hip. He leans closer, and the smell of him surrounds me. He reaches up with one hand and pushes his fingers into my hair, smoothing it away from my face, staring into my eyes. I see his Adam’s apple bob up and down as he swallows. My lips part once more involuntarily, but he doesn’t kiss them. Instead I feel his mouth brush against my temple, then down just next to my ear, his breath fast and loud and shallow, and I shiver a little, turning my body to face him more, the seat belt restricting my movements. He pushes his forehead against mine, and I reach my mouth up, trying to press my lips to his, but his other hand comes up so that he’s cupping both my cheeks in his palms and holding me away.
    His eyes close, and then slowly—painfully, torturously slowly—I feel his mouth edge closer, his hands tilting my head, his body pressing into mine at a slight angle … and then he’s kissing me. Lightly at first, his lips working over mine, top then bottom, like he’s tracing their shape. Then harder, pressing his mouth to mine, his tongue brushing the sensitive spot in the center of my bottom lip, then past it, moving deeper. I make a sort of whimpering noise in my throat, and his breath rushes out of his nose urgently—his lips moving faster, he lets his hands drop down so my own can slip up around his neck. His fingers edge inside my leather jacket, tracing my ribcage through the thin fabric of my T-shirt. My own hands are in his hair now, fingertips tickling the back of his