Dry Monsoon

“Do you know what people call you?” “What?” “Douchebag.” He gave me his devilish smile that always makes my toes curl. Wearing a black suit like armour, he was like a giant castle surrounded by a fortress of iron. I took a step closer, wrapped my hand around his glossy tie, and yanked it down towards me. His lips curled and he lowered his eyes, his dark gaze was piercing my soul. He grabbed my chin and hovered above me. Removing the remaining inches between us, he pushed his hot tongue into my open lips. Hidden beneath that ice-cold expression of his was a beast raging with desire. I realised that arousing him was a mistake. “This is the first time I’ve felt aroused from being called a douchebag.”