Page 129 of Dare To Break

What the fuck was that?

I don’t move from where she’s left me, staring after her figure as she dashes through the cemetery. The dress she’s wearing gives her the appearance of a restless spirit haunting the cemetery, and a chill slithers down my spine.

Don’t be a fucking idiot. She’s not a ghost.

I consider taking off after her, to demand answers. Why the fuck did she kiss me?

You kissed her, idiot.

But she didn’t stop me. She was a willing participant. I can still feel the warmth of her arms around my neck, the way her fingers had threaded into my hair, the way her body had melted against mine.

I groan, spinning to face away from where she’d run. I can still taste the flavor of her lipstick on my tongue. I wipe the back of my hand across my mouth.

What the fuck was that!

One hand lifts to rub over my jaw, then my cheek, and I wince. It still stings from the slaps she nailed me with. The thought of them drags a smile out of me. Her eyes had been on fire, burning me up with her anger, and I liked it. It called to me, drew me in, invited me to dive in and burn. And for a moment I’d forgotten where we were, forgotten who we were and I turned into the person she knew from the texts, from the dares.

Fuck. Had she recognized me?

No, I dismiss that immediately. She wouldn’t have fled. She’d have stayed to fight some more.

Something warm unfurls in my stomach. I want to fight with her again. I’m halfway back to school before I realize my intention is to search her out, and I stop, staring up at the dorm building. The light is on in her bedroom, and I’m tempted, so fucking tempted to go up there.

To kiss her again.

Instead, I stop on my floor and go to the room I share with Kellan. He’s not there, which is no surprise. He lives for parties, loves them, and he’s desperate to wipe out the memory of last year, so I don’t expect him to come back anytime soon, and when he does, he’ll be drunk.

I strip out of my clothes, shower, and crawl into bed. I’m so fucking tired, but I can’t stop replaying the kiss I shared with Arabella over and over in my mind. I twist and pull open the drawer on my nightstand so I can take out the burner cell. Switching it on, I stare at the unread messages I’ve sent. I’m tempted to send another, and ask her to meet up so I can …

So, I can what? Finish what we started?

Groaning, I toss it to the floor and my hand slips beneath the sheets to wrap around my dick, the way I wanted to wrap it around her throat. I want to squeeze it until her breath hitches. I want her lips to part so I can delve deep inside. I want to hear her moan, and beg, and plead.

My hand moves up and down, from base to tip, squeezes and pumps until my hips are arching up and I throw my head back. I want my hand to be her mouth, sucking me down, swallowing me whole, while she’s on her knees.

Fuck.

Lights flare behind my eyes, and wetness coats my hand and stomach. I need to get laid. That’s all it is. I haven’t had sex in months and it’s messing with me.

It’s not her I want. Not her who heats my blood.

Why are you lying to yourself?

I fall asleep to the memory of her naked on top of Churchill’s coffin, my face between her legs and her moans in my ears.

***

“Close the blinds.” I throw a hand over my eyes and growl the demand.

“Does someone have a hangover?”

My mattress bounces and the smell of coffee reaches my nose. I peer out from beneath my arm. Kellan is sitting at the end of my bed, two mugs of coffee in his grip.

“Give me that.” I reach out for one and he hands it to me.

“You’re welcome.”

I grunt a reply, push up into a seated position and swallow a huge mouthful, ignoring the burn as it goes down.

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