Page 163 of Pretty Little Lies

Arching my ass back, Torin hits at a new angle when he begins to thrust, and I can’t help the moan that rumbles from my throat as I push back on him.

“Fuck, Wildfire…” His palm rests on the base of my spine, going deeper and searching for that emission of pleasure that’s going to break him down for me. “You were meant for me. You were so fucking meant for me.”

When I don’t respond, only feeling how perfect he feels inside me, his hand laces into my hair, and he gives it a little yank to pay the hell attention.

“I wanna hear you admit it…once and for all.” I open my mouth to ask him what he needs to hear me say, but he does it for me. “Tell me you’re mine.”

My rationality screamsno.

That we’ve done this before with a leader of a gang. It didn’t end well. He branded me with his name—it’s covered now—but the fear never went away.

Matteo almost made me pursue thoughts of suicide. The level of depression that erupted around me was enough to make me wish for that day to be the last one.

It makes no sense.

How I would still want him after all the horrible things he did to me. That I missed him.

I became so dependent on Matteo that I lost myself somewhere along the way, and there was nothing that was going to fully yank me out of it until I saw Matteo as a whole.

A piece of shit who was always just a wannabe.

“Be my girlfriend, Bay. You can give me your heart later when I’ve earned it.”

I exhale, not realizing that I had held my breath in the first place.

I can do that, right?

“What kind of benefits do I get?” I tease, like the little asshole I am.

Torin squeezes the skin at my ass, then begins kneading it. “Dinner, food, fucks, and me.”

Honestly, sounds good enough to me.

My brain goes to Reeve but, at this point, I know he’d be on board or tell me that he doesn’t approve of where I’d get to that bridge if I had to. If anything, I’d have to worry about Torin being the possessive asshole over my mellowed-out surfer boy.

“You got yourself a deal, Pretty Boy,” I agree.

Torin quickly pulls out of me and flips me onto my back. Settling himself between my thighs, he presses himself inside me again, and fucks me hard, leaning over and placing his palms on either side of my head.

“I like to fuck just like this. Just where I can see the orgasm hit your eyes and you fall apart around me. I like to watch you milk me dry and enjoy it, knowing it’s me who’s making you see oblivion.”

“You like to see a lot of shit,” I jeer. “Damn, boy, just fuck me.”

Torin smiles and kisses me, plowing into me faster and fuller, bringing us both closer to where I want to be again.

We become a combination of harsh exhales and slow inhales. Our mouths fuse into nips and tastes and small bits of control. His wicked fingers arrive between my legs again as he starts to drive me wild with more tingles and moans, more him, more us, more pushing and breaking through this fight of being between two different worlds.

We’re not Romeo and Juliet.

We’re not Bonnie and Clyde.

We’re not Jack and Rose or Tony and Maria from West Side Story.

Torin and I are push and pull, a vortex of implausible feelings and thoughts that want to be together because it feels good.

It feels right.

In another life, it might be easier, but here it’s more legitimate and tangible this way. The trials and tribulations make it a living and substantial creation between us because we’ve already emotionally struggled to get here. Everything else we can handle—together.

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