Page 3 of Sick Like Me

The third eldest daughter to the Stones.

The third eldest son to the Carnells.

Neither one of us particularly important.

Enemies and so much more than that.

There are lies and betrayal and backstabbing that runs far deeper than either her or I could even dream.

But this, the wetness seeping through her leggings, sinking into the flimsy cotton of my baggy top, her tongue twisting around mine as our mouths inevitably connect once again, this is not something that’s supposed to happen.

Her teeth nip the tip of my tongue sending a jolt of need straight down into the pit of my stomach. Heat flares across my eyelids as I clench my eyes shut.

“No,” she finally whispers against my tongue, the tinge of copper in the back of my throat. I’m a runaway train off of its track heading straight for the edge of a cliff, “No, Cal,” she whines lowly. “Don’t stop.”

And I don’t.

One of my hands snakes up her spine beneath the heavy fabric of her sweatshirt, stepping back from the tree. My fingers twist in the band of her bra, drawing it away from the bumps of her spine just enough to let it snap back against her as I let it go, forcing her to flinch closer, pressing her breasts up into my face.

“Get this off,” I grunt, biting at the heavy material before she releases her claws from my scalp and lifts the bundle of white fabric over her head.

I bury my face in the crevice between her tits, lapping the flat of my tongue up the centre of her chest. Swirling the tip over the length of long silver chain hanging around her neck, and then slam her back against the tree.

Air huffs out of her nose at the impact, our mouths coming together once more before one of her hands is back, fisting in my hair and yanking violently on the sweaty, dark strands, tearing my head back.

Adam’s apple bobbing in my throat with a dry swallow, my lips parted, I stare up into her eyes, sapphire blue carved with shadow, her cheekbones high and cupid’s bow stained red.

“You’re going to die tonight, Caelus,” she whispers, thumbing across my plump bottom lip, before sucking the tip into her own mouth with an open eyed stare.

She’s the definition of strange. Unusual in the way she speaks, her stares, the silence, her lonesome persona. She drifts like a spirit, floating through the academy halls, keeping to herself, attending no more than two classes a week, but she still has one of the most fearsome reputations Blackgrave Academy has ever seen.

It’s part of the attraction I feel. Pulled into her orbit, only to be spun around and knocked eight feet to the left of her. Leaving me with dizziness and a brain fog with the ever present question of how the fuck does she draw me in?

We’re enemies.

I hate her.

She hates me.

And yet, as her bare back scrapes up the rough bark of the tree, my mouth suctioning over her collarbone, teeth driving into the bone, marking her with the intent to scar, I forget all of that.

I forget the why.

I forget who I am.

Ozzie’s legs tight around my waist, her back to the tree, pinned there by my weight, allows me to release my grip on her arse to fist the elastic material at her crotch and rip.

‘You’re going to die tonight, Caelus.’

“But not before I fuck you, you filthy little nightmare.”

Chapter 2

Ostara

Caelus’ fingers suddenly drive into the sloppy state of my cunt like he’s trying to fight his way inside of me, fist my soul and tear it out between my legs. My leggings are torn, gaping at the centre seams, allowing the cool air to rush across my oversensitive flesh.

The flinch can’t be controlled, nor can the blush that flits to my cheeks, or the wanton cry that chokes its way up my throat like the jagged claws of a demon trying to escape my oesophagus. Stars shoot across my vision beneath the tight clench of my eyelids as my head thuds back against the large tree trunk.

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