Page 52 of Burn

Jesus. There’s so much to unpack here.

I shake my head, toothbrush still hanging from my mouth. When he releases me, I take the opportunity to spit out the mouthful of toothpaste, rinse the sink, and place the pinktoothbrush back next to his blue one. I wipe my mouth dry, turn, and start to push past him while I say, “No, it’s fine. It’s pretty.” The bathroom feels too small, like he’s sucking up all the air, but he’s an unmovable wall. His frame fills the doorway, and my idea to casually walk out of the bathroom was ludicrous. Without looking at him, I try to keep my tone casual, despite the growing anxiety I’m feeling from being in this confined space, blocked by him. “Excuse me.”

When he remains in place, his body locked tight, I close my eyes and focus on my breathing. I’m not sure if the pounding I hear is his heart or my own, but his touch is unexpectedly gentle when he tilts my chin up and says, “Look at me.” I refuse, keeping my eyes sealed tight. When he speaks again, his tone is commanding and unrelenting: “Eyes on me, Lex.”

“You know,” I start, my tone caustic as my eyes fly open, “You can’t just command me to do whatever the fuck you want, Adrian.” My breathing shifts with my adrenaline. I’m pushing buttons, and somehow doubt it’ll go the way I want.

As. Fucking. Usual.

His eyes narrow, and a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, but he steps out of the bathroom, giving me room to escape. I hesitate, and his smile grows, which raises my anger.

“What?” the volume is probably a little higher than it needs to be, but I’m pissed. “What’s so fucking funny, Adrian?”

He lifts his hands, as if submitting, but that look is still there, and it clearly communicates he’s not backing down. I slowly step out of the bathroom, keeping my eyes trained on him until I’m far enough into the kitchen that I need to turn to walk into the bedroom. My heart jackhammers in my chest, and I force myself to take slow, confident steps into the bedroom.

You know, for someone who weighs, what did he say, two-hundred-forty pounds? The fucking guy moves like a ninja,because I don’t hear him come up behind me. I’m just starting to feel like I made a clean getaway when his strong, less gentle hand grabs my arm, spins me around, and pushes me down onto the bed.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Adrian!” I gasp.

I can feel his heart slamming in his chest. In one swift motion, he has both of my wrists, and they’re pinned over my head. I squirm against him, but it’s useless. My one-hundred-thirty pounds has nothing on his two-hundred-whatever pounds. He trails his nose up the side of my neck, inhaling me deeply. A full-body chill runs through me, and heat explodes through my center.

Son of a bitch.

This is not a normal response.

I clench my jaw tight. When his dark, almost black eyes land on mine, I accept that I’m in trouble. Short-term trouble. Long-term trouble. Just, in general, so much fucking trouble. Fear coils inside of me. I’ve avoided being in this position since — I can’t even bring myself to say his name, to think of that day. Adrian is not likehim.

“Lex,” his deep voice purrs. I huff out a breath, and he smiles again, this time, wider. “I think I can.”

What?

My brows furrow, and I search his eyes, finally gritting out, “You think you can what?”

He leans down, pressing his full lips into mine so fucking softly that I melt, like an ice cream cone on a hot summer day. A fucking puddle of cream underneath him. My body relaxes, I stop fighting to pull my hands free, and I melt into him. He trails a kiss across my jaw, sucks my earlobe into his mouth and bites it gently, then whispers, “I think I can command you todo whatever the fuck I want, and you’ll obey and thank me when we’re done.”

My mouth goes dry, like I’ve been wandering the hot desert for days without water and if this man doesn’t kiss me right fucking now, I might die of dehydration. I skim my tongue across my lips, but it does nothing to quench my thirst for him. His eyes drop to my mouth, watching intently. When he returns his gaze to my eyes, his tone implies he knows all too well what’s happening inside of me, “You look hungry, Lex. Bet I can give you what you need.”

He’s so smug. So fucking cocky. It’s eating me alive that he is precisely what I need, so instead of telling him that, I say, “Fuck you, Adrian.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” He grinds into me as his words taunt me. “You’d love if I’d strip you down and fuck you hard, wouldn’t you?”

Please, yes.

“No.” I’m grinding into him as I lie.

This is absurd.

“No?” he asks, but I know it’s rhetorical. He knows exactly what I want based on the way my nipples have peaked and the heat coming off my body. “No. Okay, then.” With that, he releases me, stands, and walks out of the bedroom, closing the door behind him.

This might be worse than the night he used that little toy to wind me up again and again.

This is fucking torture.

Better

Adrian

16 Years Old

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