Page 74 of Kiss Me Like I Didn't Kill You
And then she parts those plush lips and ruins me.
“Good boy,” she exhales, so softly I almost think I imagined it.
“Fuck,” I hiss under my breath.
I’mnotinto this.
Idon’tgive up control.
But watching Ophelia take it, just this once, does something to me.
Next time, though, it’s mine again.
Next time, she’ll be beneath me, gasping my name, coming only whenIallow it.
Chapter 25
Ophelia
I can’t believe Arlo is here.
Not just in Switzerland, but in Adelaide’s chalet, buried deep in the Alps, surrounded by wind, snow, and far too much unresolved tension for one mountain to hold.
The man despises me. He’s made that perfectly clear. And yet here he is, again, showing up where he shouldn’t, doing things that make no sense.
He keeps following me, watching me, finding excuses to be near.
After what happened in my bedroom earlier, his mouth between my thighs, his tongue drawing sounds from me I didn’t know I could make, I’d escaped to the bathroom.
I closed the door on the pretext of needing a shower, in truth I was hiding.
I need air. I need a moment to pull myself together.
Whatever he is waking in me is not rational, I want to strangle him as much as I want to climb him, and the contradiction leaves me exhausted.
I crave his touch, and yet he keeps wounding me with his words and his hatred, and I feel like the greatest failure for letting him have me again.
I have more self-respect than that, I know it.
I have worked so hard to learn to love myself as I am, to recognise my worth. And yet with him I forget, for reasons I cannot name, and I let him dismantle everything I have built.
That should be the final alarm bell, he should never place me in this position.
He is not right for me, of that I am certain.
So why does my heart constrict at the thought of cutting him out and never seeing him again?
I am, frankly, exhausted. And still he is here, presumably he will stay for as long as I remain.
It is obvious to me how he struggles, always at battle, trying so desperately to hate me until the pull wins.
I see how, when he loses himself in me, he ruins it with his words and his rancour.
When I finally summon the nerve and step out, he is still in my room, lounged on the bed, idly scrolling.
He looks up as I enter, a smirk at his mouth.
“Done hiding?” he asks.
