Page 161 of The Kiss Of Death
Would he be as rough as our first time? Would he take me from behind, my hands clutching the sink for support? Would he kick my legs with his feet like he did last time while my breasts grazed the cold stone? My stomach clenched. Would he clasped his hands on my waist with a bruising grip while pounding inside me until I’d feel him in my belly? Would he fist my hair, craning my neck up so I’d watch him drive inside me through the mirror? Would he slap my butt cheeks? Would he bend me over so that my hands would graze the floor, and I would stand onmy tiptoes while he would lift me up to him, thrusting inside me until oblivion?
I sank to my knees, curling my body inward, my fingers stroking my clit harder. I was so close, gasping for breath and feverish.
“Levi,” I moaned, rolling my hips as I felt my orgasm nearing, the climax of the music reaching its peak.
Or would he worship me like he did before? Would he choke me with a kiss with one of his hands on my nape? Would he make me sit on the counter while he kneeled in front of me and ate me with this tongue, and—
“Oh my—” I came in a burst.
I lay on the tiles for a moment.What did I just do?I bit my lips—it was the first time I’d succeeded in making myself come. I didn’t feel ashamed but liberated.But the consequences, Dalia…I’d deliberately provoked Levi, giving him the green flag for pursuing me more than just stalking me. This was the admission that he was still getting inside my flesh and bones. The sign he was waiting for.
And just when I thought that maybe he hadn’t even watched me, a pop-up message like green lines of codes appeared on the black screen:
“When you moaned my name… Good night, little thief.”
“So you do have a heart, but it’s solely beating for Dalia,” Sylas said as the first Guardians cross-country team had just crossed the finish line near the lake.
“I didn’t threaten you,” I pointed out, the cacophony of cheering voices grating on my nerves. “I could, but I didn’t. Just like I want to punch you, but I don’t. I’m making an effort here.”
“Is it true you’re sending her ribbons each day?”
I cocked my head to the side and flashed my teeth. “As much as it’s true that you’re fucking my best friend, so I’d say we’re even.” Forty-eight ribbons, painstakingly chosen to match the exact shade of her eyes. Music titles that reminded me of her, carefully selected—and returned, torn to shreds, by her door. Which was a good sign—it meant she was probably still pissed. And the birthday cake I made Miguel bake because cooking wasn’t one of my main talents? Well, that was a disaster. She threw it out her window; half the pigeons and crows on campus had a sugar overdose, thanks to her.
As for now, Sylas, her self-appointed guardian angel, was really starting to get on my nerves.
“Help the asshole out, for god’s sake! He keeps bragging about her, and it’s ruining all of our boys’ nights,” Kay chimed in, attempting to lure his boyfriend back with a coy smirk and a clingy grip on his arm. “I want my friend back. Please, Sylas.”
I still didn’t understand what he saw in him. Sylas was as dull as a doorknob, while Kay was the epitome of a diva.
“Why are you doing this?” Sylas puffed up like a peacock, his eyes flitting back and forth across the finish line, a smug smile plastered on his face.
I cast a quick glance over my shoulder. Dalia was charging toward the finish line, her Unifier green shirt billowing around her, obscuring her shorts. Her cheeks were flushed, her hair a wild mess framing her determination.
The sight of her gasping for breath got my dick pulsing in my trousers. Checking the scoreboard, I noted her team had clinched second place. As Dalia collapsed upon crossing the line, her relay teammate, Yasmine, rushed to her side. It seemed all her training and our little morning chases had paid off.
“Dalia has never celebrated her birthday before,” I finally answered Sylas, tearing my gaze away from her to fix on him. “She’d want this.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” he muttered begrudgingly. “I’ll do it for her, not for you.”
“Great.”
I brushed past him and loomed away from the crowd. I strode toward Cillian, who was reclining against a tree alone. He was immersed in yet another one of his interminable books—this one about Bobby Fischer.
“Desperation suits you,” he quipped, his usual stoic demeanor cracking for a moment.
I snatched the book from his grasp, sending it tumbling to the grass. His chuckle followed me as I strode back inside, knowing that all that was left now was to wait.
About an hour later, my delicate butterfly fluttered into our rendezvous spot by the lake, clad in butterfly boots and an oversized white sweater. Two matching ribbons of mine adorned her hair. She fired her eyes at me, halting in her tracks.
“Sylas is a terrible liar. You can’t manipulate my friends into doing your dirty work.”
“I’ll win them over eventually,” I retorted, though dealing with Sylas would always be a pain. “But today is about you.”
It was her birthday, after all. That was why I had to break our little routine. I could sense she was opening up to me more and more every day. It was time to act.
“What’s this thing?” She frowned, pointing at the piñata of a man hanging from the tree. “Is that supposed to be you?”
“The less handsome version of me, yes.” I handed her the bat I had concealed behind my back. “I thought you’d like the opportunity to destroy me and kick me in the nuts.”
