Page 112 of Bewitch

My confusion.

My rage.

My relief.

My desire.

And so much more.

I’m still grappling with the idea of who exactly Lucas is and who he has been to me.

I’m raging at myself, not him, not anymore. His bitterness toward me when he recognized me and then realized I had no clue who he was… His anger and being hurt is justified. His calling me Fattie still isn’t, but we both took things too far.

All because offeelings.

The relief is because I’m here, and I feel relief anew when he gives in and sighs against me, finally kissing me back as his strong arms wrap around me, drawing me close to him.

And desire… that’s pretty self-explanatory, and I can feel his desire press against me.

“Are we doing this?” He breaks the kiss long enough to ask this but is already reaching behind him to lock the door.

“I’m not going anywhere this time,” I promise.

“I don’t know if I can believe a word you say.”

“Then I’ll stop talking,” I whisper.

I reach out and start to slowly remove his shirt, but he almost shoves my hands away and rips off his shirt. I mean literally rips it. My jaw drops, and I must’ve involuntarily backed up because he stalks toward me and yanks off my clothes, and I shive with anticipation.

He’s radiating power and strength and a darkness that I know all too well. This isn’t going to be sweet love. No, this is going to be angry sex.

And I am so here for that because I’m angry too.

Angry he didn’t tell me from the start.

Angry that he would mock someone for their weight after being heavy himself at one point.

Angry that I didn’t recognize him, but how could I have? We barely talked in that closet.

Angry that I never spoke up to him about how angry he had made me.

Angry that I tried to play a dangerous game and was the one to get hurt the most in the end.

He yanks off my bottoms, and I reach for his jeans. Lucas presses his lips to me so forcefully that I have to back up, but he keeps on coming, guiding me backward, not letting me have the chance to undo his pants. I grab onto his jeans, and he grabs onto my ass. I’m not even sure what compels me, but I jump up, and he grabs me. My legs wrap around his like when we did that one couple move in the gym, and holy hell, I really don’t know how it was that we didn’t get kicked out because I’m resting right against his hard cock this time, hanging a bit lower on him, and it’s all I can do not to squirm against him.

Why hold back?

I don’t, squirming away, pushing against him, not caring that his jeans are a bit abrasive against my bare skin down there.

Lucas easily carries me into his bedroom, and he deposits me onto the bed. I’m sure he wants me to lean back, to lie down, but I don’t. I have to brush his hands aside several times before I’m able to undo his jeans. I don’t shove them all the way down, just enough to free his erection.

He roughly forces me down, his hand resting against my throat, as if he wants to claim me, possess me. As if I’m his and don’t have a choice in the matter.

And for this moment, I am his. He can have his way with me and toss me aside after for all I care, so long as I can have him in this moment.

Because he’s going to be mine in return.

I reach up and hold his face in my hands, but I don’t draw him down for a kiss. No, I pull him down only so that I can wrap my legs around him again and then draw my nails down his back. He hisses, and maybe I’m scratching him too hard, too deeply, but I want that. I want to leave a mark on him.

---