Page 8 of Devious Vows

I’m too stunned to respond, my lips parting. I feel the swipe of his thumb against my cheek, his dark honey gaze dropping to the gloss on my mouth. “Have you ever been kissed, Beverly?”

Blinking, I stare up at him, confusion at the abrupt change in topics making me frown. “Excuse me?”

He swallows, eyes lifting from my lips to meet my gaze. “The answer better be no.”

The silent challenge in his words makes my blood boil. “Or what?” His brow rises, his body reacting to the anger burning along my skin at his question. “What if Ihavebeen kissed?”

He drops lower, his nose just brushing mine, the soft vanilla on his skin so close I can almost taste it with each breath I suck into my lungs. “I’ll find whoever touched what is mine and I’ll kill them.”

Mine.

My ears ring with the word, old wounds and irritation bubbling up to the surface, “You have no right—”

My sentence is cut off as Remy’s warm lips press to mine, hard and sure. His fingers are pinching around my jaw, my cheeks squeezed almost awkwardly in his hand as his lips encourage mine to move. I'm not sure if it's the vanilla coming off his warm skin that is messing with my senses or if he actually tastes like burnt sugar, but it tricks me into pressing into his mouth for the smallest of moments, my fingers grabbing onto the cotton of his shirt as he swipes his tongue along the seam of my lips.

The boom of Mama Spinoza talking over a microphone pushes me back into reality and my eyes shoot open, my hands shoving against the chest they were just clutching onto. Remy just smirks down at me, stupid dimples mocking me and my flushed cheeks.

How fucking dare he.

My arm winds back before he notices, my fist smashing right into the same mouth he just gave me my first kiss with, splitting it with the single hit. I bite back a smile of satisfaction as he grunts, shaking my hand at my side and pretending it doesn’t feel like I’ve just broken every single one of my fingers.

Inked digits rise to his lips, pressing against the cut my knuckles caused. “You punched me.”

He should be mad, but he doesn’t sound anything close to it. Instead, he’s smiling at me, tongue snaking out to swipe away the blood.

It’s confusing and does nothing but irritate me more.

“My first kiss wasnotyours to take,” I finally say, my voice carrying a slight tremble I hate myself for.

He nods, but it’s not out of understanding. It’s mocking. He reaches out and lightly grasps my hand, his brow rising at the hiss that leaves my lips as he looks at the already bruising skin. “To be clear,” he pauses, his eyes flicking up to mine, “everythingof yours is mine.” I suck in between my teeth when he shifts my hand in his, the movement effective in cutting off any retort I had. “I want you to start going to the gym every week from now on. I know someone who will help you improve your form.”

I blink, my eyes locked on our joined hands. “Who? Why?”

“One of the best freestyle boxers in the area.” He bends, eyes on mine as he presses a soft, warm kiss to my palm before letting it drop to my side and stepping back from me. I’m so confused by the gesture and his explanation that I don’t question it, eyes following him as he starts to walk away.

“But why do I need to see them?” I call out, just before he disappears.

He looks over his shoulder but doesn’t stop. “Because he’ll make sure no one ever touches you unless you want them to again.” He looks away but keeps speaking, “Including me.”

REMY

My tongue swipes over the sting of my busted lip, the metallic tang of blood making me smile as I leave the garden.

Who knew the bookworm had such an arm on her?

Spotting Donatello, I make my way to him, drawing his attention away from the gaggle of girls around him. One of my best friends, anyone who didn’t know us would probably think we were brothers; he’s basically the darker, smilier version of me. Personality-wise, we are complete opposites. Donatello is nothing but crooked grins, terrible dad jokes, and flirting.

“Oof, hate to see what the other guy looks like,” Donatello jokes after detaching himself from a blonde girl that was clutching onto him to meet me.

Andrea joins us, his arms crossing over his chest as he takes in my bloodied lip the same way Donatello had, waiting for me to comment before saying anything.

“Girl, actually. And she is—” My eyes scan the crowd, finding Beverly walking from the entrance of the garden, her dark curls a mess on her head.Impeccable. Flawless, I want to say, but don’t. Instead I mumble out, “Trouble.”

Donatello follows my gaze, a snort of amusement drawing my attention back to him. “You know, I always liked that girl.” My eyes narrow and he raises his hands placatingly, “Not like that, obviously.”

Ignoring Andrea’s amused grunt, I ask Donatello, “You still working out with Cal at the gym on Garland?”

Easily distracted, he winks at someone that walks by and Andrea smacks his arm with a shake of his head. “Yeah, I’m there twice a week. Why?”

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