I can’t ignore the fact that she’s straight-up sexy-as-hell in all that white goodness, and I start to second guess why I’m pussy-footing around this.
I take her in. She’s beautiful like demolition. Just the thought of tasting her lips, draws my knuckles white.
I never hated her. I hated her love. Now . . . I fucking love her hate.
‘Hate and lust are the same intensity of feelings in my books. And you didn’t answer my question. What can I do?’ I pin her with my smouldering gaze.
‘I think you’re a lot more unstable than what they say,’ she says.
‘You know what I think, Amy? I think you finger yourself dreaming about coming over my face, is that right?’
Her little bow lips pop into an O-shape. ‘I don’t want to be a part of your sick games. Nothing will ever happen between us. Not now. Not ever.’
When I get close to Amy, too close — when I smell her, I savour the hit. Take your best orgasm, multiply the feeling by fifty, and you’re still fucking miles off the pace.
I look at the light on her hair, the moon watching us below. I’m close enough to see the pale hairs rise on her ear, the curve of her turning cheek, her freckled clavicle.
I grip her chin between my thumb and forefinger and tug her face closer to mine.
The woods is pin-drop silent. I’ve always preferred silence, it’s easier that way to block out the dark in my head, detach from the world. But the sound of her incomprehensible response to the slightest touch of my body drowns out everything else. The sound of her submission is the only thing I want to hear. I could easily give up my life for it. Spend every waking hour making her come, just so I could hear those sounds for eternity.
‘It's going to happen, Amylocks.’
‘Don't call me that.’
‘Amylocks,’ I whisper, my breath fanning across her mouth. She licks her lips and I groan. She struggles against my grip, but it doesn’t give her satisfactory results. I’m not bruising her. But I’m not letting her go either.
‘Don't.’
‘Don't what?’ I say.
‘Kiss me,’ she says, breathless.
I smirk. Her eyes widen. Cheeks blush. She swallows air. ‘Don't kiss me. Shepherd, I mean it. Don't kiss me.’
I’m looking at her in a predatory way.
The whole universe could cease to exist in the now and I wouldn’t fucking notice — her fuckable lips got all my attention.
‘I’m unstable, remember?’
‘I hate you,’ she grits out.
‘Yeah? Well, your wet pussy loves me,’ I rasp huskily.
Like a spider on a fly, I grab her wrist and jerk it down to her side. Then she’s trapped. No games. No subterfuge. I go straight for the jugular.
It’s so easy.
Here’s my mouth on hers. One touch to unlock her and now I’m kissing her.
I wrap my large hands around her tight tiny body. The same hands that are only used for violence, destruction. It’s been a long time, way too long, since they’ve wrapped around something soft, something meaningful, something good and sweet.
I groan against her lips, slide my tongue inside. Her mouth tastes like lemon drops, and it explodes over my tongue. With just a small taste, I know it’ll take a hundred days of fucking her before I get enough.
It’s so easy.
My hand presses strongly into the small of her back. If her legs give way, I’ve got her. I swirl my tongue a little firmer around hers, until she pulls away just a little.
It’s so damn easy.
A groan and a word and I’m walking her up against the large bark of a willow tree. I bring my hands to rest on either side of her head, caging her. I’m not just breathing hard. I’m panting against her neck.
I push my hand up her dress with my eyes half-closed and unseeing. I move against her. Amy’s up against the tree, my lips are on her neck, I’m opening buttons, calling her ‘Baby, ah baby’, with my voice hard and low.
Kissing Amy is the only truth in my whole fake fucking life.
It’s so fucking easy.
Lustiny dragged us here in this single, electric moment.
The second I got back to town, last week, Amy’s been like a broken musical box. A princess trapped in a casket.
One, two, three, four, five . . . the lyrics to the hell inside her OCD head.
Not alive, not dead. In chains.
But she’s the girl on fire when I kiss her. Just needs a little winding, a little fixing. Just one touch, and she’s playing my tune.
I know it’s wrong, so fucking wrong, but I’m a tidal wave. Have been since I got back and took one glance at her pretty little features. Five fucking years I’ve waited to do this. The chemistry between us is off the charts, always has been, and I can’t control these urges any longer.
I spring my belt buckle open with my hand.
The smell of her isn’t lemons or sunshine. It isn’t anything, not even skin.
How she smells is wet.
Her seahorse pendant dangles between her sweet petite tits, and I push her against the tree bark. I don’t bother to take off her dress.
I roll protection on, fast, then I take her there. Against the tree. Tear at that dress constricting her. Clutching, clawing, my mouth on hers, ravaging. Trying to consume all of her. The haunting ghosts in her eyes. The flesh of her throat and breasts, her her her. Devour her. To take her into me and keep her there.
I bring her back from the half-life
