She’s waiting for me outside my room. A halo of light from the window makes her glow.
Devil and the Angel.
‘Look behind you, Amy.’
She doesn’t look behind. Doesn’t turn her head. Doesn’t change the expression on her face. But then she places her hand on my forearm, just for a moment. Strange. She never touches me first.
‘You come here because you want to or because I told you to?’
‘You told me to come.’
I like the game she’s playing. But not as much as I want to play another one. She drops her hand and steps around me with her eyes down. That’s infuriating and alluring. I chuck her under the chin, pull her gaze up to meet mine.
She’s pale, cool to the touch, with her sunshine hair pulled back neatly. All cold except for those wide eyes full of my reflection.
Her eyes unshielded, I can see she carries that piece of my soul where anyone could see it.
‘Thought you weren't afraid of me, Amy.’
‘Hope is scary. Like having something you could take away from me. I’ve been hurt before, Shepherd. You broke my heart.’
There’re no words I can say to make it better, but I know I should fucking say something.
I never hated you. I’m fucking sorry.
Maybe even somewhere in there, something about how we are totally fucked in whatever this relationship is whether love or something damn like it, but right now I’ve got shit. I can only impress one way to Amy how I feel and that I can never hate her.
You’re etched into my heart with a razor blade, Amy. Every beat hurts likes a thousand cuts.
‘Don’t you get it, Amy?’ I growl.
She's gone to that dreamy place I hate, where she isn’t mine, where I can’t get to her. A tiny glass figure trapped inside a snow globe. My excitement, my pleasure at the smell of her, spikes hard to anger.
‘Get what?’
I don't know why, but that's another of her powers. The way she talks to me like she doesn't know me. Some dark stranger instead of her dark stranger.
I take control over my frustrations — that this girl is still fucking clueless about the way I feel — and take her inside. Take her to my bedroom.
In a dark whisper I say, ‘You’re all wrapped up like a present for me.’
With her free hand, she starts unbuttoning her dress. It makes me hesitate, curiosity overtaking greed for just a moment. She fumbles her way down the buttons with trembling hands, pulls the dress off and tosses it away. As quickly, she pulls off the camisole she wears under it. Her bare tits end that moment of hesitation.
When she bends over to take off her shoes, I grab her by the hips, hoist her up, and in three steps toss her down on the bed.
I never sleep here, sleep on the sofa. The bed is for her, about her, because of her.
I lean down, smash my lips against Amy’s. I have her tits in my hands. The urge to worship and the urge to devour, neck and neck.
When she reaches for the button of my trousers, I knock her hands away. Like hell we’re gonna do things her way.
I flip her on her front. To my surprise, she grabs the bars of the headboard. Her hair has come loose. I take a handful of it to hold her while I run a hand up between her thighs. She’s so wet with lust, my fingers slip easily into her.
She’s so lustful, her little moans of pleasure are so sweet, I can’t wait for all the other things I want to do.
I pull down my trousers, just below my hips, and with my boots still on, I enter her tight, hot pussy. She groans out my name, and I sink my teeth into the back of her neck. Every time I drive inside her, she rewards me with a helpless gasp of pleasure.
When I finally reach my climax, it’s so intense, I feel like I’m falling and the only thing to catch me is her. I rest my full weight on her, enjoying the stifled intake of her diaphragm against my belly, each breath a little agony of effort. She moans as I shift my weight off her.
I lift myself on one elbow, look down at her curiously. Two sharp little wounds in her lower lip — she bitten it herself. I lick the blood away, consider her.
Her eyes look wounded but not full of ghosts.
Amy feels so good under me, I reach for the back of my collar and pull my shirt off. Pressing her against my skin, I lap up the salt behind her ears and along her neck. It’s delicious, all the cool length of her pressed up against my bare skin.
It feels so easy being here with her.
I tell her, ‘Your father keeps ringing me, leaving voice messages. He wants me to come and see him at Town Hall.’
When I start working my way down over her collarbones to the valley between her breasts, she puts her hands on my shoulders, pushes at me.
‘Wh-What?’
‘He’s been calling me for the last week. Somebody must’ve told him I’m back. Most likely wants me to leave Greystone — stay away from you. Should pay him a visit soon. Let him know I don’t like being told what to do.’
Her pupils dilate so much that her green eyes look black. I can feel her visibly shake underneath my body. Then I feel the quiet beginnings of my own anger building inside of me.
‘Promise me,’ she says, ‘you won’t ever visit my father. Just ignore his calls. Please. Promise me.’
I give no reaction although that fire building within me is
