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“I’m a complicated guy,” he repeats, then yanks out my ponytail. “You’re nothing like I expected.”
“Why is that?”
His gaze moves up and down on me. “Well, besides the obvious. You’re not as uptight as you want people to think. Somewhere in here,” his palm hovers over my heart, “there’s a wild and stubborn streak that you don’t show everyone.” His hand slides down my side to finger the hem of the tee. “But sometimes when you smile, I see it in your eyes.”
“You don’t know the girl I am now. I’ve only been here a few days.”
“I know you. Same as you know me.” He strokes a finger along my cheek, and I shiver. “How am I going to survive a year of this…of you?”
“I keep asking myself the same question,” I whisper against his lips as he kisses me again. Will I ever not want to kiss him? I moan into his mouth, answering my unspoken question, and that alone should terrify me.
The buzzing of my cell phone echoes around us. I stare at the screen. Matt’s calling.
“That your boyfriend?” Kyson licks his lips, distracting me from the fact that he’s answering my phone. “Dahlia can’t come to the phone right now,” he says huskily and abruptly hangs up.
I glare at him while reaching for my phone. “Give me my phone.”
“Come and get it.” He shoves it down the front of his pants in challenge.
“You think I won’t?”
He arches a brow, knits his fingers together behind his head, leaning back on the pew. A dark tendril of hair falls across his forehead all swoopy and sexy. He’s the ultimate bad boy.
Two can play this game. I call his bluff and slip off the pew and to my knees between his legs. I smile up at him as he stares down at me, all smug, loving the sight.
Pulse spiking nervousness courses through my veins. I place a hand on each of his thighs and ask one more time, “Please, Kyson? Give me my phone.”
“Rule is simple. You want it. You gotta take it.”
“Fine. Whatever.” I roll my eyes and hesitate at his zipper. I can’t believe I’m doing this.
“That’s it, lil’ doll. Grab it.” His lips pull upward, and I want to wipe that smug expression from his face.
“You wish.”
“I do.” He closes his eyes. “Be a pal and make my dream come true. Give me a kiss right on the head.”
Fire spreads across my cheeks. He’s ridiculous, and yet the allure has me wondering what the act would feel like. Is he big, thick, and veiny? I lick my lips, wondering how he tastes there. Would it be like my friends have said? Salty and slightly bitter?
The sound of his zipper going down seems amplified in the silence between us as a storm rages outside, but it’s not nearly as wild as the one brewing inside me. I’m at war with myself. Torn and ragged, my desire bashes against my mind, begging yet daring me to live a little dangerously for once. But that’s the problem with straddling the edge of anything too long. Eventually you’re going to fall. I don’t have anyone to catch me when I do.
Therefore, I continue the delicate balance of this game of love and hate. Slipping my fingers inside his pants, I try to avoid his erection, but the heat of him is there and I brush my fingers over his crotch while seeking out the smoothness of my phone case.
A hiss of pleasure escapes him, and I want nothing more than to force more noises from him. My cell rings again and I quickly slip it out of his lap.
“Hey,” I answer, twisting away from Kyson as he wraps a fist in my hair, yanking me backwards, until I’m crashing into him and the pew. The act catches me by surprise and my phone goes sailing through the air and lands with a sickening shattering sound.
“Where do you think you’re going, Dahlia? I’m not done playing with you.” Kyson keeps his hold on me as he crashes his mouth down on mine. All tenderness has left him as the ugly monster that controls him rears his ugly head, reminding me that whatever good there is in him will always be shadowed by the bad.
He chips away at my self-worth with every brutal stroke of his tongue in my mouth. Wedged between his thighs as though I’m praying to his altar, he takes more than I want to give, but I don’t dare try to stop him.
I’m weak. So I stay fallen on my knees on the cold damp floor with his fingers gripped tightly in my hair and I submit.
“Let me feel your hands on me,” he says, as desperate and broken as I feel.
I fumble with the button on his jeans and grip him over his boxer briefs.
“Not like that. Skin to skin,” he coaxes, shoving my hand inside his underwear to really touch him. His hot flesh weighs heavily in my palm. My movements are clumsy and jerky, but if he minds, he doesn’t vocalize that. The only noise coming from him is breathy pants.
