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Sometimes it feels like I can’t breathe. The rage coils around my lungs, in a vise grip. Especially when I am in the same room as her. I knew playing truth or dare was a bad idea. I just didn’t think my sister would be my downfall. “Kiss Jasmine,” Ezra says, mischief glittering in her eyes.
My sister could be a real cunt sometimes. Don’t call you sister a cunt, blah, blah. You haven’t met Ezra. She has the devil himself by the balls. Evil little shit.
I see Jasmine try to get up and run, but I’m up faster, snatching her up and smashing my lips to hers in a punishing kiss. The last thing I expect is a spark. An all-consuming need building in my gut. She gasps into my mouth, sinking into my hard chest. Her small hands curling into my shirt. She is so tiny, I have to bend down to reach her lips. I bite her bottom lip, my teeth sinking deep into the pillowy cushion, drawing blood, and sucking it clean. That copper twang exploding on my taste buds.
I know you’re thinking poor, poor Jasmine. Don’t. She is giving it back just as hard as I am. Our teeth are clashing, our tongues battling for dominance. My cock stirs, trying to break free. She feels it and we both pull away. I glower into her light green pools as she pushes off me, running away. I fall back into the sofa, watching her run as I take a long pull of my beer.
I hate Jasmine Renae Andrews. I can’t wait to make her life so miserable she contemplates suicide just to get away from me. I wince at the thought. I wasn’t always a mean guy. I was playful and fun, but she brought out this nasty side of me I try to keep hidden. One that is thirsty for her pain.
I see Monroe look at me and I cock an eyebrow at her. If Monroe wasn’t Nixon’s, and vice versa, I would have snatched her up in a heartbeat. There is no blood loss over it. I know I can’t have her. For fuck’s sake, she is my person, but maybe in a different life I could have.
I make my way up to my room, noticing Jasmine’s lights are off. For some reason, I can’t escape her. I remember requesting my room as far away from hers, but instead, I got the one directly across. I shut my door, shredding off my shirt, and lie on my bed as a stream of messages come in. I ignore my phone. Like I wish I can ignore the way my body came alive when I kissed Jasmine. Her soft, innocent lips on my soiled-with-sin mouth. The electric current that shook my soul. How tiny and soft she was against my body. Or even the way she smells of vanilla. Fucking fitting, if you ask me. Her smell, not all of that other strange shit.
I get lost in daydreams of all the ways I can make life leave her body with my dick stuffed tight inside her virgin pussy. My hands around her throat as her face turns blue. Her choking on my cock. Speaking of cocks, mine is hard as fucking steel. I fist it out, jerking it to my daydreams. With my cum on my hands, I realize with a sour taste in my mouth that I just jerked off to Jasmine fucking Andrews.
JASMINE
I should have stayed at my own cabin. In fact, I begged my parents to not make me come over here, but they insisted I needed a life outside of my art and schoolwork. I tried to fight away the nausea I felt when Easton kissed me, but I was three seconds from throwing up.
He is a bully.
I hate bullies as much as I hate the family I was born into.
See, Easton wears a mask. Everyone knows him as the loving, playful guy, but I know better. He is a sadistic prick.
My door bursts open with a loud smack against the wall. Easton walks in, slamming it shut with his foot. He has on black sweatpants that hang low on his hips, showcasing his tight abs and that perfect V. He is cut but not big, lean. His unruly light brown hair is a mess, hazel eyes cold and calculated as he holds my stare.
God, he is gorgeous.
“Get out,” I whisper.
The laugh that spills through his lips is cruel and haunting. It sends chills down my spine. I shrink back into my bed when he climbs on, powerful thighs straddling me, holding me in place. He tilts his head to the side, as if to study me better, the weight of his body pinning me to my bed.
“Get out of my fucking head, Snitch.”
I don’t reply. I’d like to tell him it’s not my problem. I'd never willingly put myself there, but I don’t.
He snarls in my face, looking at my lips. “You like my lips on you?” he asks, lowering his head, and he starts kissing down my neck, slowly.
I want to say no. I want to say the thought of him makes me want to puke. But it’s the fact that I like it that makes me sick.
I shove at his chest, but he doesn’t move. I should be taking training more seriously. At least then, I could fight off my attacker.
He laughs by my ear at my attempt to knock him off of me. “Let’s see what you're hiding under these huge sweaters you’re always wearing. Let’s see if you’re as ugly as your personality.” His voice is low, chilling, and downright evil.
He takes his pocketknife out, the cold metal grazing my skin as it rips up my sweater. Normally, I would question why anyone always has a pocketknife on them, but in this life it is necessary. Although the threats are not as bad as they were when we were just children, one can never be too prepared. And me? I’m never prepared.
The sound of the wool separating, the fabric tearing, has my body stiffening. I feel the chill nip at my exposed skin, and I try to cross my arms over myself. He laughs as he pins them to the sides of my head. My stinging eyes meet his lustful ones. I know I saw it, the heat spilling from them, but they switch to hatred.
“Please,” I croak. “Stop it.”
His eyes flick down to my breast, he licks his lips before slowly dragging his hazel gaze to mine. Brown with swirls of green and tiny hints of yellow. “No. I’m not going to stop. You know why?” He lowers his head and flicks my nipple with his tongue. Heat burns my cheeks as we watch each other. Pleasure sparking low in my stomach. “Because you like it.” His warm breath skates over my erect nipples.
He’s right. I do, but that doesn’t make this right.
I thrash my body, trying to buck him off. He grabs my throat, squeezing it. I wrap my hands around his in a desperate attempt to free my throat so I can breathe. His grip is tight, and his nails sink into my tender flesh. Leaving crescent moons, I’m sure. His face is close to mine. So close, I can see his sins flick across his eyes like a motion picture.
“You should have stayed off my radar, Snitch,” he whispers.
