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I need you.
“Cody offered to help me out and keep an eye on her while I was working,” she admits.
I’m going to pause here and tell you a story. One that took place long ago and will probably give you an indication to my sanity, and my obsession with making this girl mine.
It was the night of her prom where I kidnapped her, but later found out she’d been kissed by someone else.
“Did you kiss him?” I asked, fearing her response. This girl fucking owned me and the idea of her kissing someone else, that didn’t sit well with me. It never would. She was mine, regardless of it not being said.
“Yes,” she replied, glaring at me. I could, now, not at the time, understand her frustration. I’d ruined her prom. Again.
“Why?”
“To know what it was like to kiss someone who wasn’t teasing me.”
“You think I tease you?” My eyes locked on hers, voice raw, watching her reaction. “Is that what you think?”
“Yes, you do,” she practically shouted in tears. “Tiller, you’re a superstar. I’m just a girl who follows you around. I have no place in your life besides being your secret friend.”
Sitting on the tailgate of my truck, I pulled her toward me. Wrapping my legs around her waist, I forced her to stay close.
The situation, the dilemma inside my head, made me blind to anything else around us. Whatever this was between us was so fucked up, and it was hard that it just kept going, year after year, never ending but never beginning either.
With a frustrated sigh, wanting to leave, her forehead leaned against my chest, her hands fisted in my shirt. “Why do you constantly destroy everything?”
I kissed her then, an act of possessiveness. It was forceful as if I was trying to show her I wasn’t destroying this.
“Do you think I like it when you kiss other guys?” I whispered, drawing back, my eyes finding hers. I held her face in my hands, and she stared at me. “Do you want them? Are they good for you?” I covered her mouth, not waiting for her answer. “You could be with me, you know that?” I mumbled against her lips, so quietly I wasn’t sure she heard anything.
“What?” she asked, her breath panting, her pulse pounding against mine.
Chest to chest, I held her tight, unwilling to let her go when I said, “I don’t want you kissing anyone but me.” I pressed my lips to hers, again, over and over again. “Don’t kiss anyone. . . but me. These fucking lips are mine.”
She cried. I felt the salt from her tears mixing with our kiss. “You mean it right now, Tiller, but when you’re gone again, in a different country, miles away, you’re with other girls.”
There was truth to her words, but what I didn’t see, and maybe I never would, was that she would never be mine. There’d always be other girls who kept my interest while I was gone, and she knew that. But not having her wasn’t an option.
Knowing what happened that night, how do you think I’m going to react now, knowing some other guy is offering to help her?
I want to make a scene, so I do.
I drag her by the arm, away from everyone, between trailers and shadows, but not completely out of sight. With a hand on her hip, I back her against the wall. “Why do you do this to me?”
Her heart hammers against mine, with mine. They beat as one, our worlds nothing the same. She doesn’t have words and shakes her head slowly, her eyes locking on madness she’ll never understand.
“Joke’s on you.” Confidently—knowing she won’t stop me—I grab her face with both hands and smash my lips to hers. It’s not the first time we’ve kissed, and I know it won’t be the last. I kiss her until her lips flush pink like the setting sun. I kiss her until she’s marked with my memory.
You might wonder why I act this way, or what it is us about her that keeps me coming back. It’s her wild, untamed and renegade love that keeps coming back.
The metal from my lip ring scratches her sweet soft lips as I nudge it hungrily open with my tongue, crashing through the walls she usually has in place around me. A soft moan releases from her lips, my kiss possessing her. There’s no fighting it. This need, the magnetic pull between us is like getting caught in a rut. It controls us, choses the line we’re going to take and we’re simply along for the ride.
If only she’d let me do more than kiss. Fisting my jersey in her hands she’s debating on pushing back against me, I can tell. Only something in her, the ambush of my kiss, stops her from doing so. I give a lot to the kiss, leaving her mouth burning with desire. When I part her lips over mine, she’s eager to respond.
You can see the effect I have on her, but do you notice what it’s doing to me? Do you notice my body shaking? I’ll tell you it’s from adrenaline, but would you believe me?
When my mouth parts from hers, it’s the rising and falling of her chest—the inability for her to catch her breath—that tells me she wanted it.
My body presses to hers, holding her wrists. Crudely, knowing I’ll get a reaction, I say, “Let me make your virgin pussy bleed.”