Page 127 of Fractured Fates

Kissher! I don’t even like fucking kissing. Too close, too intimate. But in this moment, it’s all I want to do. I’m all instinct, all want.

I want to taste that smile. Consume everything she was feeling. I want to make it mine.

Mine.

She tastes of mint gum and black coffee.

Her mouth is warm. Her lips soft.

She smells of fucking fluffy clouds and rainbows.

She pushes against my chest and her touch does not repulse me. It never has.

I pull away, keeping my hand wrapped around her throat.

“What the fuck?” she says, looking so utterly confused it’s cute. “What are you doing?”

“Kissing you. Are you so fucking ignorant you don’t know what that is?”

“And are you so ignorant you never heard of consent?” She scowls at me. “Ever thought to ask first?”

I frown. I don’t usually have to ask. I take. I’m given.

But though I note the pissy tone in her voice, I also note she’s not pushing me away.

And though this is seriously fucked up, I want to kiss her some more.

“Can I kiss you?” I mumble.

“Why? Why do you want to?”

“Is that a yes or a no?” Her body so close to mine is making me dizzy, I can’t think right. I want to slam her to the ground and do more than kiss her. I want to destroy her.

My fingers dig into her neck and maybe the pissy little pig girl – with her superior attitude, pretending she’s different, pretending she’s better than the rest of us – is just the same, because her pupils blow wide and her breath turns that tiny bit panty. I can hear it.

She wants me to kiss her all right.

“Yes or no?” I say more firmly.

“No!” she says, even as her body melts towards mine.

“No,” I spit out in disbelief.

There’s more to her now. Less bone, more curve. More soft flesh. More tit.

“You’re an asshole,” she says.

“And you’re an unregistered brat.”

“So I should be grateful that yesterday you were throwing me around the mats and refusing to teach me, and today, all of a sudden, you want to kiss me?”

“Most girls like me throwing them around.”

She swallows in a way that tells me she doesn’t hate it as much as she claims.

“I want this out of my system,” I growl.

“What out of your system?”