Page 29 of Kiss Me Like I Didn't Kill You

“Lick them clean.”

She stares for a long moment, colour high in her cheeks, before parting her lips and obeying, tongue curling around me.

“Good girl,” I murmur, wrecked by the sight of her plush pink mouth wrapped around my fingers. I press deeper until she gags, then pull away with a wet pop and drag them into my own mouth instead.

Her taste coats my tongue, sweet, addictive, ruinous. Like I’m fucking her mouth and pussy at the same time.

Hell, how I’ve missed this. The taste of her.

“Fucking delicious,” I rasp.

Her gaze drops down my body, halting at the blatant swell in my trousers. Her eyes snap back to mine, wide and knowing. She’s seen the dark stain already spreading there.

“You… came,” she breathes, her tone wavering as if unsure whether it’s a question or a fact.

I don’t bother answering. Instead, I reach for the glucometer on her desk and hold out my hand.

“Give me your finger.”

“I can do it myself.”

I wait. She huffs, but finally surrenders her hand. I prick her skin, check the numbers, and glance up at her.

“Eat before the party. If you faint, don’t expect me to catch you this time, I might just stand and watch that pretty head of yours split open and bleed across the fucking floor.”

She looks at me with wide eyes, as though I’ve struck her. She’s forgotten who I am. Fingering her pussy doesn’t mean the hate has gone, and she’d do well to remember it.

I step out without another word and head for my dorm. A cold shower.

I bloody need it.

Chapter 10

Ophelia

I look after him, stunned, my heart beating wild in my chest. I can’t believe I just let him do that to me.

I’m burning with shame, and with a dozen other feelings I can’t even begin to name. The way his mask slipped at the end, the cruelty seeping back through… I should have expected it.

Since the moment I first saw him, his eyes have held nothing but loathing. So yes, it’s my own damn fault for allowing him to touch me in the first place.

And I don’t know what’s wrong with me, because I’ve more self-respect than this.

So why am I so bloody weak in his presence?

But this ends now.

I’m not one for confrontation, I usually avoid it. My sister says I’m too much of a people pleaser, and perhaps she’s right. But even I can’t let this carry on. I was lost in the moment, frustrated, fed up. He scratched an itch, nothing more.

The problem isn’t that he had his fingers inside me. I let him, I came, I took it for what it was.

Why not? If he was offering, I had every right to take it. I’m not ashamed of that.

What enrages me is the way he spoke to me. The way I keep letting him speak to me. His contempt, his hate, always on his tongue, always laced into every word. That’s what I can’t stand. That’s what has to stop.

If he despises me that much, he can keep his distance. If I permit his hands on me, then so be it. But I won’t let him spoil it with his venom afterwards.

This hot and cold routine of his is exhausting. And my feelings for him?