“Is that a dare?”
“No,” she shook her head. A twinge of anxiety leaked through the cracks of her face. I had to do something quickly before she let it overtake her again and I couldn’t watch it. She went into herself, disappeared from the world.
It took me forever to find this version for her own good, I wasn’t gonna let that fuckinghappen.
“Talk to me and I’ll make you come.”
She pointed an accusing finger at me before turning her head with a frustrated huff. Along with it came an unbelievable laughter and the sharp glint to her eyes when she pushed, “Then I guess I’ll find Ocean to finish the job for you.”
Before she could turn the knob, I was at her back and pressing her flush against the door.
“You wouldn’t,” I threw her words back at her with a bite.
She turned her head, smirking. “Is that a dare?”
Fuck being the good guy.
“Tell me to stop if you don’t want this.”
“Whatever,” she replied.
Good. Great. Fucking fine by me.
I gathered her hair in my hands and swooped it over to the front, “In front of everyone else, you act like a good girl.”
She whined with her nails scratching down the wooden door when I bit her bare shoulder. “But I know,” I soothed the burn with my tongue. “Deep down, you’re a fuckingbrat.”
Adelaide leaned her body back into mine, her ass pressing against my dick and completely annihilating my senses.
“For someone who thinks of me as a brat,” she groaned when I pushed against her. “You sure seem to like touching me.”
A sardonic chuckle.
I dragged my hands down the front of her body. She whimpered when they skimmed past her tits, past her ass,past her fucking pussy to the slit that had been bothering me this whole fucking night.
“Don’t even think about?—”
With lost patience, I tore the material in two up her body and whipped her around to face me.
There.
Now she looked like mine.
Unabashed, vulnerable, and erratic.
Just like me.
I drank her in.
The material sagged diagonally, baring her perfect fucking tits to me. Her nipples were the perfect shade between brown and pink and I wanted to suck them in my mouth until she was begging for me to stop. Even then, I wouldn’t. I wanted her to wake up to the reminder of my teeth digging into them, to the redness circling the tight peaks, and the soreness dragging them down.
I pushed aside the remaining fabric and dragged it over her left shoulder, only for my heart to shudder and complicate matters. There it was. Her birthmark was in the shape of a wobbly crescent moon and because I’d been a masochist and had to remind myself every fucking day she existed in this world—I tattooed it over my heart, the same very place hers was.
“This cost me over a million dollars,” she sighed.
I rubbed a hand over my jaw, “I’ll buy you another one.”
“Will you go to Switzerland for it?”
