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“Poppy?”
I feel a pull in my chest, an ache, a memory.
Lynx, the needles, the blood.
I move without conscious thought, snapping her neck back with my fist in her hair, my nose pressing against hers.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I shake her, strands of her beautiful hair snapping free, tangling around my fingers.
A whimper slips from her throat, her bitten, dry lips, mirroring my own, parted. Her breath rasping in and out through her mouth, puffing warm, sweet, orange scented air directly onto my tongue. My cock thickens in sync with my anger. How dare she fucking do this. After everything with Lynx.
Everything she doesn't know about.
I take a deep breath, force my eyes shut, let the shudder ripple through my bones, my teeth squeaking where I bite down on them. I give myself a minute to try and get control of my temper, but it's like trying to hold onto smoke.
Blowing out a breath, I open my eyes, one of hers hidden behind her hair, the other, wide and wet andhurt. And mine snap closed again in an instant, I don't even see her, not properly, unable to look at her like that. Yet, I can't loosen my grip, I can't clear the cloud of red rage fogging my vision.
“You're a fucking idiot,” I snarl, biting down on her bottom lip, driving my teeth into the flesh and tearing into the skin until I taste blood.
I force her knees down, straddling her, trapping her down on the bench, her back to the wall, legs laid out along the seat. I don't even think, letting her lip pop free, I force my tongue into her mouth, hers unmoving as I twirl mine around her mouth, and then she kisses me back. Slow, sad, fucking terrified, she kisses me back and I can't look at her, my eyes squeezed shut so tight they hurt, but I can't see another person I care about doing this to them fucking selves.
Hand tangled in her hair, I keep her head snapped back, throat arched as I work my hand between us, yanking her jeans open and thrusting my hand into her panties.
We groan in unison, the sounds echoing in each of our throats, and I eagerly swallow it down. She's so hot and wet, I crave to be inside of her.
Oh, god, what am I doing?
Even as I think it, my fingers work between her folds, thighs forced tight together between my own, no room for her to widen her legs. My wrist screams with the angle it's twisted at, my fingers working through her wetness, dragging it up and around to circle her clit. She whimpers against my mouth, our noses smashed together, our breaths heavy, mingling between savage kisses.
I thrust a finger inside of her and nearly come in my fucking pants. She's so fucking tight and hot, it's like a fire burning between her thighs. I grunt, forcing my middle finger deeper and deeper, my weight on her knees where I arch over her.
I want so desperately to look at her.
To see her.
To kiss her like I care.
But I can't, I can't fucking do it, but I can't stop either, fucking her with my finger, the heel of my hand grinding against her clit, and she's groaning, deep and throaty from the angle I hold her head at. I feel her tightening around me more, even as I violently shove my ring finger inside her too, both fingers fucking into her harder and harder.
Hurting her, but she's moaning, and writhing and she tightens and tightens, and my thumb is vicious as I circle her clit, my teeth in her tongue, holding it inside my mouth to suck on it. Her breaths are erratic, her hands fisted in the front of my shirt, she clings onto me, pushing me away at the same time she drags me closer and I want to fuck her, I want to fuck her and I fucking hate myself. And she's so close, I can feel it, taste it in the desperate sounds that claw their way up her throat like I'm exorcizing her demons, consuming them for myself.
I wish I fucking could.
And as her back arches, my fingers cramping where her cunt sucks on them so fucking hard, I rip my hand out of her panties,tear my mouth from hers, releasing my hold on her hair, and fall back on my ass, not letting her finish.
My cock weeps, my head pounds and my heart fucking dies, because I'm a fucking asshole. Which means I'm doing it right.
I scrub my hands over my face, smearing her all over me, the tangy, tart scent of her sharp in my nose. My back against the wall at the other end of the bench seat, and finally, like the fucking coward I am, I finally open my eyes. If only to prove to myself I can do this, I can ruin this girl for my brothers.
That's when I see the bruising on her cheek. Inky blues and violets, strawberry spotting on her perfect pale flesh, along her temple, curling around her outer eye, the top of her cheekbone, and it's like everything falls away. I feel myself deflate, the anger gone, something like fear swooping in to take its place like lead in my gut.
I don't know how I didn't see it, I just didn't want to look at her, her hair was covering her face, and I-I didn't wanna fucking see her cry.
“Who the fuck did this to you?” I growl it, because I know my brothers, not one of them would physically hurt her, not tohurt.“Poppy?” I bark it, teeth bared, I sit up, looming over her as she gapes at me, her chest rising and falling so quickly, I wonder if she's having a heart attack. I swallow, peering into her pretty eyes, studying the plume of bruising, “Poppy-”
“Shut up,” that's what she whispers, dragging her hair over her face, throwing her legs over the side of the bench, feet to the ground, she sweeps her bag from the floor, tosses it over her shoulder, and she stands, to get away, escape.
Me.
