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She pushed inside the bathroom, her thighs thick and her calves shapely. Her skirts never fit her right, too short since she was so tall.
And too fucking tempting.
I called myself on my madness in the next moment. I didn’t follow her in the bathroom, but I might as well have. The girls’ restroom was right next door to the tech room, and since I had keys, I opened it up and hid out inside. I waited, telling myself all kinds of things. I was just going to watch her when she left the bathroom. I’d get a look at her and wouldn’t do anything else. If anything, the glance would just check my obsessive thoughts about her for a second so I could go about my day.
It didn’t.
She was coming back, adjusting her ponytail. I watched those silky strands move and sway through the glass on the door, and I wasn’t thinking when I opened the door.
I just took her hand.
I took her, yanking her inside the room with me. She shrieked, of course, fought me. I mean, it was dark in here, and she probably thought a crazy person grabbed her.
I was crazy.
I was crazy enough to pin her to the wall. I was crazy enough to kiss her, her fists punching at my chest and her teeth and mouth fighting me. She tried to bite my fucking face off at first.
But then, she recognized me.
It was slow, her mouth in delayed recognition. Her eyes opened, studying me and the situation. I got her to kiss back for all of a second before she pushed me off her.
“What the fuck,” she growled, shaking, but I didn’t stop. I grabbed her by the back of the neck and fused our mouths together.
Euphoria. Goddamn heaven in a single taste.
“Sloane.” Her name fell from my mouth in desperation, my tongue flicking hers. “Little fighter.”
I’d missed her. I missed her in my head, my dreams. She’d been in there enough.
She curbed the nightmares.
They’d been nonstop since what had happened to Charlie, fear, loss a staple in my life.
I didn’t want to lose another thing.
“Please stop,” she whimpered, our kiss salty. She was crying. “It hurts.”
It did hurt. The pain was deep and violent. I crowded her. “Don’t fight.”
She always fought me. She always fucking fought me. She didn’t like fighting.
I was tired of it myself.
I was tired of pain. I was tired of suffering. I just wanted this. I wanted fucking something that didn’t hurt, and she was the one thing that never had. She was my peace always.
She was my refuge.
“I want you,” I admitted, making her gasp. “Please, Sloane. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry…”
Her breath stolen, her fingers clenched tight on my shirt. They relaxed as I braced her face.
“I should have believed you,” I ground out, my tongue diving into her mouth. “I want you so bad. I should have—”
She shoved me off her, and so quickly, it took me a second to realize what had happened.
Especially when she slapped me.
The hit burned hot, searing hard into my flesh, but I’d been hit harder. Sloane was a chick. She wasn’t hitting as hard as one of my boys when things got rough.
