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I sit down on a leather sofa set against the wood-paneled wall. “I was just wondering. I’ll hear about it in school tomorrow, anyway.”
“Then wait until tomorrow. I don’t want to talk about it. And if I did, it wouldn’t be with a nobody like you.”
When I draw a breath to say something else, he whirls around and throws his glass at the wall. It strikes beside the sofa, shattering, and I squeal in surprise and more than a little fear before jumping up, ready to do what I should’ve done in the first place.
But I’m not quick enough.
“Is this what you want?” He charges at me, grabbing me before I can get away and throwing me back onto the sofa. I beat at him with my fists, but it does nothing to stop him from taking a fistful of hair and yanking my head back.
Tears spring to my eyes as my scalp sings with pain. “Stop it. You’re hurting me!”
“Is this what I have to do to make you leave me alone? Get the fuck out of my head,” he grits out, so close to my face his spit hits my cheeks.
“I’m only trying to—”
“Stop trying.” With his other hand, he encircles my throat and I let out a whimper of fear before I can stop myself. His eyes flash, hardening like the rest of his face. “What do I have to do to you? Do I have to hit you? Do you want me to hurt you for real? Do you get off on it?” The hand in my hair grips tighter and I whimper louder this time.
“No!”
“Then why? Why won’t you stop trying to get in my head? I don’t want you there. I don’t want you anywhere near me, you fucking bitch.”
“I only want to help,” I tell him in a shaking voice. “Like I did before. Remember?”
I don’t know why I brought it up. Was I hoping to shake him out of this? Stupid me. All it does is make his face go deep red.
“This is all your fault. I should’ve gone through with it.”
“No. I’m glad you didn’t.”
He barks out a cold laugh. “Why?”
“Because you don’t deserve to feel the way you do.”
It’s like I stuck a pin in a balloon. All at once, his intensity vanishes. He’s still holding me in place, but he isn’t hurting me. And when he speaks, it isn’t through gritted teeth. “How would you know?”
“Because nobody does. You don’t have to go through things alone. I know what it’s like to feel alone.”
He frowns, searching my face like he thinks I’m lying. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. Not really.”
“Then tell me. What am I missing? I only want to be your friend.”
“No. You only think you do.”
“Isn’t that enough?”
His mouth works, but no sound comes out. I sense his conflict and want so much to ease it. We’re getting closer. I feel it in my soul. He’s going to let me in.
His gaze drifts down to my lips like he only just realized how dangerously close he is to kissing me. My heart lodges itself in my throat as I realize I don’t know if I want him to back away or lean in closer.
“I know what you want,” Hayes growls, “and it’s not friendship.” He lets go of my hair, still holding my throat. When his free hand slides over my chest, my nipples harden to painful points.
He feels them, sneering as he does. “Told you so.”
“Stop.” It sounds weak even to me. Half-hearted. Because I don’t mean it. Because, God help me, his touch lights me on fire. It’s so wrong. I can’t help it.
“You don’t mean that.” His mouth almost brushes against mine. So close. I bite back a whimper of disappointment. “I bet you lie in bed at night wishing I’d come to your room and do this.” He squeezes one of my boobs, but not hard enough to hurt. Instead, it makes me arch my back, offering him more. I can’t control myself. My body is hungry even if my heart is all kinds of confused.
“Stop flattering yourself.” It doesn’t even sound like I mean it, but I can’t accept this without at least trying to fight back. He doesn’t deserve to have this power over me.
“You’re the one begging for it. Maybe not with your words, but your body?” He runs his hand over my stomach before coming to the waistband of my jeans. “You want me to do this. You want so much more.”
“I don’t,” I whimper, even as I fight against the urge to lift my hips. To rub myself on him. I’m aching and so wet and craving more. Just like he says.
“Who are you lying to? Me, or yourself?” He unbuttons the jeans, then lowers the zipper. “I bet if I slide my hand in here, you’ll be soaked. Dying to be touched. Licked. Fucked.”
