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“I knew you were fiery.” The broken boy's smile fades but doesn't quite leave his pupils as he settles deeper next to me on the couch. His legs nearly touching mine again as we both focus on the tiny screen.
A few minutes pass and his arm sprawls over the top of the couch, accidentally tangling with my hair, but I don't pull away. He kicks his combat boots onto the coffee table and a strange sense of peace settles over me at the casual way the two of us are watching Netflix. It was something normal people did (and if there was anything I was certain about it was that me and Kaleb's “situation” or whatever this was, was anything but normal.) and I was surprised at how natural it felt, almost as if we did things like this on a regular basis.
“What are you doing here?” I whisper in an attempt to break this strange spell we’ve seem to have fallen under.
“Shhh, Blondie stop interrupting the show. We’re at a good part.” I roll my eyes, the supposed “good part” he’s referring to being the bad boy vampire going rogue and killing a bunch of people after he promised his girlfriend he wouldn't turn evil again. That he would change. I have to wonder sometimes who was the bigger idiot, the girlfriend for believing he could change, or the vampire for believing he was capable of it to begin with.
I like to think of myself as an optimist. At this point, I would be dead if there was no hope peaking through my crying skies but sometimes even I believe that people can't really change, not at their core. But on my weak days, I’d like to think that the right person can bring out the better half within them that was there all along. Which makes it all the weirder that I’m watching this with Kaleb, a man I know with a hundred percent certainty is incapable of having a ray of sun amongst his raging tsunami disposition.
My thoughts drift to his not-so-subtle dodge of my question, and worry fills my heart. He already denied me my deal. And yet here he is sprawled across my couch like he owns the very shitty foundation my apartment rested on. If he thought I was going to give him back his journal after the way he humiliated me at his little preppy rich boy pool party he could take that thought and shove it where the sun doesn't shine.
I was many people's puppets but not his. He didn't get to play me in his own game. I wasn't going to be one of his pieces. As I said my heart was already split like a cake cut into pieces and Kaleb most certainly couldn't have his cake and eat it too.
Not when it came to me.
So why the hell was he here? And being almost nice (Or whatever nice consisted of in “Kaleb World”). I mean since he walked in here he hasn't threatened me, yanked on my ponytail, destroyed clothing items (he still owed me a pair of ballet tights and combat boots), or even bothered to ask for his stupid dirty journal.
It was all very un-Kaleb like of him.
So naturally, my suspicion radar is screaming my ears off.
I lean closer to him and his hand shifts to play with the strands of my blonde ponytail and I’m forced to take back my comment about the hair-pulling as he gives it a slight tug. The movement causing butterflies to explode in my chest as the feeling of a million tiny wings overwhelms my ability to think rationally.
In the background, my show continues to play softly and I find myself hypnotized as Kaleb begins to move his fingertips up and down my bare thighs. His fingers trace stars along the edge of my spandex shorts and my breath shallows as he continues the motion, trailing his rough fingertips down to my kneecaps and back.
I flash back to the way his hands felt on me at the pool party. How he had kneeled before me, his palm rubbing back and forth against me until I was flush with pleasure. I had never been so close to losing control and he had barely even touched me. This man with his dark eyes and confusing words who I couldn't seem to get out of my mind. Even when I dreamed they were all tainted and drowned with his annoyingly gorgeous face.
And I hated myself for it. Hated the way I wanted him to keep touching me. Hated how I wanted him to stop and continue all at the same time. I wanted more and I despised how he teased my self-control so completely, like he was an addictive poison I knew would kill me and I drank willingly.
He dips his fingers under the rim of my shorts and I lean into the touch, desperate for the heat of his skin on mine. He drives me crazy, absolutely crazy and I can't breathe as his fingers tease the sensitive skin where my belly meets my polka dot shorts, all embarrassment at him having seen me in my childish pajamas washed away by the feeling of his skin on mine.
“What am I going to do with you Blondie?” Kaleb whispers, his lips a breath away from the tip of my ear, and his words shiver down my spine.
I was already wreathing against him and he’d barely touched me. My cheeks flushed a fierce red from the powerful effect he has against my body.
“Are you blushing Tinkerbell?” He asks as his hand cups my bruised cheek, the skin no doubt a muddled shade of red.
“Don't call me that.” I scowl, his need for constant pet names getting on my nerves.
Kaleb chuckles, the sound breathy, and I notice his pupils are blown out completely. To the point where I can’t differentiate pupils from iris.
“Wanted to run away and yet I found myself here,” he mumbles, the words slightly blurry as the effects of the whiskey take the wheel of his thoughts,
“I just can't seem to stay away from you. You stole from me and yet you keep taking more.” He chuckles again, his words confusing me as his fingers continue their journey up my leg, toying with the soft skin underneath my knees. He's leaning over me now, my laptop all but forgotten as he stares down at me, his curly hair a mess upon his forehead.
And then he cups my sex so roughly I gasp, my hands clutching his shoulders and knocking over a jar of dirty paint. Red stains the floor beneath us but Kaleb doesn't even seem to notice as he rubs his hand back and forth against me, driving me absolutely wild.
He drags a single finger along the crease of my shorts and I whimper, my nails digging into his black dress shirt, crinkling the fabric. His breath tickles my neck, and I shiver. He was close now, his breath mixing with mine in a cocktail of our own making as he hovered above me. He looks down at my lips and my breath hitches as his eyes turn into two black pools.
And then his lips crash on mine and I’m lost in a battle of tongue and teeth as we both fight ruthlessly for the upper hand. My bare nails drag down his chest, leaving light red marks on exposed skin, and Kaleb hisses before pulling my lower lip between his teeth and pulling. The sensation drowns me and I moan, the sound rippling through our entwined lips.
Leaning down, his lips trace my bruised jaw lightly and I'm left with whiplash at his ability to switch from untethered to tender touches. It's as if he can't decide if he wants to heal me or tear me apart and instead chooses to torture himself by refusing to decide at all.
Desperate for more I grind my hips against his palm and Kaleb groans. Hearing the sound I wrap my legs around his waist, needing to be closer to him. He gasps at the contact and I try to remove my legs but he surprises me by holding on to my thighs tighter, wrapping them fully around his hips. Smirking, he adds a second finger to my sweet torture and I lose it, throwing my head back in pleasure against the couch.
“Kaleb.” I moan before covering my mouth in embarrassment. Growling, Kaleb rips my hand from my mouth and glares down at me, his eyes burning into my soul as if he can see every bruised part of me. Suddenly self-conscious, I reach for my face in a vain attempt to hide the bruised marks surrounding my features, but Kaleb only rips my hand away again.
I whimper when his fingers graze between my thighs again, and his eyes melt into what can only be described as liquid fire.
