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PROLOGUE
Two years ago . . .
Theechoesfrommyparents arguing travel up the stairs, filling my bedroom. I tip the bottle to my lips, revelling in the burn as the clear liquid makes its way down my throat. Closing my eyes, I rest my head against my headboard and pull in a deep breath.
When I hear the window open, I don’t bother looking to see who it is. I already know. There’s only one person who has ever climbed through my window. Though it’s been over two years since he last did—that I know of anyway.
“What do you want, Teddy?” I ask, my voice a low whisper. He doesn’t answer, just moves across the room before dropping down on the bed next to me. He grabs the bottle from my hand, taking a long pull from it before passing it back.
“Happy Birthday, Casper.”
He cups my cheek, his thumb caressing the soft skin. In moments like this, it’s easy to forget, to let his touch carry me away to another place.
“Why are you here?”
He sighs before rolling on top of me and pressing me into the bed, trapping me beneath his long body. I still don’t open my eyes. If I do, then maybe he won’t be here. Maybe he’ll be gone.
I don’t want him to be gone.
Not today.
“I couldn’t stay away,” he mutters, lowering himself to rest his forehead against mine. Our breaths mingle, his warming my cheeks, but our lips don’t touch. Gripping my hands in his, he pins them above my head. “Tell me to stop.”
I shake my head, my breath hitching when he moves my wrists into one of his hands, while the other travels down my body, stopping at the neckline of the black t-shirt that covers my chest. He traces the neckline, barely touching my skin, but it’s enough to cause a stir in my stomach.
“Tell me to stop,” he demands, his voice husky and coated in lust. His hand glides under the t-shirt, cupping me over my bra. “Fuck, Casper. Tell me to stop.”
“Don’t,” I tell him, finally opening my eyes and gazing into his. His forest green eyes darken, the pupils dilating as he stares down at me. He lets out a shuddering breath but never stops massaging my tit. “I don’t want you to stop.”
“Casper,” he warns, as I reach out to his waistband, fiddling with the buckle of his belt. Ignoring him, I flick the buckle open before pulling it away and popping the button on his jeans. I’ve never done anything like this, and his lack of underwear makes it easier to grip his length—something inside of me snaps and I want more.
“I want this. I want you, Teddy.”
“Shit,” he hisses when I fist him. My strokes are tentative. Unsure. But when his breath comes out in heavy pants and I can feel the bead of pre-cum leaking from his tip, it gives me confidence. Tightening my grip, I stroke his length while he stares down at me. He slides his hand under my bra, circling my nipple. Peaking at his touch, he pinches my nipple and my back arches off the bed.
Wanting more.
Needing more.
“Shit, you’re so responsive under me.”
He lifts off me, tugging at his t-shirt. My eyes are drawn to his chest. He’s only nineteen, but there’s an expanse of steady muscle. He pushes his jeans to the floor and stands naked in my room.
“You want this?” he asks me as he crawls back over me. I arch my back for him, letting him unclasp my bra. When he reaches for my leggings, he hooks his fingers through the waistband, gripping my lacy underwear at the same time. He watches me for a moment, his eyes never leaving mine.
“I want this.” With my answer, he pulls them down, tossing them to the floor. Naked on my bed, I should feel uncomfortable, but his heated stare takes away any doubts I have about my body. “Touch me, Teddy.”
Whether it’s my demand, or him needing release, I don’t know. But he dives on top of me, his hands caressing every inch of my body. I gasp as he latches onto my pebbled nipple. The pain is minimal and overridden with pleasure as he laps away the sting.
His hand stops at my thigh, pushing it so my legs spread before him. He licks from my breasts, down my body, until he’s face-to-face with my wet pussy. His tongue slips back out and glides between my folds.
He groans, the sound almost feral, before he dives in and feasts on me as though I’m the last meal he’ll ever have. While he laps at my clit—his tongue swirling over the sensitive bud—his fingers prod lightly at my entrance, his movements unsure.
“You have one chance to stop this,” he says while pushing his finger slowly into me.
There’s a slight ache as he stretches me. I shake my head, looking down at him.If he stops this now, I think I might die.
“This will hurt.”
