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Oh, and I will relish the moment she submits to me, the moment she’s bound to me forever.
Only, not on a rooftop.
When I bust through that tight cherry, she will be in my bed and I will brandish the wedding sheet stained with her virgin blood to every member of my clan. Everyone will know who she belongs to.
But that doesn’t mean I won’t take a taste of her right now.
Are you scared, Chuckie? I swear I won’t touch you unless you ask me nicely.I let that settle for a moment, then add,Unless you beg.
Lie, big fucking lie, but I can imagine her bristling with rage.
I’m not scared of you, you low-life thug.
It worked. Off offuck yous and back to sending me texts with full sentences.
Prove it. Meet me at our spot in ten.
I see the three dots of her typing. It keeps going and going, and then dies off without a response.
Anticipation winds tightly in my gut. Praying that she’s figuring out a way to escape and sneak up onto the roof to meet me, I throw on clothes, grab a blanket, and pad barefoot up to the rooftop. The roofs of every building on our block are connected, with a few low walls separating one from another. Smack-dab in the middle of the block between my family’s house and Crina’s is Mr. Albu, an old man who never steps foot on his. Hell, I bet his roof still has the same industrial-grade black asphalt that was slapped on the day his house was built.
The warm spring sun beats down on my shoulders and I strip off my shirt. Meeting her bare-chested, with my tats gleaming in the morning sun, will throw Crina off her game and I’m not above playing dirty. Knowing her, she’ll be raring for a fight.
I launch over a low wall onto my neighbor’s renovated wooden deck and cross over a few more until I reach Mr. Albu’s desolate rooftop. It’s early morning and a flock of sparrows chatter in the latticework of branches in a tree in his backyard. That same tree is tall enough to cast a bit of shade over part of the roof and I lay out the blanket in that shady spot.
Sure enough, Crina shows up.
She freezes as she catches sight of me before loping over the low wall and landing on Mr. Albu’s roof. Her gaze scalds my chest, and as much as I want to pretend that her hot perusal doesn’t affect me, it does.
Hell yeah, it does.
Besides our one clan tat, tats are kinda forbidden. Since mine derived from grief everyone let them pass. And the way she inspects my tats, the way she unconsciously licks her lips, lets me know she appreciates what she sees. I can’t help but flex my muscles a little as I take my time fixing the corners of the blanket.
“A blanket? You’re unbelievably cocky to think that I’m going to do anything with you out here.”
I glance over my shoulder, catching her intense gaze on my multi-colored back. “I won’t touch you unless you beg, remember?”
She stalks toward me, jabbing her index finger in my direction. “There will be no begging, mister. You might as well wait for hell to freeze over first.”
I lie down and lean back on my elbows to let her get another good eyeful of me. “Who’s talking about doing anything? The ground is rock hard and pebbly. I brought the blanket as much for me as for you.”
I practically roll my eyes. Of course, I got the blanket for her.
She crosses her arms over her ample chest, her gaze unable to stop from meandering down the long length of my body. She jerks slightly when she reaches my bare feet. “That sounds about right.”
“Mm-hmm.” Shielding my eyes from the sun, I stare up at her and pat the space beside me. “Since I brought it, you might as well sit down.” I pause. “Unless you’re scared.”
Wearing her pajama pants and a boxy t-shirt that stops at her naval, she huffs and unceremoniously plops down beside me. “I’m not scared of you.”
Her natural scent of crushed orange peels, cinnamon, and cloves wafts over me and my dick takes notice. It reminds me of when we used to huddle together with a blanket scrunched up to our noses, peeking over at horror flicks in her basement. It reminds me of wrestling with her in the foam-block pit when during gymnastics. It reminds me of when we were kids, of when Cristian was still alive. It was perfection. It was heaven. It was everything. My chest tightens with pain. Before I fucked it all up.
“What? Why are you looking at me like that?”
I shake my head, my throat too clogged to answer.
“No, Marku, don’t do that,” she murmurs, her soft tone clear as a bell despite the sound of chirping birds from the backyard and cars passing on the street below. The tension in her shoulders drop off. She lifts her finger and traces the heavy bags under my eyes. I’m sure they look like bruises, even with my dark olive skin.
I swallow. “I’m not doing anything.”
