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I’m frozen in place, partly terrified because I’ve never been on a bed with a boy before, but mostly because that boy is Ezra, and I have no idea what he’s thinking.
The new terror chases the old anger away, his expression changing to see it.
Head tilting to the side, he pushes up to his knees that straddle my legs, reaches behind him and pulls his shirt off.
I’m frozen again, except this time, there’s a lake of fire expanding through my body, hot and vengeful, my mind swirling with such rash decisions and chaotic thoughts that I’m in a vacuum of sorts, time frozen, my hand reaching out past the incandescent hurt to trace the shape of spider webs.
“Who did this?”
They’re everywhere, like paint splotches on a well-used drop cloth. One bruise fading into another, dark at the center before they spin out in a web of threads, the color changing from black to purple to blue and green.
Everywhere.
All over.
“They don’t hurt,” he whispers as my fingers trace a particularly ugly one.
My eyes snap up to his face, the anger there again which only makes him smile.
“Who?”
Instead of answering me, he cups my face with both hands and kisses me, his lips forcing mine apart, his tongue sweeping in to taste the anger I’m feeling, as if my fury is a drug that gets him off.
Hands hesitant, I run my palms up his chest and over his shoulders, gentle, so extremely gentle because I can’t stand the thought of adding to the marks on his skin.
So lost in my worry for him, I forget that I’m in a dark room with a boyon a bed, and that lack of realization is why he is able to lay me flat, to crush his body to mine.
The panic doesn’t return until his knees cage my legs together, his hand sweeping behind my neck to hold me in this blistering kiss as his other hand drops to tickle my skin with curious fingertips.
When his palm flattens against my breast from over my dress, I freeze again, every muscle tight and painful.
“I haven’t...”
It’s a whisper against his lips, an embarrassing confession, one that catches his attention and forces his eyes open.
Now I feel awkward laying here with a boy straddling my legs and his palm on my tit. We’re staring at each other in the shadowed room, my eyes filled with fear and his telling me nothing at all.
“Never?”
The question falls off his lips, half a tease and half honest shock. Rolling my eyes, I attempt to ignore the embarrassment I feel, my sudden attempt to shove him off a wasted effort since he’s twice as big as me.
Even for his size now, I realize Ezra still isn’t fully grown. He’s eighteen just like me, but not a man. I’ve seen men, and I’ve seen high school boys. There’s no comparison. It makes me wonder what Ezra will look like when he’s older, when his body has filled out fully and experience has sharpened his mind.
I bet he’ll be even more terrifying than he is now.
“Just let me go,” I breathe out, my eyes dancing anywhere to keep from looking at him. The ceiling, the wall, the door across the room I can use to get out of here and forget this happened.
His fingers squeeze my boob, just a light flinch of his hand before he pulls it away and presses his palm on the mattress by my head.
“Why not?”
“You know why,” I answer, still refusing to meet his eyes.
My cheeks are burning from the blood rushing to them, and I wince when his fingers touch my jaw. I struggle against him turning my face so that I have no choice but to look at him.
“Is this about Mason? About the bullshit agreement your parents made for you to marry him?”
Nodding my head, I let go to the feeling of sinking. Mason’s name alone is a weight pulling me down, a shadow that hovers over me constantly.
