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“No,” Felix barks.
I narrow my eyes. “What? Why not?”
He leans forward, snapping the bong from Atticus’s hands. “Because I fucking said so.”
I stare at him, face blank. “Becauseyou said so? You’re going to need to come up with a better response than that.”
He sneers at me, showing all his teeth. “You’re not having a hit out of this bong, Hazel. You can ask me and pester me all you fucking want, but if you put your hands around this glass, you won’t have any fucking hands to grab it with.”
The calmness in his voice has my eyes springing to his. My lips pop open in a surprised gasp. He’s fucking ruthless right now, and for no goddamn reason.
His eyes drop to my lips, and I watch as they swing from left to right, as if he’s memorizing each inch, each crease into his brain. “Last time you looked at me like that, you ended up with your legs spread. Trying to have another go at it, Hazel Ares?”
I sneer, my cheeks flaming as I pull back, my nose scrunching in disgust, even while my insides flicker with the warm, roughened memories. “In no lifetime will I ever make that mistake again.”
It was my favorite mistake, but a mistake all the same.
When he disconnects his hand from the bong, his fingers point toward my neck. “The flush on your neck proves how much you’re lying, but I’ll let you pretend if you fucking want to.”
The couch shakes as Malik sits down on the other side of Vera, his arm curling over her shoulders. She holds her cup close to her chest as she smirks, watching everyone get fucked up with so much happiness on her face that I want to cheer her on and scream at the top of my lungs at the same time.
Love is both beautiful and horrifying to watch. Probably because I’ve never really experienced it or seen it happen. My family consists of a long line of women with absent men. Our Wiccan blood is strong, and apparently, it’s too damn much for a man to handle.
We’re better off without them anyway.
Everyone starts to get up, and Atticus cranks the music while Levi pours some more drinks. I turn back to Felix, shocked to see his eyes piercing mine. Swallowing over the sudden lump in my throat, I bring my own cup to my lips and take a small sip to wet my suddenly parched mouth.
His gaze doesn’t waver, a mixture of hate and something akin to fire swirling within his eyes, like a scorching flame that singes through my veins and slides across my skin. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
He narrows his eyes at me, his sharp jaw clenching. Digging into his pocket, he pulls out his lighter and drops his mouth over the top of the bong. He lights it up, taking a hit so expertly I become mesmerized at the grace in his movements.
Lifting his head, he turns toward me, opening his mouth and allowing a thin stream of smoke to cover my face. “Because I could be anywhere in the world right now, and somehow, I’m stuck in this fucking shack with you.” He leans in, towering over me, his one hand setting the bong on the table in front of him, the other curling over my leg.
Electricity.
It’s the only word I can use to describe the moment his fingers touch my thigh. Like loathing and lust mixing together, the combination so toxic I feel electrocuted to the spot. It’s a painful feeling, yet I yearn for more of it.
Why? He’s my fucking enemy.
I glance down at my cup, seeing it empty.Maybe I’m a little drunk.That’s the only explanation I have for why I would even be sitting this close to him right now.
“I hate you,” I sigh, leaning back at the same time his hand slides farther up my leg. “Cut it out,” I snap, batting his hand away. He doesn’t move it, though, his fingers becoming claws as they drag against my skin.
His hand slides beneath my skirt, and my eyes shutter, embarrassment running through me when I already know he’ll find wet panties if he continues his journey. My body is traitorous, and he seems to have the key to every part of me.
“How easy it would be for me to slip between these legs. It’s almost like going back in time. Do you remember how you felt, Hazel?” His fingers brush up and down against the lace of my panties, pressing the fabric between my folds. His thumb raises, and he circles it against my clit, hard enough for me to jolt toward him. “How you fogged up my windows with your heavy breaths. The way you tilted your head back and screamed my name like I was your god. Do you remember that night, Hazel?” He leans forward, bringing himself even closer, and I’m glad no one is paying attention to us, because I’m a panting, quivering mess beneath him.
“I remember,” I whisper.
“Do you remember scraping my back, making me bleed, my skin shredding beneath your nails? Or how you loved the way I held you so roughly, bruises marked your skin. You liked it, Hazel. You fucking liked it a lot.”Brush, brush, his fingers go back and forth, and I end up moving my hips slightly, wanting more, more,moreof my enemy.
But then his fingers lift, and my eyes widen in rage, a whimper slipping past my lips as I gasp. “What’re you doing?” I whimper. “Please.”
He sticks his pointer and middle finger into his mouth, tasting the light arousal coating his skin. His face turns cold, a wall building across his features as pure hatred fills his eyes. “Please, what, Hazel? Let you come? I much prefer watching you tremor in pain, begging for releasefrom me. Do you know what it does to a man, to see their worst enemy plead for them?” He puffs out a laugh, watching me with mock pity on his face. Bending down, his face hovers over mine, the messy, damp locks of his hair falling over his forehead. “Your pain gets me so fucking hard, little witch. Your pussy clenching right now? Weeping for release? I bet your clit is pulsing,so fucking desperatefor my fingers.”
I swallow, my throat growing drier, every bit of moisture in my body traveling south, directly between my legs.
“If you want to fucking orgasm tonight, you better stick your own fingers in your cunt, because that’s the only way you’ll be getting off,” he growls quietly, so fucking certain. Like he owns me.
