Annoyed with me.
Do I blame him? No.
Am I gonna do anything to fix it? Also fucking no.
Because what's there to fix, really? This is the whole point, isn't it? He's not supposed to want this as much as I do. He's not supposed to want me as much as I want him.
That's the balance. That's the punishment.
And no, it's not fun.
I'm not some masochist who enjoys talking like this about the person I like. I fucking hate this.
I fucking hate him for making me want this. And deep down, I know I hate myself even more. He looks like he's thinking about all the ways he could kill me without leaving a trace.
Good. But then he exhales sharply, like he's giving up. "Fuck this," he mutters.
I glance over. He grabs his bag and opens it fast. "I'm going to the pool too," he says. "Pretty much anything sounds better than staying locked up in here with you."
Okay. That's my boy.
The words hit harder than I want to admit, but it's also exactly what's supposed to happen, right?
This is the script. This is the plan.
He's meant to be annoyed with me. He's meant to keep his distance. I'm the guy he can't stand. That's how we keep it safe.
If he hates me, or at leastthinkshe does, he won't get close enough to find out I'm already gone for him.
So yeah. His words hurt. But they also feel like confirmation.
Everything is going according to plan.
Until it doesn't. He pulls his shirt off and I nearly groan out loud.
Oh, fuck me.
Fuck me sideways, raw. The moment I see it, that fucking back, that ink sprawled across his back like black veins crawling under his skin, cyber tribal, jagged and chaotic, bleeding into each other, I fucking lose it.
It dips low, just barely disappearing into his pants. I swear to God I want to tear those off with my teeth and follow the line all the way down with my tongue.
My dick's already hard.
This idiot, this polished, perfect little fucking poster boy with his buttoned shirts and bookish glasses, has a goddamn cyber tribal back tattoo??
Something that raw?? Something that hungry??
I want to press him against the fucking wall and bite into that tattoo until he screams.
Forget what I said. I want to fuck the ink into his skin.
I want to leave marks over the marks.
I want to grab his hips and pull him back onto me until he forgets his own name.
I want to hear him beg while I choke him.
God, he's art I want to destroy. Beauty I want to wreck with my mouth, my hands, my dick, over and over until we both cry.
