Holy crap. Has Quill really been torturing me all this time? No wonder my pussy feels just as sore as my butt usually does after I’ve spent time with him.
Oh my God. I’m supposed to get up for school in less than four hours. How am I supposed to manage a full day of school on four hours of sleep?
Quill strikes me as the kind of guy who is used to functioning on low sleep, but I definitely need my full seven hours.
I stifle a yawn as Quill walks back in, then my eyes widen when I take in the full plate of food he must have just prepared, judging from the steam emanating from it.
“Did you cook all of that?” I gasp, looking at the thick cut of steak, the rice and the broccoli.
He shrugs, putting the plate on my lap. “Eat.”
“What about you?”
“I’m not hungry.”
“So you make me a whole plate of food and you don’t eat a thing yourself?” I huff out. “That’s not verynutritiousof you, is it?”
He folds his arms and surveys me, the darkness in his eyes making me shiver with want, despite the space between my legs throbbing painfully.
“I’ll make it hurt even more if you don’t hurry up,” he says, nodding at that very space, his voice thick with danger.
“I’m not hungry either,” I snap, because I secretly want him to carry through on his threat. Even though it literally feels like my folds will implode if they’re touched again.
But a loud rumble escapes from my stomach, and I flush painfully as he smirks. Then he sits down beside me, pushes the plate aside, and lifts me onto his lap. I snuggle contentedly in his arms, not caring about anything right now but the feel of him around me. And he seems just as determined to keep me there,though it’s hampering him as he reaches for the plate and… cuts up the meat.
Okay, then.
Before I have time to ask why he’s doing that, he places the plate back on my knees, then lifts a loaded fork to my mouth.
“Open up,” he orders.
I giggle, letting him spoonfeed me. Or forkfeed me, rather.
Though after I’ve eaten more than half, I’m feeling pretty full, so I blurt out, “I’d rather open up for something else.”
At that, he digs his fingers into my sides, and I nearly upset the plate as my body spasms uncontrollably. I’msoticklish. His mind seems to grow filthy again when he feels me squirm over him, because he whips the plate down on the floor then pins me down so my back is flush against the mattress, and clambers on top of me.
“Quill!” I squeak out as he relentlessly attacks my armpits and sides.
By the time he lets up, smirking sadistically, I’m wheezing, and I feel his bulge press against my stomach.
“Where am I going to fuck you now?” he says out loud, but he’s clearly not asking me to weigh in.
“I can’t, Quill!” I protest, even though I’m twisting beneath him with want. “It’s already almost three, and I need to sleep!”
My words earn me another round of tickling that leaves me panting, and then he pins my arms above my head. “No sleep tonight,” he growls.
“But we have school tomorrow,” I manage.
He presses his lips to mine. “You’re staying with me. In bed. Tomorrow and every day after. I’m never letting you get up again. I’m never letting you leave my side.”
I shiver at the uncontrollable hunger in his voice, echoed in his eyes. It’s what I want. It’s everything I want. But I used to want something else nearly as bad. And it’s that thought that makesme stammer weakly, “It’s my senior year, Quill, and I’m trying for a scholarship…”
He draws back, scowling. “I already told you, cricket. You don’t need to worry about that ever again. I’m going to take care of you.”
I close my eyes, wishing I could just give in. I want to, so bad. But something in me rebels at the idea of being taken care of in the way he seems to have in mind, and it’s not just the thought of the Devil contracts.
I want him to own me just as much as I want to feel independent. Two needs that should feel contradictory, yet that mesh together perfectly in my heart.
