I need it.
I need the shadow to stop casting me into darkness. I need the rain cloud to go away. What I need isn’t just Thomas to bringme to a place of mercy. It’s to make me feel like a normal girl. Not the orphaned one that people pity. Not the headstrong one people see because she had to overcome her parents’ deaths.
What I need is to be the type of person who makes mistakes. Who’s giddy and reckless. Who acts out of emotions and not out of logic.
I’m sick ofthinking.
I’m tired of trying to bereasonable.
All I do is pretend to be fine when I’m drowning in choices that don’t make me happy. Suffocating on decisions that only get me so far.
But I don’t divulge those deep, dark thoughts or desires.
“I don’t want to feel this way,” I whisper instead, dragging my fingers from where they’re curled atop his collarbone to cup the nape of his neck and knead the tense, knotted muscles there.
I close my eyes and inhale slowly, finally letting my lungs get the oxygen they so desperately need.
“I don’t want to feel—”
Thomas doesn’t let me finish before he’s flipping us over, so I’m on my back beneath him. The couch is short, barely large enough to fit both of us because of his bulky frame, but he makes it work without struggle. He’s good at domineering his space, no matter how little of it he has.
His presence, authoritative and confident, is both attractive and terrifying because I know I can’t compete. We’re not on equal footing. My experience is lacking in ways I refuse to admit.
I don’t do virgins, he’d told me once.
I swat that thought away like a pesky fly.
“You want me to make you come,” he purrs, hovering over me and propping himself up with his arms on either side of my head. “The question is, sweetheart, how do you want me to do it?”
I blow out a shaky breath as he dips his face dangerously close to my mouth. He doesn’t kiss me—doesn’t cross that invisible line bordering on the brink of our insanity. He knows the second he does, he’ll lose his control.
Keeping true to his promise, his lips move to the crook of my neck to press open-mouthed kisses against my pulse. He nips the skin and drags his tongue across the same spot, his bite hard enough to make me suck in a breath. Involuntarily, I arch up until I feel the hardened length under his jeans.
“Do you want me to get you off with my fingers?” he asks into my throat, before moving to pepper a trail of kisses down my neck. He bites into my collarbone, and I hiss at the pain that he licks away with a smile. “Or my mouth?”
My eyelids flutter closed as he lowers his body to press against mine. His weight doesn’t feel overwhelming, and I suspect he’s holding himself up so as not to crush me. “B-both,” I rasp when his teeth sink into me again, this time at the curve of my breast. “More. I w-want more.”
He hums against my chest, where he grazes his lips against the spot above my racing heart. I hear the faintest chuckle vibrate against me, undoubtedly because of how hard the organ in its cage drums in reaction to him.
“More, huh?” he muses, his tongue flattening against the bite I suspect will leave a small bruise tomorrow. “What else do you want from me? I’ll need you to use your big girl words.”
His comment should annoy me the same way it did when he referred to me as a kid weeks ago, but I’m incapable of irritation. His hot kisses and the way his hands roam up and down the sides of my body like he’s petting me are setting me on fire. I do want more. I want it all. Everything.
I make a noise when his mouth disappears, and he rises up to look me in the eye.
He pinches my chin and tilts my head. “Look at me, Winter.” His voice oozes authority, so I know it isn’t a suggestion. I force my eyes open and try calming my beating heart. “Good girl.”
Oh God.I clench my thighs at the sound of his praise, and he notices immediately.
“Do you like that?” he asks, with interest sparking in his eyes. The gray-blue color sides more with the latter, making his hues look like a stormy sky. “Do you like it when I call you a good girl?”
There’s no room for embarrassment when his hands trail up, up, up until the side of his palm brushes against my breast. After I’d come home from the cemetery, I changed into a worn pair of leggings and a T-shirt, forgoing a bra because I wanted to be comfortable. The shirt is so thin, Thomas may as well be touching my bare skin.
Eventually, I find myself nodding. I’d never been called a good girl before, but the high praise in his tone and etched into his features is a turn-on I never expected to have.
He hums, his hands stilling as he studies my face. “You never answered my question,” he notes, his lips curling into a half-grin. “What else do you want from me? Do you want me to touch you?”
The way he asks, in a quiet, sure voice, makes heat rise to my face. “Yes.”
