But I guess I’m not that good at reading his glares, after all. He wasn’t angry at me. Only upset to see he hurt me.
Now, he’s driving me home, and life suddenly feels beautiful. He parks in front of my house, helps me off his bike, then pulls me along, my wrist trapped in his hand.
My eyes widen as he opens the front door, apparently aware it’s unlocked, apparently aware, also, that no one will hear.
“My mom is here,” I whisper.
Another shrug, as he climbs up the stairs toward my room, his arm wrapping itself around my waist.
“You’re not being very discreet,” I tell him, even as I hate myself for not being able to just…shut up. Mom is in bed, she always is. I highly doubt she’d get up even if shedidhear the door open, which feels unlikely. So why do I need to protest? Iwantthis. I want Quill. Why do I keep running my stupid mouth?
Luckily, Quill doesn’t seem to hear me. He merely topples me over on my bed, pushing me onto my stomach and pulling down my jeans without even giving me a moment to get my breath back.
“Quill!” I giggle as his hands hook into the waistband of my panties, dragging them down too. Then I grow sober as I hear his breath change.Shit.I can tell he wants me. And I want him too, but our first time was so intense I can barely walk, let alone survive another round so soon.
“Quill, I’m sorry… uhm…” I gulp nervously. “I don’t think I can handle any more… right now. Can you… can you give me a day?”
At once, I feel the mattress spring up as he removes his weight from it. A lump forms in my throat. Seriously,what the hell is wrong with me?
My stomach fills with lead as I hear his steps retreating. He’s leaving.
Why couldn’t I keep my mouth shut? I can handle anything he gives me. Just as long as he doesn’t leave.
Why am I so messed up? Why am I begging the guy who has made my life hell for the past three years to stay? How could one weekend change everything?
And yet, there’s no doubt it has.
“Quill,” I blubber, feeling an embarrassing tear form in my eye then wind down my cheek, “please, Quill—”
The door opens, and I inhale sharply.
“Quill, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean any of that. You can do what you want. I—”
I stop talking, feeling sad and pathetic. It’s like I’m watching myself in slow motion, seeing myself make this whole situation worse, and I can’t do a thing to stop it. If I hadn’t screwed things up before, I definitely have now. God, why the hell am I so insecure?
I sit up slowly, trying to wriggle my jeans back up my thighs, when he speaks suddenly from the bathroom across the hall, making me jump.
“Did I tell you to move?”
His deep, dangerous voice makes me shiver. I lie back down at once, facing away from him, licking my lips nervously as I hear him draw near.
“Quill, I’m sorry…” It’s like I’ve forgotten hownotto apologize. But the idea of losing the boy I’ve spent what feels like a lifetime obsessing over is just too painful. “Please do what you were going to do… please don’t pay attention to me.”
A low chuckle makes goosebumps pebble on my back and chest. I squeeze my eyes shut, not daring to turn around. But it’s torture to be like this, lying stomach down on the mattress, my panties and jeans around my ankles. It feels so… awkward, and embarrassing, and vulnerable.
He stops at the foot of the bed, and I feel fingers nudge my thighs apart. Then the mattress sags once more as he sits between my legs.
My breaths come in short, pained gasps. I know that if he lowers his eyes, he’ll be able to see my pussy in this position. I’m pretty sure I’m wet, because his mere presence does things to me. But I’m also pretty sure my body will spontaneously combust if we have sex again right now. I’msosore.
Still, the thought of him leaving is so terrifying that I would do anything. Including spontaneously combust.
I practically jump out of my skin when I feel something cool and wet on my left ass cheek. Then his thumb, rubbing it in.
My heartbeat picks up, because if the space between my legs is sore, it’s nothing compared to my ass. I can’t handle another spanking right now after the one he gave me right before we had sex. I just can’t.
I’m determined not to say that, though, so I bite my lip so hard I taste blood, and wait.
But instead of the blows that I assume are forthcoming, Quill’s hand just keeps massaging lotion into my ass. First on one cheek, then the other. If I weren’t so tense, I’d probably be aware of just how good it feels to get the sting rubbed out by his fingers. But my mind is entirely focused on what I’m convinced is coming.
