Abigail glared. “Fuck you, Theo.” She got redder, trying to squirm her way out. I pinned her harder, drinking in each slight movement. Her furious breaths, the way her hair fell out of her bun and across her eyes, her shirt riding up, her hot slice of skin pressed against my abs.
“One minute I think you’re going to be nice to me,” she huffed. “But that’s like impossible for you now. You’re such a—”
I cut off whatever she was about to say with my lips.
ABIGAIL
I don’t move. I don’t even breathe, eyes wide and stunned. Theo is kissing me—again. This kiss is different. Still bruising and brutal, but not nearly as mean. It almost feels… worshipful.
My anger quickly gave way to white hot heat as Theo deepened his kiss, slanting his mouth, tongue searching.
I parted my lips, surrendering too easily.
He grasped the back of my neck, lifting me, and suddenly we were spinning. I was no longer beneath him but on top as he lay against the headboard. His hands were all over me—on my back, my neck, my thighs, along my arms. Goose bumps echoed their path.
I should push him away. He’s the boy who calls me Reject and made it clear he wants nothing but my tears. But his kisses feel like devotion, and his touch is close to reverence. I’d dreamed of kissing Theo on this bed. When I was a teenager, it was all I dreamed about. He’d hold my hand, and I’d wish for courage to make a move, fulfill his dirty promises.
Theo wasn’t a teenager anymore.
He was a man.
He bit my top lip, the hand not anchoring my neck sliding under my shirt, up my stomach, stopping just beneath my breast. I arched like I could force him to touch me. Theo can’t be forced. He just thumbed the curve beneath my breast in a tortuously slow and gentle rhythm.
Next his hungry mouth came for my bottom lip, this time more furious, dragging it out.
Ravenous.
His desire was hard against my thigh. I rubbed. I moved. I was rewarded with a slight groan, the tightening of his grip against my neck, biting my lip harder.
I wonder if I’ll bruise. I hope I do.
His hand on my neck pinned me in place for his carnal assault. I couldn’t move, only grind harder as his tongue dove deeper and he fucks my mouth.
Then I heard it.
Abigail.
My name from his lips against mine. It was so quiet, barely a night breeze. Maybe it was just a hope sprung from too many jagged memories, but his barbs on my heart tighten anyway.
“Please,” I begged.
It was like icy water was dropped on his head.
He threw me off him, and I bounced on my mattress with the force of it. Theo was off the bed before I could even brush the hair out of my eyes.
I was still so hot and bothered. I must look a mess. My shirt rode up and so did my shorts. My hair was tangled, my bun fell out. He was putting so much distance between us, and this should be the moment I come back to my senses.
When I realize Theo is not the boy who used to hold my hand on this bed, but the man who calls me Reject.
Instead, I held my arm out to him. “Theo?”
Theo paused. He was still hard, distractingly so, the outline rigid and mouthwatering in his jeans. His bedhead hair was even more messed from our make-out, falling across pale hazel-green eyes churning with a storm of emotions.
Then he shook his head, looking a little spooked.
He turned, walking out of my room, making sure to slam the door in his wake.
Twelve