Chapter 12 #3
I freeze, waiting on what he’ll do next.
He brings his nose to my ear and sniffs at it.
“Fucking strawberries.” He pushes his nose into my skin, and I shiver.
Then, unexpectedly, he licks the shell of my ear and blows on it.
Goosebumps rush all over my body, and I shamefully whimper.
What the hell? That’s not me! I don’t make sounds like that.
He pushes me deeper into him with his hand, and his other one goes to my chin, lifting it up as he inches away a little. Now his eyes are focused on mine.
“I’ve been trying to get rid of you every way I can, Kayla.” His Adam’s apple moves with a rough swallow. “Every fucking way. But you’re always here.” He taps his temple with his finger. “Always fuckin’ here. I need to get rid of you the only way I know how.”
“Wha—”
He doesn’t let me finish before he crushes his lips on mine, far from gently. It’s almost painful how he presses his mouth into mine. Almost. I like this urgency. I love it.
It’s then that I feel awake and find myself kissing him back, my hand pressing against his chest, ready to push him away if he says anything to tick me off (I’m totally lying to myself here: if he opens his mouth for anything other than to devour mine, I’ll just shut him up with another kiss).
But instead of pushing him away, I fist his shirt and pull him toward me, biting his lip.
The taste of him… the taste I’ve imagined forever, is better than I ever imagined. It’s the taste of overwhelming power, of a suppressed need, and my wildest dream. Of hate and desire. Of freedom and chains.
His hot tongue dances with mine, fighting for dominance that I’m all too willing to give up.
“I need this off,” he whispers into my mouth as his fingers pull on the robe tie.
The sound of his words fills my stomach with a kaleidoscope of butterflies; his calloused hands snake under the robe, settling against the bare skin of my back.
He stops the kiss and moves his mouth to my cheek, peppering it with soft kisses.
I never knew he could be so soft. Not with me.
“Justin?” Opening my eyes and trying to catch his gaze, I see the same emotions in his eyes as I feel in my chest right now.
In this moment, he doesn’t hate me. In this moment, he’s acting on the desire he’s had for me.
Just like I am. In my wildest dream, I couldn’t imagine Justin being my closet admirer.
Pulling him down with my arms around his shoulders, I kiss him, not caring if I should be mad, hate him back, or smack the ever-loving crap out of him for all the hurt he caused me. Not caring about anything but this one moment. We can both be embarrassed about that later.
“Step back,” he commands, quickly pressing his lips against mine.
Like the good girl I am (sometimes), I obey and start moving backward.
Unsurprisingly, I find my legs pressed against my table on the way to the bedroom.
Somewhere along the way, my robe was removed, leaving me in a thin cami that covers pretty much nothing.
To even the field, I tug his shirt up, and he allows me to remove it.
My eyes travel down the fit torso of a man who works with his hands and earns his muscles with hard work.
His six-pack is an eight, in fact, and his pecs are so firm and smooth.
I want to bite them. To leave my mark on all that perfection.
My cheeks feel hot, and the smug look on his face says all I need to know.
“Like you didn’t stare at me first,” I huff, but my breath’s taken away when he pulls me close.
I can feel him. Skin to skin, his nearness causing me to swallow hard.
His fingers wrap under my chin and tilt my head back, his thumb going over my lower lip, pressing it to open.
“You’re so hot.” The words come out under my breath, but I know he heard it, the smirk on his lips growing.
“I meant your body.” He chuckles now. “I meant the temperature of your body. You’re really hot. ”
His face changes into concern. “I am?”
“You are.” The sexual tension begins dissolving as fast as it came. Concern rises in my chest when I see his reaction to my words.
“Oh fuck.” I see a hint of… dare I say embarrassment ?
“What?” I step back as I begin feeling uncomfortable being so exposed in front of him when the moment passed.
“I gotta get home,” he slurs.
“That’s what I’ve been saying all evening long.” I grab the shirt I see on the bed and pull it over my head. The mood shifts. We missed the moment and skipped right to embarrassment.
Justin tries to walk to the entrance, but his movements have slowed. He grabs the nearest surface, a teapot on the table, and accidentally smashes it on the floor. He looks down and says, “Shit, sorry.” His speech is even more troublesome, and I begin to worry for real here.
“Justin, why don’t you—” Whatever I was about to say gets cut short as he crashes to the floor with a loud thud. The only thing that stopped his face from smashing is the couch that slowed his fall.
“What the hell, Justin?” I run to him and drop to my knees. I begin shaking his shoulder. “Justin, wake up! Justin!”
Yeah, he was drunk in the evening, but that wasn’t a drunken stupor. He came here almost sober. Was he? He was sober, right? I didn’t just take advantage of a drunk person. Right?
I shake him again. “Justin!”
Not knowing what to do, I call the only person who knows what to do in this situation. After all, she was an ER nurse in a very busy hospital. She picks up on the fifth ring. “Kayla? What happened?” Freya’s sleepy voice drips with concern.
“Justin just crashed on my freaking floor!”
There is a moment of silence before she speaks. “Justin is at your place?”
“Yes! Haven’t you heard the part where he crashed and is currently on the floor?” I’m nearing hysterics.
I hear Alex’s voice murmuring something to Freya, and she tells him quietly, “Justin just crashed in Kayla’s home.”
“He is at her place?” There is wonder in his voice.
“Yeah. Do you know what he was going to do? He’s seemed really off lately.
” Freya’s worried, I can tell. She’s worried for him, and I’m concerned for him too.
I don’t know Justin at all and don’t know his problems. He seems like he doesn’t have many unless you consider me as a problem. What if he’s in trouble?
And why aren’t they worried that he just collapsed? All her questions concern his general well-being, not his body splayed on my floor.
I mentally slap myself back to reality. No matter how big of a bully he is, he needs my help.
Suddenly, cold fingers squeeze my chest from the inside.
What if he’s ill? What if he has some serious illness, and he won’t be here anymore?
Like forever. I feel dread settling in the pit of my stomach while Alex and Freya are still murmuring something to each other. “Freya! What do I do? Do I call 911?”
“No.” She sighs. “Let him sleep it off.”
“Sleep what off?”
“His insomnia.” She yawns.
“What?”
“He’s a chronic insomniac. He just crashed after probably a few days being awake,” she says after another lengthy yawn.
“Justin has insomnia?” That was the last thing I expected.
“Yes. And quite severe.”
I try to digest what she just said. In such a small town, it’s nearly impossible to have secrets, and such a big secret like this would be difficult to hide.
Yet, he managed it. Not like it’s a life-changing thing that would change how people view him.
“Are you sure? He acted weird. What if he just had a stroke and I don’t do anything to help?
Is he going to die?” My voice takes a high pitch at the end.
“He is not going to die. I’ve seen him crashing like that. It’s normal,” she explains in a calm voice.
“It’s not fucking normal, Freya. He just collapsed on my floor.” I wave my hand at Justin’s body as if she can see me through the phone.
“I mean, it’s normal for him.”
I touch his forehead with my fingers. “He’s cold.”
“What?” Her question doesn’t really hold any genuine interest.
“His skin is cold. And two minutes ago, he was burning up.”
“It’s a normal reaction of a body on the verge of crashing.
” She clears her throat. “Well, not exactly normal, but typical for severe cases. He used up all his fuel that was left plus some more, so his body was throwing him a warning sign. I’m surprised he hadn’t noticed it.
What exactly was he doing before that?” I can almost imagine Freya narrowing her eyes with suspicion.
“Nothing.” I rush my answer.
“So why do you sound guilty?” She sounds interested, if not suspicious, when she should sound concerned. Damn, what’s happening with this world? And Freya, of them all.
“I’m not. What are you talking about?” My guilt is too apparent.
“R-r-r-right,” she hums.
“So, what do I do?” I ask in a hurry, trying to divert her attention from the embarrassing subject.
“Check his pulse.”
“Finally, some sound advice from a medical worker,” I say with sarcasm, hoping she will feel a little remorse.
“Don’t think I’m dropping this subject. What about his pulse?” Her tone changes to professional.
I check his neck and count the beats. “Seems steady and normal.”
“Did he hit his head?”
“No, he half landed on the couch.” He’s lucky he did. He half sits on the floor, leaning his torso on the bottom of the couch. His head hangs on the side at an almost painful angle.
“On the couch on the way to your bedroom?” Freya asks as Alex chuckles.
“Freya!”
“Right, right. His pulse is fine; he didn’t hit his head. He’s fine. Just let him sleep it off.” And just like that, she’s lost interest again.
“Are you sure? That fall didn’t look fine.” I keep replaying it in my head on a constant repeat.