13. Brody
brODY
Kissing my girl is like a dream. My sweet Lola, my beautiful Bambi.
I never thought that someone like her would go for a guy like me.
Wrecked. Damaged. Psychotic. But she sees something in me.
Something good. Makes me want to be good.
But, if she knew my secret, she would run.
That boy’s blood won’t ever wash off my hands.
My first kill. An accident. But ultimately, it only expanded an existing darkness within me.
We made it through junior year, sneaking around, and giving each other companionship. I hold myself back for her. She’s not ready yet. I can see that. Something is stopping her. There is fear in her eyes when sex is brought up.
Who hurt you? I want to ask. But, I don’t. I don’t pry, not until she wants me to.
She has trust issues; I know that, I see it. But I am hungry, and I can’t wait forever. So, I want to make it special. I want to spoil her, show her she is safe, show her I will not hurt her.
It is the summer before senior year, we are both eighteen now. She is an adult in every way, especially her body. It is nice and filled out now. Round, full tits. Wide hips and a perfect ass. Every fucking time I look at her, I want to pounce her bones and never let go.
I need to work up to it. Despite how I want to rip her clothes off and fuck her until I am the only man she will ever want.
Her house is right there and I watch her through the window.
There is a pull within me, as if she is a magnet I cannot resist any longer.
I hop off my bed and tiptoe downstairs. The house is quiet; Sophie is at a friend’s house for the night.
Mom and dad are asleep, or getting wine-drunk in their room together. So, it is easy for me to slip out.
I walk to the side of her house. There is a tree looming right by her window, and I climb up. I balance on the roof and make my way to her window. It’s one of those houses with a dormer window, giving me a spot to crouch right outside.
I watch her for a moment. So beautiful. So innocent. I lift my hand and knock. Not loud enough to scare her, but enough pressure for her to know to look. She jumps up and turns her head towards me. Her eyes widen. She comes over and opens the window with a smile on her face.
“What are you doing here? You could have texted first, I almost had a heart attack!” She steps backwards as I climb inside. I see the way she bites her lip and looks at the closed door.
“What are you so afraid of?” I ask, stepping closer. In the time we have been together, she does not talk much about her home life.
She laughs it off. As usual. “It’s nothing, Brody. I just don’t want my mom or step-dad to walk in here and catch us.”
I walk over to the door and lock it. “Well, now they’ll have to bust the door down just to get in here.” I smirk and grab a hold of her.
She is about to protest but stops when my lips catch hers. She melts into me; her hands tremble against my chest, but she doesn’t push away. Instead, she clings tighter. Like she’s scared she’ll fall through the floor if she lets go.
I push her up against the wall. The drywall thuds. I want to see if she’ll moan or gasp. I want to leave her breathless, dizzy, marked everywhere. Her mouth opens under mine. Her tongue flicks shy at first, then bolder, greedy little licks that make my cock pulse.
I grip her jaw, angle her head back, force her to take every inch of my mouth. I want to make her remember me for the rest of her fucking life. My pulse hammers. There’s nothing in the world except the feel of her tits smashed against my chest, her hips grinding desperate into my thigh.
She moans into my mouth. Shaky, half-ashamed; it makes me want to wreck her.
I groan back, unable to control it. My hands slide down her back, palming every angle, dragging her closer.
I want her on the mattress, on her knees, begging.
But she breaks the kiss first, gasping, smiling with swollen lips.
Eyes huge, haloed in blue. Her hair is a mess.
She looks like she’s been fucked already. I want to mess her up even worse.
A laugh bubbles up from her throat. Breathless. “You could’ve warned me, Brody.”
I crowd her, pinning her again. I whisper it in her ear, “You like it when I don’t warn you.”
She shivers but doesn’t deny it. I drag my teeth along her skin, down her neck, biting a trail until she whimpers.
“Fuck.” She sighs. “We can’t…we can’t get caught.”
I pull back just enough to see her face. “We won’t.” I’d burn the fucking house down if anybody tried to open the door.
I grab her hand and guide her to the bed. Every step, my body aches for more contact. My cock is impossibly hard. My head is full of static. She sits down, legs crossed, shorts riding up obscenely. I want to slide my hand under there, tease her until she begs.
Lola points to the TV. “Pick something.” Her voice is wobbly, eyes glued to my hands. She wants to see what I’ll do next.
I stare at the remote but can’t focus. All I want to do is press her into the mattress and make her mine. Instead, I sit beside her. Too close. Our thighs touch. My hand brushes the soft skin just above her knee.
She goes stiff, then pliant. I watch the way she breathes, in and out, shallow and desperate. Her hands are in her lap, fingers twisted together.
The bed dips under my weight. Her thigh brushes mine, and the world lurches.
I could take her right here, right now. Push her onto her back.
Rip those shorts clean off. Instead, I feed it slowly.
Patient. The way predators toy with prey just to taste the terror before the kill.
My knuckles graze her knee softly. Her body jolts, and blood surges in my dick.
She flicks the remote, fumbling it. I don’t care about the movie.
I care about the way her breath fans my neck, the heat of her body melting into mine.
Every shift of her limbs sends static through me.
She glances up through her lashes. Shy. Wrecked.
There’s a question trembling in her mouth but she can’t voice it.
I reach over, resting my palm on her knee and just press. Gentle, but territorial. Letting her know she’s fucking claimed. I watch her face. The wet shine in her eyes. She’s terrified and delighted. Perfect.
We don’t talk for a minute. Just the buzz of the TV, two kids pressed together pretending not to want what we both want. The possessiveness in me gets louder every second. She smells like sugar. Lotion, maybe, something cheap and floral. I want to lick it off her skin.
She brings her hands to her chest. One crosses over her breast. She’s aware of the way I look at her. She always is.
I trace my thumb up her thigh, just a touch, nowhere dangerous. Yet.
“You nervous?” I murmur, not looking at the screen.
“No.”
Liar. I squeeze. She jumps. Her eyes flutter closed for a second. Her lips part but she doesn’t have words. Doesn’t matter. I lean in and bite her earlobe, just the barest graze of teeth. She gasps. A pretty, broken little noise.
“Lola,” I hiss. “You want me to stop?”
She shakes her head. Fuck, that’s good. That’s so good I want to bite her bones in half. I push her onto her back, slow, careful, so she doesn’t spook. She looks up at me, wide-eyed, open, trusting.
If she knew how much I want to destroy her, she’d never let me touch her. Maybe that’s why it’s so sweet. Delicate. I kiss her softly this time. Everything in me is violent and nasty, but my mouth is soft. I force it to be. For her. Tongue gentle, slow, patient.
Her fingers tangle in my hair. She drags me closer, hips arching up to grind against my thigh. We kiss forever. Her breath comes in little whimpers. I want to brand her. Make her incapable of leaving my bed, my side, my orbit.
The movie’s still playing, but nobody’s watching it.
She shifts, thighs brushing against me, and my skin goes fever-hot. I let my palm slide higher, just an inch, staring at the way her breath stutters and pulls. Pretty, trembling, almost scandalized. Like it’s a secret only we can touch.
“You like that, Bambi?” My voice tears up the space. She nods. She’s always honest with her body, even if her words come out sideways. I lean into her, lips against the shell of her ear. “Tell me what you want.”
There’s hesitation. She’s shy, but not unwilling. I can feel her heart pounding through her chest, wild as a hummingbird in my hands. I watch the blush rise up her throat, beautiful, impossible.
“I want you to kiss me,” she whispers. “The way you did before.”
She doesn’t have to beg. Not ever. Our kiss is filthy.
She opens for me, tongue tangling, desperate.
All pride gone. My hands roam up her thigh, over her hip, squeezing, claiming.
Flesh so fucking perfect. I could knead it for hours.
Her hands tangle in my hair, scratching, yanking me closer, as if any distance will kill her.
I slide my palm to her waist, up her side, fingers curling under the hem of her shirt.
She breaks the kiss, panting.
My voice shakes when I say it: “You want more, don’t you?”
“Yeah. Please?”
Fuck me. The sound of her begging is an overdose. I want to be good for her, careful, but my head is too full of wanting.
I slip my hand under her shirt; her skin is electric. I don’t go straight for her tits, not yet. I trace her ribs, memorize the lines of her, the way she arches into my hand. She makes this soft, breathy whimper when my calluses rake her side.
“So sensitive,” I murmur.
She bites her lip and looks up at me. Blue eyes. Like the sky during dusk. “Nobody ever touched me like that before. Not like this.”
Possessiveness slices through me. I grin. “Nobody ever will, except me.”
She laughs again, all nerves. “That supposed to sound romantic?”
I tug her shirt higher, barely exposing the swell of her stomach. She shudders. “Yeah,” I breathe. “You’re everything to me, Bambi. Thought you figured that out.”
I drag my thumb over her hipbone. She moans, helpless. I want to hear her do it again.