Chapter 16 #2
His hands are ripping through my behind, jabbing over my skirt down to my thighs, and shoving me tightly to his addictive arms and chest while slamming me against the wall at the same time.
My head surges to the wall. Oh my.
He grabs my butt, pulling it up even more.
I dig my hands through his hair, barely holding on, so satisfied.
I lock my lingering legs on his back, sliding it up, but he grips my thighs, sprawling my legs to yank wider apart and my jittering feet to dangle in the air.
It’s as though he wants to let me know that I don’t need to hang on.
My only job here is to indulge and to drown in the invigorating vehemence of his burning passion sweeping through every part of me. Wow.
He now wraps his two hands around my back in a vice-like grip as if forming an unbreakable lock, and I didn’t think it could get any tighter than it previously was.
His body is like a fortified tower. Fortifying every part of me and locking me up into his brewing intimate treasure.
He cuffs me so securely into his chest, my body squashed into his.
He is cuffing my tongue like a fortress.
His tongue is ripping through me. I almost feel the need to say thank you to him for what he’s doing to me.
So much pressure I had suppressed inside of me, and he’s making sure he finds every last one of them and swallows them up in the soul of his mouth, bringing every part of me to my knees.
Leveling the blades right here and right now, once and for all.
Pesh’s hands have a mind of its own with an unquenchable hunger that cannot be appeased or satisfied.
There are not many things I know in this life, but this one thing I do know: Pesh’s hands will screw me if it’s the last thing it does before I leave this life.
Its hunger is invigorating and demands to be worshiped.
He is ripping through my body, my waist, my thighs—capturing every inch of my curves into his grip, capturing places above my clothes, jabbing his palms into places on my waist, places on my thighs that I didn’t even know I could feel sensations in, places on my back I didn’t even know exist. And his tongue is devouring mine in increasing hunger.
Screw me for ever thinking I could mess with Pesh and have my heart unscathed. “Screww me.” Crap! I don’t realize when I say that out loud.
His eyes dart into me, stopping immediately.
“I didn’t mean it like that, I meant like I’m screwed, not like you screw me like that.” Nothing I say will make this better. And yet I keep talking, and he now ignores it, kissing me again, eating me up. “I was saying that—” I try to explain, still feeling so stupid.
He pushes me closer to himself. I’m just trying to get out a single sentence, and I can hardly speak over the force of his tongue. But it’s so nice.
“I’m listening.” Then he continues like he’s not sure if he wants to hear what I have to say or if he wants to shut my lips up some more.
“I mean, I don’t want to do that unless I’m in the most committed relationship possible. Under… uhh… umm… God!” Oh my gosh.
“What?” His deep voice thunders.
“Um, it’s—” I stutter just as his left hand grips my neck. “Nothing…”
Why do I keep talking when he is giving me no space to?
“I was just saying…” My feelings overtake my manners, and I speak fast—knowing if I don’t, he’ll kiss me again and shut me up. “I only want to do that with one person. I just want one person to screw me over and over again. Until they screw the crap out of me.” That may have been a bit much.
He stares at me. Saying nothing. Not altering, like he is intensely immediately jealous of something that’s not even happened. Something that could be his to have alone. And most likely will be. I hope he is all my firsts. My firsts and all my lasts.
“Capiche,” he says that in a terrifyingly calm way.
I’m silent and I don’t alter. And his silence is petrifying. Why is he not saying anything? I was simply speaking theoretically. I have to speak. He’s too terrifying. “Did I say something wrong?”
“No.”
“Then what?” Why am I pouting?
He shakes his head so nonchalantly, flicking it off, his eyes striking mine. “Your wish is my command.”
I stare and I don’t alter. Screw me for my big fat mouth. I keep talking; why am I still talking? It’s like I want him to validate me. “I just mean… I mean I want to know what your wish is as well. I just… I don’t want to do it unless I’m in a committed…”
He pulls me tightly to himself, clearly paying attention to my words.
My words mutter, “Um… committed…”
“What crimes have you committed against me, Shantavia?” He completely changes topic.
My heart races. “I haven’t done anything against you!”
He grabs my butt, shoving it up the wall and sliding it firmly to himself so securely. Like he is calling my bluff.
“Nothing that you don’t already know,” I confess, moaning against his grip so much my butt cheeks feel like it’s on fire.
“Urgh!” he grunts, shoving me up.
“Mmm.” I squirm. I’m so done for! And I don’t even know why I say this, but his wrath is so thrilling. “Do you forgive me?” My voice, breathless.
His tongue grabs mine, sliding his hands through my waist. Then, with vigor in his breath he murmurs, “I could never forgive you.” Okay, great to know I’m screwed for life with him then!
I gasp, trying to breathe as he pulls me tighter to himself. His hands slide through my hair so smoothly and gently—I don’t even know how that contrast exists. Gosh, how does he love me so tenderly and vigorously at the same time?
How does he even want me like this when this is the same guy who would fling me off a moving plane? And he is flinging every agency I had against him right now, bringing every part of me to bow on my face.
If that was his plan, sir, you succeeded before you even began.
But he only intensifies his hunger and wrath on me now.
How did I really piss him off, huh? I try to think…
I mean… all I did was look into his eyes, look at his finger, challenge him a couple of times, make fun of him in my mind and in real life, fight him, disobey rules, try to bypass his authority, trick him, sneak into his office and play him for information to find my sister.
Crap! He’s right. I am a criminal at the mercy of his passionate execution.
And he is prolonging the killing, making me feel every saw through my tongue from his razor-sharp thrusts.
“What then may I do to appease you, Patron Pesh?” my words say softly.
He doesn’t respond. I’m so very hot, but he doesn’t give me a moment to breathe, grabbing my behind incessantly as though to punish me some more for my many crimes against him.
My hands clench to his back, desperate gasps sprinting throughout.
My face flushed, glistening, my fragile breath enraptured at his undoing.
My hands clutch to his chest, desperate.
And thankfully, he speaks, “Once my wrath is awakened, it cannot be quenched. Not even by you.”
“Not even by me?” My voice fights to speak but sounds so weak.
He said that, like if there was anyone who could quench it, it would be me, but that’s wishful thinking. I have subconsciously done everything to impress him, even though he irritated me. Even though I’m supposed to hate him… And he is so difficult to impress.
“So, I can never impress you?” I say, teasing him.
His tongue sucks my tongue succulently, and he does it like he owns me now. Like he has been waiting from the first day he met me, or all his life, to see me bow to him. Then he says it, “You have no idea how much you pissed me off when you didn’t acknowledge me the first time we met.”
“Really, that much?” I’m quite surprised—he acted like he didn’t see. “Why?”
“Because I wanted your attention. I saw you. I came there for you, and I wanted you to want me. I was waiting for you to want me.”
Oh my world. “But I was a nobody?” my lips mutter.
“Don’t ever say that again. If you do, I will rip through that tongue of yours and shut it up so you learn how to speak about yourself correctly. Am I clear?”
“Yep.” I nod immediately. I’m so done for. This kind of claim for my all. “Why didn’t you claim me then?” My voice whimpers to find out. I want to know so bad now.
He doesn’t answer me yet. I really hope he will.
I honestly didn’t even think it was a big deal back then.
I thought of it as a silly rule, but it clearly made him sad that I held him in little regard, which could not be farther from the truth—Now.
He looks at my thighs, noticing that my short skirt is pulling up.
Before my hands can touch my skirt, he stops my hands and does it. He pulls my skirt down.
“Why did you ask me to pull my skirt down before? Jealousy?”
“Burning red-hot jealousy. Hope that helps.”
I gulp. Yep.
But I can’t help but wonder. “What do you have to be jealous of?”
“The common man for breathing the same air as you. The wind for flying past you. The common breeze for exhaling softly against your neck. The sun for shining on your iridescent body. Your common clothes for hugging every line of your divine silhouette. Your shoes for embracing your feet. Your common pen for touching your hands. Your skirt for touching your thighs. And… the universe for daring to think that you won’t be mine. ”
“So nothing. Got it. Thanks for the concise explanation.”
“Anytime.” His smile fades as his jaw tightens, his gaze turning serious.
I straighten up.
Then he continues, “And to answer your previous question, as much as I wanted you, I cared about you more. And I didn’t want you to come to this school and suffer.”
“So that’s why you said for them to take me out when you heard my name?”
“Correct. I tried to take you out the first time. Then I tried to force you to see it for yourself why you shouldn’t come here, through Oblivion, but when I saw that the system tagged you, I knew it’d never let you win, so I had to remove you from the game to protect you.”