Chapter 5 #4
Adrian kisses me, and I wrap my arms around his neck. I kiss him back. My fingers are in his hair. His fingers are in mine. It’s natural and easy, all of that kissing. This is what I get from him after a week of nothing? Where’s our back-and-forth bullshit?
“Adrian, wait.” I put a hand on his chest again, and he stops immediately. “Fuck, now I forgot what I was going to say.”
“Because you have nothing to say and we both know it.” He tugs me closer, and my elbow collapses, crushing my arm between our chests.
Widow stares me down and there’s nowhere left to hide.
I swallow again, that horrible tangle of guilt.
It’s choking me. “You want my attention, I get it. You can have it.” The edge of his mouth turns up a little.
“Just not in the way you thought you were going to get it.”
He tries to kiss me again, and I shrink back.
“Don’t do it if it’s a trauma response,” I begin, but he presses forward and I stay where I am.
“Thanks for looking after me, Scar, but I don’t need it.” Widow’s voice is rough, almost emotional.
Our mouths meet. We find each other’s hair with our fingers again.
Sunlight falls over the strong planes of his back, a wash of golden light that makes me ache when it hits his hair.
I am so fucked. I’m in love with this bastard, too.
I gasp when he slides his right hand up and under my sweater, fingers brushing the underside of my breast.
There’s no space to say anything there. We just go right back to kissing. I can feel Widow smiling as he kisses me.
The urge to run away is there. The urge to hit him in the throat and piss him off for no good reason, that’s there, too. I can see Lemon’s dying expression, the unrequited love in her eyes for Aspen. My worst nightmare.
I am not Lemon. I am different than Lemon. Widow is different than Aspen.
That’s the Prescott trap though: everyone thinks they’re different.
I wrap my legs and arms around Widow and he makes a pleased sound, rocking his hips against me while stroking my hair. There’s me, pushing us toward sex and then there’s him, easing us back. Just a bit of push-pull to make us comfortable with this new romance shit.
Widow and me, we’re the same person. Our love is almost narcissistic.
I grab the sides of his face and tilt my head back.
His hips keep moving, this frustrating tease against the outside of my sweatpants.
I’m soaked straight through for him, and I’m relieved that he’s hard for me, too.
I didn’t like it when he acted as if he didn’t want me.
All week, watching me in the library like he was unsure.
That’s not it though, is it?
He’s up to something, too. With Bohnes and Alexei. I smell a fuckboy plot.
My fingers find the waistband of those borrowed sweatpants, dragging them down over his ass.
He’s fine with that, retaliating by jerking my pants down with a fist in the loose fabric of the crotch.
We can’t seem to stop kissing long enough to get everything off properly, so there’s some tangled-ass mess of half-on sweatpants between us.
Just not between the important parts.
Widow eases into me, his mouth still on mine. Our eyes are half-open, looking at each other. Everything is hazy and warm and weird. You got my back eh, Adrian? Yeah. For real. I know he does. Fuck it.
I push at him, trying to get him to roll over. He resists for a second, but then something clicks in his gaze as he falls onto his back, dragging me on top of him.
“Show me, Scarlett,” he murmurs before I cut him off with another kiss, my black hair coiled all around his face. I’m something dark and striking, my fingers curling around his neck. I don’t squeeze or anything. I’m just collaring his throat with a demonic manicure and a bloody thumbnail.
“Show you what?” I whisper back, my lips against his.
I tighten my fingers a little, but then Widow reaches up to touch my wrist and I relax.
I place both palms on his chest and roll my hips into him, slow and easy.
I kiss him again, forgetting for a few minutes there that I was waiting for a response.
“How much you want me.” Widow relaxes with a sigh, leisurely captured between my strong thighs. His hands rest on my hips. He’s still smiling when I bite his lower lip in punishment. “That’s what I was really waiting for this week.”
I pause my hips, his cock fully locked inside of me. I jerk them roughly and he groans, surprised maybe by the sudden movement. I sit up to stare down at him, but all I get in response is that same easy smile. It’s disarming. I want to keep being mean to him, but I…can’t.
“Damn you.” I curl my hands into fists and put my face up against the side of Widow’s strong neck, breathing in that forest and plum scent.
It’s not a spray or anything. It’s just his skin.
I think I’m the only person who perceives his smell like that, huffing him up like some sort of nut in a scented candle aisle.
I pound lightly with my left fist. “Stupid fuckboy. You stole my parking space, Adrian.”
“You stole my fucking car.” He grabs onto my wrists and gives them a yank, dragging me back down when I was trying to sit up. “You make me believe in romance novel shit, Scarlett. Let’s make sure not to die in all this, okay? We have a right to see what real romance looks like on the other side.”
If I were a normal woman, I’d feel…something right now.
“Shut the fuck up.” I kiss him again, grinding my hips down on his, pinning him to the mattress in the sunshine. He’s deep, so deep that it’s almost an ache. I don’t care. I push down as hard as I can and I kiss him like we might end up dead at the bottom of a lake.
One day, I might find myself standing at a funeral, only three fuckboys in tow and a fourth missing.
I will never let these men go now that they’re mine. I’m as violent and obsessive about that as I am about my friends. Willingly dropping one of their leashes? That’s not going to happen.
Widow’s hands on my hips, the curve of my waist, lifting my heavy breasts. We’re all over each other, rolling so that he’s on top. My ass pressed deep into the mattress underneath him. Flipping back around so that I’m riding him like he’s one of my cars. Race it. Win it.
The house is empty so we’re loud. We’re so fucking loud together. I make him come when he’s underneath me, and it’s glorious, like winning. A rush of adrenaline. His body tightening underneath mine, the way he clenches his jaw when he comes, like he’s struggling with the involuntary surrender.
For a brief second, I’m just the popular girl at Prescott High. Adrian is just the asshole transfer student with the guitar. This is what it’d be like.
He rolls us again, panting as he looks down at me and doing this thing with his tongue against the edge of his lip that should be a crime in all fifty states. There’s a lot of sweat, too, on him and me both. I rub my calf against his and everything is slick.
Widow laughs softly and then bends down, kissing the side of my neck. He closes his eyes. He rocks his hips into me until I’m lost in the pillows. I come so hard that there are tears. I laugh, too. We’re both laughing.
There’s not enough laughter in Prescott.
I should take it where I can get it.