before
seventeen
I don't think he's even realized that I haven't once responded to his rant. He has gone on and on since the moment we started walking, only taking pause when we arrived at his hotel room door. It's an outside door, which meant he just needed to fish the key from his pocket.
He forces us both inside, hysterically guiding me.
The door slammed behind us as he ripped my backpack from my shoulder. We don't bother with lights as he thrusts me into the bathroom. A small nightlight is his only source as he throws the curtain out of the way and turns the water on.
He has yet to loosen his grip on my body.
My lips silently tremble from the chill.
My nerve-endings on fire but I can't tell why; from the water or him.
He leans past me, touching the water temp.
"Take your shoes off."
We both kick them off as he unzips my puffer. I shakily push it off my shoulders as it falls to the ground with his own.
His arms swarm me as he lifts us both into the tub.
The water stings.
Too hot.
Too fast.
My face buries in his chest as it rains down over the both of us.
I stay there till the water stops burning and feeling returns to my extremities.
Somewhere along the way, his palm began to cup the back of my head, holding me there while the other completely curled around my waist.
Steam gathers around us as I dare to look up at him.
It's dark and droplets fall from his lashes, but still his eyes light the entirety of my view.
He's tired.
His resolve worn thin.
His brain mashed.
My body fits perfectly in the cuts of his.
The wet fabric clings to the both of us, the sheer weight of his flannel physically weighing me down at this point.
His tongue sweeps over his bottom lip as the hand that once innocently cupped the back of my head now grips the side of my neck. His index finger at my temple, his middle pressing against the tender skin behind my ear and his thumb forcing my jawbone up.
"If you so much as look at a body of open water in any other month than June through August, I will drown you myself. Am I clear?"
His tone as prickly as the water had been.
"Woodeine," he digs his fingers deeper into my skin. "Am I clear?"
The hoods of my eyes lower as my lips part.
Every word from his mouth is shooting right through my body.
His monster talking to mine.
Four years of teenage hormones and a lot of pent-up sexual desire coursing through my veins.
His eyes dart to my parted mouth, for the first time he doesn't even try to hide it.
He's remembering.
Just as I am.
How fucking good it feels to have his mouth on mine.
I slip my hands that had been trapped between our bodies out, and I undo the button of my skirt before letting it fall down my legs.
YOU ARE READING
𝐅𝐢𝐥𝐭𝐡𝐲 𝐇𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐬
Romantik"You were never supposed to be hers," I sob. "You were mine. You were always supposed to be mine, Anay." I tug my fists to my chest. "Since I was fourteen years old..." my voice cracks, stomaching the truth, of what's always been there. "You've been...
