He was the boy on campus everyone strayed from. His looks, his demeanor, his everything was always so dark and formidable. Is there a possibility anyone can change him, or is that who he will be for the rest of his life? Stuck with nameless women, e...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
⇋ It felt like I had caught on fire. Not even just the skin on my hand where his large, calloused grip wrapped around mine. All of me. My entire body instantly felt as hot as I did earlier when that sixth shot went down my throat. Every hair follicle, every organ, every cell of skin on my body burned enjoyably and with so much vigor that I felt as though everything in my life was magically fixed.
"I'm gonna do it again, okay?" He asked as he readied the already red stained towel in his hand.
He actually looks sort of anxious right now. I wonder why.
I know for sure it's not because he's holding my hand. There's no possible way. He's done so much more than this with so many other girls. He literally fucked, or ate out, or got a blow job, or whatever he did with what's her face yesterday in the middle of a literal party. He's completely immune to this feeling that I currently feel in the pit of my gut.
He'll never feel for me the way that I feel for him.
Wait...
I don't feel for him in any way. This is the alcohol messing with me.
"Okay," I whispered back so quietly that the word hardly came out of my lungs.
Steele pressed the warm cloth back to my torn knee, forcing me to squeeze as tightly as I could onto his hand as my face tensed in shooting pain. "Fuck, Steele," I whispered without hesitation, but once the quiet exclamation left my drunken mouth and had time to marinate in the air around us, it definitely sounded like my accidental groan could've been meant for a different situation. A way more intimate one, at that.
I should've kept my mouth shut.
I hope he didn't notice and have the same thought in his head that just I had in mine. I really hope I was squeezing too painfully and too tight for him to even recognize I said anything at all. I don't want him to hear me sound like that.
"That fucking hurts, dude-"
"I'll try to be fast, I'm sorry," he jolted to reply like he was trying to keep me from making another noise.
I felt the rough material of the small washcloth run against the deep gash quickly and as lightly as he could manage. My grip stayed strong around his burning, large, fucking hot as shit hand.
Part of me wants to lift his hand up to my face so that I can place his slender fingers onto my tongue. But I won't. I shouldn't. Fuck, I fucking want to though. I wonder if he'd want me to too.
Actually, I already know the answer.
He hates me. It's like I keep forgetting. He actually literally hates me and he tries to remind me of that every single day I see him.
And for the thousandth fucking time, I don't like him either.
"Tell me if I'm squeezing too tight." I spoke through my teeth to tell him. I need my thoughts to stop.
