1.3 | the art of cupidity ✓

08 | victoria

"FUCK YOU," SORA SPITS OUT AS SHE CROSSED HER ARMS OVER HER CHEST AND GLARES AT HER BOYFRIEND—BOYFRIEND!—WHILE TAPPING ONE FOOT. He purposely bought her colored hair shampoo a week before (of course she hadn't noticed) and can now clearly see streaks of dark pink staining the thick strands. And Sora Lee has never dyed her hair before—partly because she's too broke for it, and partly because she's also partial to her all-natural, ink-colored locks.

From the couch in his apartment, Rylin glances up at her and cracks a devilish smirk, looking annoyingly handsome as ever. He visited his local hairdresser yesterday and had come back to pick her up from the diner with a subtle undercut, and Sora had lost the ability to speak during the ride home. When the car stopped, she'd slapped him on the shoulder and complained that he looked too good and would draw too much attention—both male and female. As it was now mid-march and they'd been dating for a little over a month, Sora and Rylin are far from perfect.

One time, he'd forgotten to set an alarm for his nap and she'd had to walk home from the rink at ten o'clock in the afternoon with pepper spray held in one hand. In another instance, he'd watched as she accidentally came to his apartment tipsy as hell even though she'd promised that she wouldn't drink too much without him present. They fight quite a lot—although it's not an unhealthy amount—but make up just as fast. Despite his aggravating habits, Rylin Carter is an extremely attentive boyfriend who wears an arrogant mask in public and only takes it off in the privacy of his own home, preferring to hold her tight in his arms while she talks about her day.

But now, as he tilts his head and surveys her wet hair dripping on the floor and body clad in workout gear (she doesn't actually exercise but instead just likes to lounge around in the flexible material), Rylin's irises flare dangerously. He beckons her over the couch and asks for the hairbrush, and she leans against him as he runs the bristles through her strands, his legs forming a triangle around the lower half of her body.

"I would apologize, but I'd be lying," Rylin says honestly. His voice sounds like hot honey and liquid-smoke espresso, and it slips across her skin until it settles right on top of her heart. "Thought you would look good, and I was right," he whispers seductively, pressing a kiss to her neck before sucking on the skin there. "You're stunning."

Another thing that Sora figured out within the early stages of their relationship was that Rylin Carter loved giving hickies. And even worse: she loved receiving them.

"When is the food coming?" Sora asks breathily, and she can't even maintain the once-forgotten anger in her blood before his mouth maps out his desires on her body.

Rylin bites her shoulder, and she whimpers a bit. He bites it again, and she closes her eyes instantaneously. Fucking sadist, she thinks. My boyfriend is a fucking sadist. "Twenty minutes."

"Okay," Sora sighs, head rolling back. "Okay, we can work with that."

His eyes flash like a lion in front of her, and Rylin hooks their pinkies together. "All I need is five."

"Arrogant asshole."

"Sora." He glares at her, grip tightening.

"Would you prefer kinky bastard instead?"

A gasp escapes his mouth as she runs her fingers up his shirt, and she smiles, pressing her back against him as she climbs into his lap. "Shut up," Rylin murmurs dangerously.

"Make me."

And so he does. Sora's shirt comes off before she knows it, and Rylin's does too, and she appreciates the toned stomach he reveals as she pushes him down into the couch right before he flips them over so that his hair brushes over her forehead instead.