•The Assassin Series•
"And through all the pain you caused, I still look at you as if you painted the sky." ~K.R
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Anastasia Romano is very upbeat and happy girl despite everything she has been through.
She is a lot like her mother, Alan...
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Chapter Eight
After Ezra and I made it to school, we went along with our usual routine. All was normal, as normal as normal could be with the Romano's life. Except this Romano.
As I walk down the main hall, weaving in and out of people, trying to get to my next class, I am suddenly grabbed by my arm. My first instinct is the fight the person off but I am pulled into a dark, empty classroom before I can react.
"Easton," I groan and place my book on the desk next to me. "What the fuck—"
A shocked gasp escapes past my lips as I am pushed up against the desk that is leaned against the wall next to us. Hands grasp at my skirt-clad hips and lift me up. I let out a harsh breath as my body slams onto the table.
Soon enough, those same cold hands grasp my face and pull me forward. "Fuck, Anastasia."
"What did I do?" I groan, my eyes glaring up into his glistening green iris's.
My chest heaves, my heart flutters, and my pulse quickens when he rests his forehead against mine, his intoxicating scent overwhelming me. Our noses brush and his hands trail down the side of my neck, squeezing, and then fall at my hips, pulling me towards the edge of the desk. I lean away from him slightly and rest my elbows against the metal desk, my head connecting with the wall behind me.
Easton groans, his head falling back, and runs a hand down his throat. "What the fuck are you doing to me?"
The question is rhetorical but I answer it anyway. "I don't know . . ." I smile up at him. "Why don't you show me?"
My virgin ass is not prepared for this shit.
His head whips down and he stares at me. I grow nervous and tilt my head, defiance being my only getaway. Except, when I go to say something, his hand wraps around the base of my throat—ring-clad fingers digging into the sides—and he yanks me forward. Adrenaline pumps in my veins and I grin devilishly at him.
"Do it." I whisper and laugh. "Come on. Don't be a pussy—"
Before I can finish my sentence, he leans forward and takes my bottom lip in between his teeth. I gasp and stare up at him. As he releases my lip, I trace my tongue along the bite mark and grip the edge of the desk into a bruising grip.
He laughs, tilting his head in a mocking way. "I don't know if I should."
"Easton—"
"Do you want me to?" He whispers and leans closer—closer than before—, brushing my nose with his. "Tell me, Anastasia."
I take a deep breath and swallow thickly, my gaze flickering down to his lips. "Do what?"
"Kiss you." His lips twitch. "Tongue, teeth, hands—all of it." He elaborates. "All I need is for you to tell me." The foreign accent that is ingrained on his tongue always gets me.
