Fetish for His HATE
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- Votes 5
- Parts 5
"Fucking hell, you again. Why the fuck can't you leave me alone?" I could smell his signature scent of smoke mixed with Yves Saint Laurent Cologne. It drew me into him even more, despite his death stares that were piercing through my soul.
"Because I-i-i think I got a fetish for-"
His forehead creased in confusion.
"Your hate."
"What the actual fuck is wrong with you?" He pushed my shoulders so I stumbled backwards noticeably. A flicker of concern glazed his eyes, but was rapidly replaced by a look of pure hatred. And...lust?
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I promise you, this isn't cliché. Detailed description will be in the pre-reading shenanigans (aka warnings). Enjoy!
MATURE CONTENT ;)
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She didn't reply and I felt her finger move across my skin, lower, and almost all the way down my lower back. A shiver coursed through my body, strangely pleasant, and I felt her finger stop. "Your tattoos are beautiful," she said softly. Too close. She was too close. My pulse was hammering and I could feel her cool breath against my skin when she spoke, and my body was warm from having felt her. I couldn't reply. My breathing was light and shaken. I wanted to just turn around and pull her against me, or rather put her against a wall, so I could kiss her and feel her more properly against me. If she touched me again, I wasn't sure that I could keep myself from doing just that. "I'm going to take a shower," I said suddenly in an attempt to escape. She didn't stop me, so I took that opportunity to walk away. When I reached the bathroom, I took a deep breath to steady myself as well as my pulse. Closing the door behind me, I ran a hand through my hair. She truly was a nightmare. A bad boy's worst nightmare was a girl that made him want to be a good one.
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