All Broke Down
Page 17I think I get it then. That decision I saw in her eyes back in the kitchen. That’s what this, what I’m about for her, too. I’m just another part of whatever rebellion she started earlier today. About doing what she wants, not what’s expected of her.
“We’re not talking about me, though,” she says. “So you went to meet your friend, and then what happened?”
She keeps her eyes down as she picks up the gauze and begins winding it snugly around the knuckles of one hand, and then the other.
“He said the wrong thing.”
“Which was?”
“Dylan.” Now it’s her that’s pushing too hard. I didn’t want to talk about things with my friends, and I won’t talk about them with her, either, no matter how gorgeous she is.
“I’ll guess. You were mad about what he did, and he wasn’t sorry.”
“This isn’t middle school, Pickle. He didn’t hurt my feelings. He said some shit he had no business saying, and it pissed me off. The end.”
“But you don’t think some of that anger stems from what you feel is a betrayal of your friendship?”
She finishes taping down the last of the gauze, but doesn’t let go of my hand.
“I think you’re analyzing me again. Making things more complicated than they are.”
“And I think you’re just a guy who doesn’t like to admit he has feelings.” She drags out the word, teasing me with some goofy smile on her face. I turn my hand over so I can clutch her wrist. I curl my other bandaged hand around her waist and pull her closer.
“I feel plenty of things.”
“I wasn’t talking about that kind of feeling.”
With her standing and me sitting, I’m eye level with her chest. I see the sharp rise and fall as she sucks in a breath. I want her in my lap again, straddling me this time.
“Doesn’t mean we can’t talk about that kind of feeling. Or experiment with it.”
“Is that Stella girl an ex?”
I cough, surprised. My throat twists uncomfortably, and it takes me a couple of solid breaths to get a hold on myself.
“Ah, no. Stella and I have never dated.”
“Have you—”
“Do you ever run out of questions?”
“Not ever.” She turns playful again, and I’m done doing this the careful way. If she wants a rebellion, I’ll be the one to give it to her. I want her against me, and I’m tired of waiting.
I pull her forward, insinuating my knees between hers, and her body naturally follows, settling across my thighs. Her lips part, but she catches herself before she gasps this time. I keep her steady with my hands at her waist and say, “I’ll make you a deal. A question for a kiss.”
Tentatively, she lays her palms against my shoulders. They rest there, her grip light and casual. She ponders my offer for a moment, and it drives me mad that she can do that while our h*ps are inches away from alignment.
“Okay then. Are you—”
I wrap her braid around my hand like I’ve been waiting to do all night, and I use it to pull her head back just enough that I can crush my mouth against hers.
Chapter 7
Dylan
I’m going to shatter into a thousand pieces from the intensity of this kiss alone. His hand is on my cheek, turning my head, and it’s so big that I feel like I’m completely at his mercy. In fact, he kisses me like he wants to own me. Not even that . . . he kisses me like he already does own me.
I want to feel put off by that. I want to feel disturbed by his dominance.
But I’m not.
I like that he wants me that much, that he kisses me hard enough to bruise, that he’s holding on to my braid like a lifeline. I like that he doesn’t handle me like a breakable, naive little girl. The Brenners adopted me—their pretty little well-behaved orphan girl. Henry cherished me, kept me as a pretty little doll that would one day be his pretty little wife. Until one day that apparently wasn’t good enough. Maybe I didn’t play my part like I was supposed to.
Either way, I’m beginning to learn that I don’t want to be a pretty little anything.
What I do want to be . . . I don’t know. But I know that it needs to be something I want. Not what I think other people want me to be.
He tugs a little harder on my hair, pulling me back from my thoughts, and I gasp into his mouth. I bite down on his bottom lip in response, not because I’ve ever done anything like that, but because it seems like the thing to do. He groans, sliding a hand down my backside. So, I guess that means it was okay. He squeezes, lifts me forward and against him so that I can feel his hard length press right against the juncture of my thighs.
To quote Matt—Holy shit.
He keeps kissing me, his tongue sweeping past mine again and again, and it feels like a race to the finish line. Like if I can touch him enough, taste him enough, I’ll reach a point where I’m so saturated by him that . . . that something. I don’t even know what will happen then, but I know I want it. I dig my nails into his shoulders, and he groans into my mouth in response.
I pull back, struggling to breathe.
“That was more than just a kiss.”
He shrugs, his smile downright devilish.
“Just another difference in definition.”
His lips drift back toward mine, but I place a hand on his chest to stop him.
“Time for another question.”
“Go ahead,” he says, but he doesn’t shift his grip on my ass; instead he tightens it and turns his attention to my neck. His teeth skate along my skin first, raising goose bumps in their wake. Then I feel the heat of his open mouth, the flick of his tongue, his hum of pleasure.
“When we, ah, um . . .”
Words. Letters together in patterns. Focus on the words, Dylan.
“Is there anything between you and Stella?”
His teeth nip at my collarbone and I jolt on his lap. He drops his head into the hollow of my neck and groans. His panting breath is hot against my skin. He uses the hand on my backside to mimic the surprised movement I’d just made, his h*ps rocking with mine this time, and he groans again, deep and low.