Dear Love, I Hate You (Easton High)

That’s what does it.

I might’ve taken a major risk answering the troll who corrected my grammar all these weeks ago, but the move I make next will either go down as one of the best decisions I’ve ever made…

Or the worst.

I suck in a breath, trap Xavier’s varsity jacket’s collar into my fists, and smash our lips together. That’s right, I, Aveena Chicken Harper, take the plunge for once in my life.

A guttural noise of satisfaction rips from Xavier’s throat as soon as our mouths connect. He immediately tilts my chin forward, kissing me back with an intensity you’d go to the end of the world to experience once.

His lips are soft, but nothing about his kiss is gentle. Nothing about the way he claims me is sweet. Xavier kisses me with a need, a hunger I’m afraid even the best of me can’t satisfy. I feel clumsy, inexperienced as my fingers slide into his hair, and I arch my back off the Tesla to slam our bodies together.

Am I doing this wrong?

Am I making a fool of myself?

Who does she think she is?

Kissing the captain of the basketball team?

I have no idea what I’m doing. My first contact with a man was with Logan—actually, I doubt he qualifies as a man. More like a human dumpster—and our kiss was nothing like this.

It was rushed.

Sloppy.

But Xav… he tastes like desperation, like I just found the last drop of water in a worldwide drought. And I might not know jack shit about anything, but I know this.

I’m not sharing this oasis.

I turn full control over to my body and press my hips flush to his, never once disrupting our rough, heated kiss. My cheeks blaze when I feel his rock-hard erection pressing against my thigh.

I take it I’m not so ridiculous after all?

His fingers travel to the nape of my neck, and he traps a handful of my pink hair into his fist, inching my head backward to deepen our connection. His tongue pries my teeth apart, and all the text messages in the world, all the nights I spent dreaming about what it would be like…

None of it could’ve ever prepared me for the real thing.

For his tongue dancing with mine.

The heavenly sensations prickling down my spine when he bites on my bottom lip and abandons my mouth. The thrill I feel when he bands his hands around the back of my thighs to plant me on the hood of the car.

Parting my legs slightly, I reach for the small chain he always wears around his neck and give it a yank, luring him closer. Xavier’s lips crash back against mine as he settles between my opened thighs.

His large hand falls to my lower back as we shamelessly make out on top of Mr. Richards’s car. We disconnect a minute later, gasping for air, but Xav doesn’t return to my mouth.

This time, he goes straight for my neck.

He works my collarbone like a pro, sucking on my tattooed skin until I’m boneless, and I can’t help moaning at the pressure of his mouth. I waste no time brushing my dyed hair off my shoulder and offering more of myself to him. He smirks at my wordless request, more than willing to deliver. It’s all fun and games until I guide his lips back to mine, my hands creeping inside his opened jacket, while his slink up my r

ib cage over my shirt.

“Xav,” I moan into his mouth, but it comes out as a warning.

Translation: this is getting out of control.

“I know,” he agrees, his breathing ragged.

We’re on the same page, but neither of us stop chasing the next kiss, the next touch. I don’t recognize the person this boy has made of me. All bets are off when his fingers land on my pierced nipples over the fabric of my clothes, and he slowly flicks them with his thumbs, my thin bralette giving way to every sensation.