If You Dare (Dare 3)

Demi deserved better for her first time.

I reach out, grab her hand, and yank her to a sitting position. As she looks up at me with heavy eyes, I remove her bra. Her hands go to my stomach, and they roam my body, exploring every inch of what I work hard to achieve. Being a swimmer keeps me in shape, but even at eighteen, I have to spend a lot of time in the gym due to my bad eating habits and alcohol consumption. But I have no problem working as hard as I play.

I remove her loose ponytail, and her long blond hair falls over her shoulders. I push it back, exposing her chest to me. Her pretty pink nipples harden as I run my thumbs over them.

“Scoot back and lie down,” I order, dropping my hand to stroke my cock. It’s been hard since the moment she entered her room with an attitude that I wanted to fuck out of her.

She does as I say, and her still shaking legs fall open without me having to say a word. I smile. She’s already learning.

I crawl onto the bed.

“Is this why you came here?” She licks her lips. “To fuck me?”

“Why else would I be here?” I arch a brow, centering myself between her parted legs.

“To hurt me,” she answers breathlessly.

I place my hands on either side of her head and lower my lips to her ear. “Oh, I have every intention of hurting you.”

Lie. If I wanted to do her any harm, I would have done it the moment she stepped foot into her room. Caught her off guard and taken advantage of a situation I knew I could win. I never act without knowing the outcome.

“Good.” She wraps her arms around my neck. “I thought you were going soft.”

My eyes roam her face, and I watch as her soft features harden just a bit. Her orgasm is wearing off—fading away. The only reminder that I’m not a fucking douche quickly diminishes. And that urge to hurt her returns. I rack my brain, trying to think of what I could do to her. How I could make her remember that what she did was wrong. She crossed me. I wanted her, and she only used me. Was any of it real? I doubt it. And I hate that I fell for it so easily again.

“You look like you’re trying to decide if you want to choke me to death or fuck me.” She taunts me as if I’m not onto her.

I can read her like a book. One that I want to rip the pages out of and burn to ashes. A story left to never be told again. It’d be a tragedy, but one she earned with too many pages filled with lies.

I slide my right hand into her hair and jerk her head back to force her to look up at the ceiling. I lean down, lowering my voice to a dark whisper. “What if I said I want to do both?”

It’s what I do to her in my dreams. When she tells me to pretend she’s Becky, and she’ll pretend to love me. It’s so fucked up, but nothing about this is sane. Ever since I touched her at Silence, we’ve been hiding who we really are.

A beautiful mess and a demon.

I have killed, and she has lied. We are exactly what we should stay away from, yet here we are.

“Are you going to fight me?” I ask, inhaling the scent of her hair. It smells of vanilla, and it makes my mouth water. Becky’s always smelled of strawberries.

“That depends on which option you choose,” she answers breathlessly.

I smile against her neck. “Well, princess, I already have you naked underneath me, legs spread wide, and my lips still taste of your cunt. But …” I pull away and run my free hand up her chest to wrap around her neck. “If I sit here and choke the life out of your pretty eyes, you’ll fight?” I’m not sure which one sounds more appealing.

Becky never allowed me to be rough. She always told me she wanted me to be my best self. And I believed that fucking bullshit. She didn’t change for me; I should have never tried to pretend with her.

She looks up at me the best she can since my right hand is still holding her head back by her hair. “You think I have pretty eyes?”

I can’t help but chuckle. Of course, that’s what she takes from what I said. “You know I think you’re gorgeous,” I say honestly.

There’s nothing wrong with admitting that to her or myself. Over the past week, I’ve noticed the difference between Demi and Becky in their looks. Demi is more of a natural beauty while Becky is just all-out fake. Demi’s blue eyes hold more truth and anger. She carries herself differently. She doesn’t need to dress like a slut to get attention, and she doesn’t need the world to bow at her feet. No, Demi doesn’t need anyone, and that’s what draws me to her. To need someone is a weakness, and I want to see her need me desperately. Like her life depends on it.