Rowdy Boy

The more I push … the more she pulls.

It was inevitable from the beginning.

No matter how much I told myself to stay away, to focus on my band, to keep myself from getting involved with someone related to the one person in this world who I hate the most.

But this girl … this girl is far from anyone I could ever hate.

And it’s about time she knows.

“You’ve got it all wrong, Monica Romero,” I say. My hand slides down to her chin, and I tip it up with my index finger. “I don’t hate you. I hate what you do to me. I hate … that you make me want you.”

Without thinking, I grab her face with both hands and kiss her hard.

I can’t stop myself. I have to claim her. After that stunt she just pulled, I need this from her to make it right. Because every damn time I kiss her, the turmoil inside my heart momentarily ceases to exist.

It’s something I never knew I needed until she came into my life.

It’s why I’ve found it so hard to stay away even though I should.

But I can’t do it anymore. I just fucking can’t.

I fucking crave her. Her mouth is like sweet, sinful sex on a midsummer day at the beach. Like a glass of expensive liquor after a night singing my lungs out. Like something I shouldn’t ever want but need more than anything else.

Her.

It’s always been her.

The day she set foot in Black Mountain Academy, she was already mine.

So I finally take what belongs to me and kiss her until I can’t breathe anymore. When I pause, I lean away from her swollen, reddened lips momentarily to look into her eyes and see the truth reflected in them: The same hunger that swept over me mere moments ago.

A half-smile perks up my lips.

Her jaw tightens, and her eyes smolder with fierceness.

SLAP!

Out of nowhere, a hand lands right on my cheek. The sting comes before I realize what happened, and my hand instinctively reaches for the spot on my cheeks.

She looks mad, completely unhinged, as though she wants to kick and punch her way out.

And I wait to see what she’s going to do … if another slap will follow. The pause seems eternal, as if time is ticking slower than ever, while her eyes search mine for answers to the questions burning deep inside her heart.

But we both know they won’t be answered … not without her learning to let go.

Her hand reaches for my face.

I close my eyes, expecting another blow.

Instead, she wraps her arms around my neck and pulls me in for a deep, heavenly kiss.

Chapter 24

Monica

I slapped him.

I slapped fucking Cole Travis right in the face.

And then I kissed him.

I’m fucking kissing him right now, and I can’t stop. I don’t want to stop. He tastes so good, like sin and spice all wrapped into a devilishly sexy package, and I can’t fucking stop wanting him.

My lips instinctively went back to his, even after slapping him. Even after my heart realized what he had done was wrong. That he kissed me just to make me forgive him. Just to throw me off.

But I can’t fight the attraction, can’t stop from wanting my lips on his, even when it’s going to be the death of me.

Because I know, deep down, that this boy is a killer.

Not a murderer of people but a murderer of hearts.

And my heart is on the line right fucking now, and I’m not even doing anything to stop him from claiming it as his. And I don’t understand why.

Why am I doing this?

Why am I letting Cole fucking Travis seduce me with his soul-green eyes, gorgeous tousled black hair, and those perfectly chiseled abs hiding behind that leather jacket?

And why does it come so easy?

I thought I was over him, that I was done being his plaything, that I was able to resist temptation after the shame he put me through. He’s a bad boy, a player, a bully someone can hate. And I thought I needed that in order to get over him.

But all those things I thought I needed pale in comparison to how good his kisses feel on my mouth … on my neck … on my chest. And the more he gives me, the more of them I want to keep.

I’m addicted. Like a sinner on drugs, I need his kisses like I need air to breathe. The same air he steals every time he plants his lips on mine and claims them as though I always belonged to him.

“Finally, you give in,” he groans against my lips, making me all hot and bothered.

How am I supposed to resist when he says things like that? I’m so fucking confused by my own emotions, but the whiplash from his are putting me through the wringer, and I can’t get a fucking grip.