Bishop’s jaw twitched. He stared hard at me, as if he wasn’t sure of the answer to that himself—or maybe he knew the answer, but he wasn’t sure he liked it anymore.
My heart thudded unevenly in my chest as I gazed back at him.
The strange chemistry that always seemed to exist between us—the push and pull, the attraction and anger—flared hot and bright, filling me up with electric energy as if I’d been struck by lightning.
Suddenly, so fast I could barely track the movement, Bishop moved. He grabbed my legs and pulled, yanking me toward him, and then next thing I knew, I was on my back. His large, imposing body draped over mine, and the only thing between the two of us was my pillow.
But that small barrier was flimsy, soft… and temporary. Tugging it out of my grip, he tossed it away.
I didn’t move. I couldn’t.
He wasn’t pinning me, not the way Logan had when he’d trapped me against the wall at school—I had room to move, enough space to slip out from beneath Bishop and escape if I wanted to.
So why did I remain completely still? Why didn’t I take the way out that he’d offered me?
My breath came faster, making my chest rise and fall, almost brushing against his with every movement. Electricity buzzed through my veins, but I couldn’t tell if it was fear or something darker…
Something closer to arousal.
Then Bishop’s lips pressed hard against mine, and my eyes widened as I gasped, my entire body stiffening beneath him.
I had been kissed before, but only a few times. And never, ever like this.
Bishop kissed me like he was trying to hurt me—or maybe it was just the pain inside of him spilling out through his mouth, through the connection between our lips, infecting me too.
He kissed me like I had already given him and the other Lost Boys my answer. Like I already belonged to them.
His mouth moved against mine, his tongue tasted mine, and the weight of his body covered mine until there was nothing but him. Until the rest of the world ceased to exist, eclipsed by this dominating, cruel, broken boy.
“Why do I want to punish you? Because I can,” he breathed against my lips. “Because I want to. Because I fucking hate your father for everything he’s done to my family, and I can’t kill the bastard myself.”
My chest tightened with fear, and I opened my mouth to protest, or maybe to apologize again—but Bishop obviously didn’t want to hear either of those things, because he kissed me once more, stealing the words from between my lips.
Heat pooled in my lower belly, and I felt something hard and thick and hot as a brand pressing against my stomach as he rested his weight on me. His hands were moving over me, rough and demanding, touching every inch of skin he could reach.
There was something almost desperate about his movements, as if he was at war with himself, and every touch, every kiss, was a battle lost.
He wanted this. He wanted me.
But he was trying not to.
The feeling was entirely mutual, so I kissed him back the same way, my hands roaming over his muscled back and shoulders like they couldn’t decide if they were trying to push him away or pull him closer.
I had kissed boys before, but never like this. Bishop’s lips were firm and warm, his tongue demanding as it swept my mouth, tangling with my own. I was gasping for breath in the little half-seconds when our lips broke apart, but when he angled his head and took the kiss even deeper, I stopped breathing entirely.
Our lips moved in sync, and maybe it was the lack of oxygen, or maybe it was just the sheer, overwhelming force of the boy on top of me, but I felt like the world was spinning around me.
His hands moved over every inch of my body with impunity, sliding the soft fabric of my nightgown across my flushed skin as he groped me through the thin material. When his hand moved between us, slipping under the hem of my nightgown and pushing aside my panties, I finally broke our kiss. My lips wrenched away from his as I let out a strangled sound that was half gasp, half moan.
He must’ve liked that, because instead of pulling his hand back, he delved deeper into my panties, dragging one finger along my damp slit before working circles around my clit.
My back arched off the bed, both my hands grabbing onto his forearm as a loud moan was ripped from my throat. I pressed my lips together, embarrassment and worry filling me as I realized how loud I’d been. Mom was just down the hall. I couldn’t let her wake up, couldn’t let her see me like this.
Bishop didn’t seem to give a fuck about any of that though. Ignoring my death grip on his arm, he kept moving his fingers, making my body buzz with the overload of sensations.
“Don’t close your mouth. I like to hear you moan, Princess.”
His command was spoken in a low, rough voice, but I didn’t obey. I pressed my lips together harder, sealing them shut as my entire body began to shake. What he was doing felt good—too good. It was all too much. It felt amazing, but also like the punishment he had promised somehow, like he was trying to tear me apart from the inside out.