Be My Brayshaw (Brayshaw High 4)

So smooth, so foreign.

So fucking familiar, like my soul already knows hers.

The thought settles, digging deeper and I lower my body, holding myself up with my forearms as I bring my leg between hers.

I apply the littlest of pressure, desperate to feel, and angered when I do.

Her eyes roll closed as her excitement coats my kneecap and I slide against the wet spot of her underwear.

Her breathing grows heavy, and I bite the inside of my cheeks.

“You ruined everything,” I tell her, sliding my mouth to her ear, and down her neck in a torturously slow manner. I kiss her there, my fists tightening in the blanket as I pull back to look her in the eye. “And I hate you for it.”

Her chest rises and falls in quick spurts, each second dragging into the next as she stares, waiting. Knowing.

It’s even more infuriating.

Intoxicating.

Reckless.

I slide from the bed and she’s quick to fly up with me, her eyes widening in want when I grip her knee as I drop to mine. She lowers her chin, studying me through her long, dark lashes. With one quick tug, I’ve got her legs hanging over the bed.

She gasps, her head tipping back, exposing the skin of her neck, but I grip her chin and hide the tempting area. She leans in, but I yank away.

Her legs part, and all I can think is how perfectly I’d fit between them.

Fuck.

I growl, gripping her upper arms and her tongue slides along the backs of her teeth, drawing my attention to the devilish red determined to take me to Hell should I allow them, leading, forcing me near when all I want to do is fucking run and run fast.

She’s taking power without permission.

Proof is when my mouth reaches for hers, but I somehow freeze there, a lick away, my eyes snapping to hers.

“I don’t think so, sleeping beauty,” I whisper, and her legs open farther, sending a tremor down my spine. Fuck. “The lies on your lips burn too deep to meet mine. Keep them away.”

A small crease forms over her forehead, but she doesn’t fight me.

I place my hand on her chest, spreading my fingers across her collarbone and she pulls in a long inhale. I push.

It takes her a few seconds, but she finally gives in, and falls back, tilting her head so she can look at me on my knees between her open thighs. Her brown eyes darken, eyelids lowering and she lays her head back, her fingertips touching at the edge of her face.

A light breeze blows through the open window then, and goosebumps spread along her thighs, making her shiver. It’s almost enough for me to tear away from her.

Fuck me, the sight, her on her back shivering and shaking in front of me, and all from the wind.

She’s gonna lose her fucking mind.

I bring my hands to her panties, not looking away from where my fingertips dip into the cotton material, and tug. I chance a quick glance up when she lifts her hips, but quickly focus back on what I want to see most.

What I need to see, taste. Drive wild.

As wild and fucked in the head as I feel tonight.

Everything burns like a lie.

What she did and didn’t do.

What I did and didn’t do.

What she should but hasn’t done.

What I could but won’t do...

I feel like a fraud in my own life, weak and unsure and I hate it.

But this, her in front of me, terribly gorgeous and wanting, is no lie.

It’s real.

And right now, tonight, that’s what I need.

It’s selfish and stupid, but it’s happening...

I want her and can’t fight it, no matter how hard I try and convince myself to stay away, it only serves as a bid to get closer.

Her bottoms slide past her hips, but I use all my control not to peek yet, forcing my gaze to the floor as I tug her legs in enough to slip them off completely, and she drags them right back where she wants them.

Wide the fuck open, but still, I don’t cheat myself by looking.

My fingers begin at her ankles, my eyes following the left one as I trace along her calves, up over her knees until my palms are flat on her thighs. My hands twitch, squeezing into her soft skin and a harsh exhale escapes her.

What a body you hide, Beauty.

Tanned and toned.

I push higher, my brows crashing together when a heavy, shadowed ink catches my attention. I lean closer, my heated breath now a gift to her skin, and she jerks in response.

A tattoo.

She has a tattoo on her upper thigh that lifts up under her shirt.

Purple petals, both frozen and falling, curved and cut, bleeding an icy blue, and hanging from a curved barbed wire designed to play as if it’s ivy, giving the flowers life while taking it just the same.