I find the nearest quiet spot. The alley next to the frozen yogurt place.
There.
I step around the corner ready to deck the fucking wall.
But she's there.
God, the sight of her eases every ugly thought in my head.
The green eyes, the blue glasses, the short skirt—that's Kaylee.
My Kay.
"Brendon." Her voice is a whisper. A plea. A stop hurting me.
"Kay." I close the distance between us. Ten feet. Five. Two. One.
She looks up at me. "You know Dean is just messing with you."
"It's working." My body takes over. One palm plants on her hips. Presses hard enough to pin her to the wall.
Her breath catches in her throat. "Brendon... I... I'm sorry. Tell me what I can do. Please. Anything."
"You saw every single one of my drawings?"
She nods.
"And you're sure you want that?"
"Yes. I know what it means. I've read books. Fiction. And non-fiction. And I... it's all I've thought about."
It doesn't make sense. The Kaylee in my head is sweet. Soft. Innocent. This—this is dirty, depraved, fucked up shit.
But Kay isn't the sweet girl in my head.
She's a woman.
With desires. With demands.
That's what I want for her.
And this is certainly what I want for me.
"This is it, Kay. If you want to back out, you need to do it now. 'Cause once I start, I won't be able to stop myself." I cup the back of her head with my palm. "I haven't slept right in weeks. All I can think about is the taste of your lips. What you look like when you come—"
"You haven't seen—"
"But I imagine it every fucking night." I slide my hand over her hip. "I think about you coming on my hand. On my lips. On my cock."
"Brendon." She tugs at my t-shirt. Presses her palm against my stomach. Her eyes meet mine. She nods. Yes.
I study her expression as I shift my hips against hers.
Those green eyes are hazy with lust.
She's ready to let go.
To make me the center of her universe.