Gods & Monsters

“It’s not going to be so bad. We have time. We don’t have to tell them right now.”

“How about never telling them. How about running away?”

“What? No. We’re not running away. Come on. When the time comes, I’ll tell them. I’ll tell Dad first. He’s way cooler and then, I’ll tell Mom. She’ll be mad, yes, but you know what, I don’t care. She’ll come around eventually.”

“Yeah? Come around to the fact that her precious daughter’s in love with a monster?”

“He’s not –”

“I know. I know. But does she know?”

Well, if my mom doesn’t know, then she’s an idiot. There. I said it. Yes, Abel has been less than nice to her but still. It’s not as if he’s making any trouble. He’s well-behaved. A little intense but that’s only with me.

But I’m not going to worry about it today, when his note says to meet him in room 302. It’s way, way down the hall, like, in the back, where people don’t go as often.

I tell Sky about the meeting place and she rolls her eyes because she has to stand guard at the door. “I don’t wanna hear any kissing noises, okay? So keep it down.”

“Shut up.” I hit her with my notebook, already imagining all the kissing and other things we’ll be doing.

Leaving Sky outside, I open the door to the room. Across the sea of empty desks, propped against the wall in the back, is him. My Abel.

The sunlight through the window slashes him in a pattern of light and dark. He’s so hot and sexy and handsome. His breathing picks up as I enter. His mountain-like chest moves up and down, heaves, strains against his white t-shirt.

He’s grown so much over the past years, exploded actually. Thanks to working out all the time. He’s just so big and muscular.

His brown eyes move up and down my body, and even though I’m wearing a cotton dress with sunflowers, with a modest neckline and hem-length, it makes me feel… much less clothed.

Yup, so over the past years the looks he gives me and the way he touches me have changed too, grown, exploded and morphed into something that’s too big for our bodies.

It borders on pain.

Goosebumps riding my skin, I move toward him and he straightens up, braced for when I throw myself at him. Is it shameless? Yes, maybe. But I don’t care. I need him. Besides, all the shameless things inside me, which I’m only now discovering, are also inside him.

We match in every way.

I skip over to him, and then the entire world shrinks to fit just the two of us. I get up on his feet, making him my ground. His shoulders become my mountain and the sweet breath from his mouth becomes my air. And his soft hair? It becomes the grass that I can sink my fingers into.

Gone are the days when I didn’t understand my own body. I didn’t understand the escalated heartbeats, the constant blushing, the suspended breaths.

Like Abel, I’ve grown too. It’s like one night I went to sleep and the next day, I woke up with this deep hunger that had nothing to do with food and everything to do with Abel.

My body feels new. New sensations. New dips and curves. New softness and roundness. My breasts have grown out, round and big and heavy, and every time I think about his kisses, his hands, I feel them tingle. My nipples punch through the cotton fabric of my bra, hurting and aching.

Abel hauls me up and sits me on a desk, cramming his large frame in between my thighs.

Yes. Oh God. That’s the perfect spot. So perfect.

I already know what to do. I already know that my thighs will hook around his lean, muscular hips and my ankles will cross and my flats will fall off my feet, and my heels will dig into the back of his thighs.

And he’ll groan.

I can’t wait for that groan. It’s so guttural and raw, and then he will start to move, like he can’t control himself. His hips will start thrusting into the juncture of my thighs. Big, desperate jerks.

God, yes.

Abel does things in a big, loud, large way. That’s the only way to describe him and his actions. One of his large hands will go to my waist, now bruise-free for some time because Abel advised me to stay away from my mother, literally, and grip my dress like he’s going to tear it apart with his fingers. The other will find its home either in my hair, undoing my braid, or on my needy breasts. So freaking needy. It’s not funny. Nothing is funny about this situation, actually.

Not when he rasps that it hurts him to be apart from me. It hurts so much that he isn’t even sorry about humping me like a crazy, horny person. He needs to do this before he even says hi to me. He isn’t even sorry when he comes in his pants, he says.