“Why do you hate me so much?” The question tumbles from my lips before I can stop it.
His jaw clenches and a muscle twitches in his cheek. The arousal that had flared to life in his eyes is snuffed out as quickly as it was ignited.
“Feigned ignorance won’t absolve you,” he sneers, his grip tightening on my hair.
What the hell does that mean? It sounds like a riddle. It’s obvious that everyone hates the Hawthornes, but no one will give me an explanation as to why.
“What are you talking about?”
His gaze carefully examines mine. It almost feels like he’s able to pick through all of my thoughts and feelings. “You don’t know anything about your family, do you?”
It’s only when I shake my head that I remember the hold he has on me. I wince and hastily still my movements. “No.”
He presses closer, tugging my ponytail so that my chin lifts.
“You’re hurting me,” I whisper.
“Good.” A slow grin spreads across his face. “That was the intention.”
I whimper when he yanks it again, my chin jerking up with the movement. Only then do I notice how close his lips are to mine.
“Even now you still want me.” Voice full of scorn, his breath drifts across me.
Images of us kissing on the boat and in the car flicker through my head like a slow-motion picture show. Again, pain radiates through my scalp when I try to shake my head.
“Are you a liar on top of everything else?”
On top of what?
If I could get a few straight answers, then maybe I could figure out what he’s talking about. What everyone at this stupid school seems to allude to, but no one will come out and say.
When his lips ghost over mine, everything rioting inside my head empties. I’m mortified by the bolt of lust that shoots through me before exploding in my core.
After the way he’s treated me, how can I possibly be attracted to him?
What the hell is wrong with me?
His lips crook as if he knows how deeply the realization bothers me.
“Should I kiss you, Summer? Like I did on the boat?” There’s a pause as his voice dips, turning husky. Seductive. It strums something deep inside me. Something I don’t want to acknowledge but find impossible to ignore. “Do you ever think about how good it felt?”
Not only do I think about it, I’ve touched myself to memories of him dozens of times.
I squeak in surprise when he nips at my lower lip. Pain floods through the plump flesh before he sucks the fullness into his mouth as if to soothe the dull ache he caused before releasing it with a soft pop. His gaze stays locked on mine. My brain turns fuzzy with the hormones that have ignited a firestorm throughout my body.
With one hand wrapped around my ponytail to secure me in place, the other grazes my bare thigh below the hemline of my skirt. I inhale a sharp breath as his fingertips trace lazy patterns against my leg. Each arc brings his hand dangerously close to the apex of my thighs.
“You could scream for help.”
A whimper leaves my lips as his grip tightens on my hair.
“Go ahead,” he encourages, “yell.”
“Why are you doing this?”
“Because I can.”
My eyes widen when his fingers brush over the thin cotton of my panties. Another round of explosions burst in my core. Confusion tumbles through me. As much as I want him to stop, I want him to continue even more.
The tip of his tongue darts out to trace my lips as his fingers stroke my heat. He focuses the pressure on my slit and I have to stop myself from widening my legs so he can touch all of me. Instead, I do the opposite and press my thighs together.
With a jerk of his hand, he yanks my ponytail. “Open for me.”
A hiss leaves my lips as pain radiates throughout my scalp.
I tell myself that I have no other choice but to obey his commands, but deep inside, I know it’s a lie. I could scream and fight him off, but I remain silent, craving his touch as my body burns with fire.
The moment I suck in a shuddering breath, he thrusts inside my mouth. Our tongues tangle as he caresses my pussy. It doesn’t take long for my hips to gyrate against his hand, matching the rhythm. As wrong as this is, I’m powerless to stop it from happening. When he lifts his lips from mine, his eyes are hard and unforgiving.
Even as he strokes me closer to orgasm, he says, “Did you know that your great-great-grandfather didn’t start the company alone?”
There is so much pleasure pumping through my system that it’s almost impossible to focus on the sound of his voice, let alone the words tripping off his tongue.
“What?” It takes effort to fight my way out of the thick fog that has descended, clouding my better judgment.