Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 27270 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 136(@200wpm)___ 109(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27270 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 136(@200wpm)___ 109(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)
“Making you scream so loud the neighbors call the police out of concern?”
“Yes, that,” she whispers unevenly.
Is this really happening? Or is this one of my Ayla fantasies and they have slipped even more into unrealistic territory than usual? “Why would you want to go on a date with a man who wants that kind of shit from you?”
“I don’t know. That’s what I was sort of hoping to figure out.”
“On our date,” I bite off, heart slamming side to side in my throat.
“Yes.”
“No.” Hold on. Just a little bit longer. “I’m fixing your car and that’s it. I’m saying no for your own good.”
“If you just wanted to fix my car, you shouldn’t have touched me. Because now I…I think I want more.” She presses her palms to her flaming cheeks. “I guess I’ll see you in school.”
I’m a marble statue. I can’t move as she turns and runs out of the garage, her skirt fluttering around her thighs. If I couldn’t detect her scent hanging in the air, I would swear none of the last half hour ever happened. But her presence is everywhere now. On everything. Inside of me, tearing to pieces.
Ayla just saw more than a glimpse of my dark side.
And still…she wants to go on a date with me?
Never in my wildest dreams could I have imagined it.
I can’t say yes. I can’t allow myself that honor. Because I know where it would lead. Exactly where I said it would. There are no happy mediums. I’m ferocious where she’s concerned. But even as I forbid myself from saying yes to the date…
I find myself caving. Fast.
three
Ayla
At school on Monday morning, nothing looks the same.
Nothing feels the way it usually does.
All weekend, ever since those stolen moments with Flynt at the garage, I’ve been caught in a hazy trance. I replay the way he spoke to me on a loop. I hear his rasp against my skin and no matter how many times I think of him admitting what he wants to do to me, I grow unbearably hot. Yet I shiver at the same time. My heart hasn’t stopped racing.
It was on the hood of my car that I realized what I’d been feeling for Flynt all along. All those years he watched me, followed me through the school hallways…I was on the verge of lust. And now, I’ve been speared by it. Straight through the middle.
I spent Saturday and Sunday working on an English essay. It should have been easy, but I continually found myself rolling onto my back and staring at the ceiling. Eventually my hands would smooth up my thighs. They would reach my hips and press down on my tummy, before raking higher to my breasts. I imagined my hands belonged to Flynt.
I imagined him on top of me. Making love to me.
Hard enough to make me scream.
And it’s a good thing my father is out of town, because my imagination caused me to moan loud enough to fill the whole house.
Flynt’s touch awakened something raw and undiscovered inside of me in that garage. It’s so intense, I’m more than a little scared of it. I’m pathetically inexperienced, so I don’t even know what it takes to satisfy whatever is churning inside of me. But I know Flynt is the one who is supposed to do it. It was him all along. My body knew the answer before my head.
This cauldron of sudden feelings for Flynt is bubbling over as I stand at my locker, waiting for the bell to ring for first period. Voices around me are muffled. Everyone seems to be moving in slow motion. I’m tightening and releasing in places that I’m usually unaware of. Between my legs, deep in my belly. Even my fingertips stretch and contract, like they can’t stay still. I’m trying to keep my breathing even, but my chest rises and falls too fast. So fast. Does anyone notice the change in me?
The world goes utterly silent inside of my head when Flynt appears at the top of the hallway. My pulse misfires and I almost drop the chemistry book that I’m holding. Several students are watching me with open curiosity, so I whirl around and try to hide my pink face behind my locker. I can’t help but peek through the slats as Flynt approaches, however.
Goodness, is he even more magnetic than usual this morning?
In a black T-shirt, faded jeans and boots, he doesn’t wear clothes like most high school boys. No, that shirt clings to his muscles like hot, melted wax. His dark hair is still slightly wet from his shower, and he doesn’t bother with a backpack. He walks with purpose. Not a hint of self-consciousness, like the other boys.
No, he locks in on his target—me—puts his head down and weaves through the traffic in the hallway, determined to reach me. Just like every other weekday morning. Except this time, my skin is hotter than the surface of the sun. I know what his muscles feel like shifting on top of me. I know he gets hard for me. And I’ve asked him out.