Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 67080 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 335(@200wpm)___ 268(@250wpm)___ 224(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67080 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 335(@200wpm)___ 268(@250wpm)___ 224(@300wpm)
I just make it around the corner of the cafeteria when I come to a sudden halt. My hands turn into iron fists, my nails digging painfully into my palm as I take in the scene before me. Willow is sitting at a table, Warren and two of our friends, Cameron and Easton are with her. She is trying to eat something, but Warren is hovering over her, pulling her tray away from her. One hand is on the back of her chair as he takes the seat next to her, pulling her so close that his arm is basically wrapped around her. It reminds me too much of a typical couple… boyfriend and girlfriend. The thought amps up my rage. Mine. She’s mine.
With my blood reaching boiling point, I march over there like I’m marching onto a battlefield. People move out of the way, and as soon as I’m close enough, I grab Warren’s neck from behind and pull him out of his seat.
“What the…” he spins around, fists clenched and ready to fight. When he sees that it’s me, he lowers his fist and stares at me in confusion. Doesn’t he know not to touch what’s mine?
“What the hell are you doing? Only I get to touch her.” I release him with a shove. Cameron and Easton snicker at the show I’m giving them.
“Fine,” he sighs, holding up his hands like he did nothing wrong. “We were just talking, no reason to have a mental breakdown.”
Ha, I’m not dumb. Warren and Nate have both been interested in her since that day in the classroom. Warren was interested from the moment he caught sight of her.
“You should be glad we’re friends. Because if we weren’t, you would be on the floor right now.” Dismissing him, I look past him to where Willow is sitting. She hasn’t looked up from her food. Using her fork, she picks at the salad in front of her. What the fuck? Her disinterest and lack of response to my presence infuriates me.
Obviously, she needs another reminder, another lesson in who owns her, and this entire fucking school. Without an explanation, I grab her upper arm and pull her out of her chair. She drops the fork in the process, and it flies across the table, landing on the side of her plate with a loud cling. I can feel eyes on us, but don’t pay them any attention.
“Hey, I was still eating,” she complains, trying to pull her arm free. Her eyes are missing their usual gleam.
“Looked like it, but if you’re still hungry, you can eat after,” I tell her as I pull her through the cafeteria and out the door. She doesn’t even try and fight me, and that adds to my newfound level of annoyance. Where is her fight? Her spirit?
“After what?”
“After I’m done with you.” Maintaining my grip on her, I walk her across the courtyard and toward her dorm. I don’t have the patience to drive to my place today. I need her, and I need her now. My entire body burns to show her that she is mine, and mine alone. The shit with Warren only made my need to possess her stronger.
By the time we get into the dorm, Willow is panting, her chest rising and falling in rapid successions.
“When I said I would do whatever you wanted, I didn’t mean whenever you wanted.” She pants, trying her best to catch her breath. I fish out the key card from my pocket and unlock her dorm room. She already knows I have a key, so there’s no reason for me to hide it anymore.
“Doesn’t matter, you made a deal with the devil, and in doing so, you gave yourself to me. That means if I want you to suck me off in the cafeteria in front of a room full of people, then you will.” With the door open, I usher her into the room and close it behind us, locking it for good measure. Finally, now that we’re alone… it feels like the pressure on my lungs has disappeared. When I’m alone with her… No. I shake the thought away. She’s nothing, a means to an end.
Turning back to Willow, I give her my undivided attention. She looks nervous, even more nervous than she did yesterday, but she’s holding onto her pride, using it as a stepping-stone. With her head held high, she’s still too proud to admit how scared she is, even though her body vibrates with the feelings she refuses to submit to.
Beautiful. Fragile. She’s glass, and I’m the sledgehammer that’s going to come crashing down on her.
“Strip,” I order, watching her eyes gleam with hatred for me, but hate isn’t the only thing in those green depths of hers. There’s a crackling of embers, a slow-building fire, and that makes me feel a little less guilty about what’s happening here. It makes me feel like maybe, just maybe, a part of her does want this. And that confuses the fuck out of me.