Page 3 of For Fillies and Monsters

One more reason I hate small towns like this.

It is fucking depressing really. Who would willingly choose to live in this hell?

“People wanting to disappear. Or stop existing.” As if the tired town heard me, a heavier breeze sweeps down the street, pelting my face with red sandy grains. “It’s fucking true.” I look up at the sky, daring it to disagree with me again. “People come here to die.”

A huff sounds behind me, and I whip around, ready to argue my point, but stop dead.

Sheis standing there, as if I willed her from thin air—not another person in sight. In the fading evening light, her light jeans and white t-shirt look more like a beacon than the simple clothes I am sure she intended them to be. They cling to her curvy figure like water around a rock, and I stare at her perky, small breasts, unable to tear my gaze away from the curves of her body. I drink every bit of her in, like a thirsty man in a desert—desperate and unashamed.

Dirt clings to her clothes and the bare skin of her arms—she looks like she’s rolled around in it.Why would she have done that?She brushes a hand over her arms, as if trying to wipe away the evidence of… what? I don’t know yet. But I plan to find out.

I groan, raking my eyes back up to her face, taking in the anger snapping in her own. Her plump lips are pulled back in a snarl, and she looks like she can’t decide if she wants to slap me or spit on me. Can’t say I’d be upset about either option. Her being pissed is only making my dick ache more, and I shift, trying to relieve the growing pressure against my zipper.

She looks like the kind of girl used to hiding in plain sight, but I see her.I see her, and I can’t look away.

“Geez, I thought maybe you were rude because you hadn’t had enough coffee the other morning.” She places her small fingers on her hip and pulls her blonde, braided hair over her shoulder with the other. Several strands of her hair are torn loose from the braid, adding to her disheveled appearance. “Now I know you’re just rude.” Her gray-green eyes crack with fire at my obvious stare and silence, and her large pouty lips, still that impossibly bright shade of pink, pull down farther at the corners.

I’m not normally at a loss for words around women. But mybrain cells aren’t firing, and the only thing rattling around up there are the two words“ruin her”.

I can’t help it.

“Hello?” She waves her hand in my face, and I shift, my unruly curls falling over one eye with the movement.

“Is there a question in there, sweetheart? You came up to me without a ‘hey, how’s it going’ or nothin’. As far as rude goes, you sure are painting a vivid picture,” I drawl, my voice gravelly and strained. Her nose scrunches, pulling her blonde brows together.

“I am most definitely not your sweetheart,” she hisses.

“You could be. I can go find your boyfriend and solve this little problem right now,” I state, only half joking. The sudden thought of someone else’s mouth on hers making my blood boil.Is that why she’s all dirty? Was she rolling around in a hay pile or something with someone?

“I don’t have a boyfriend. Never found a use for one.” She huffs, looking at me pointedly.

I take one small step toward her, my anger getting the better of me, and her back straightens.

“You obviously haven’t found the right one then,” I challenge, taking another small step closer.

“I guess I’ll just have to keep trying then, won’t I?” A small smile takes over the corners of her full mouth. “You don’t happen to have a brother or friend with you, do you?”

Fucking brat.Is she challenging me?

I can’t stop the growl from ripping from my throat, or my feet taking another involuntary step toward her. Her smile falters, just a fraction, and I notice how close I am to her now. On the humid breeze, I catch a hint of lemon and sweat and fear. I suck in another ragged inhale, imprinting the smell into my lungs like a brand. I look down, watching her pulse hammerin her throat like a trapped bird. She swallows, and my eyes track the motion—two magnets following each other.

I want to sink my teeth into the soft flesh there, where it is hammering the hardest. I want to feel her pulse in my mouth. I want to taste her sweat and fear on my tongue.

My hands shake at my sides as I try to keep from grabbing her.

She swallows again and moves to step back, but my hand snakes out, as if on instinct, grabbing her wrist.She will not get away so easily this time.I don’t know where she came from or why she is here, but fate is giving me a second chance, and I will fucking take it—I’ve never been a humble man—I take what I want and never apologize. And God help me, I want this girl.

As my hand touches her skin, she freezes like a deer in headlights, her eyes rounding.

Brazenly, I reach out with my other hand, brushing her braid from her neck, and trace my calloused thumb down the side. We’re both holding our breath, my eyes glued to where our skin meets. I couldn’t stop myself, even if I wanted to.

I pause, rubbing harder, right at the base of her neck, and over a smudged patch of makeup. She hisses and yanks her wrist from my grip, breaking the trance.

“Is that a bruise or a hickey?” I hiss the question, the words trembling as they fall from my lips; the thought of anyone’s hands, or mouth, on what ismine, burning like a forest fire unchecked in my chest.

“Which would you prefer?” Her eyes blaze back at me, challenging me to push her. She might be sad, but she’s full of fire—and I’ve never wanted to be burned so badly in my life.

“Which is it?”

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