Page 69 of Beneath Her Skin

RILEY

Isnap the heavyDemonology Codexshut with a thud. It’s almost eight o’clock, and I haven’t started getting ready for our get-together with Felix. Sliding the book underneath my pillow, I move to sit on the edge of the bed, dangling the necklace Willow gifted me before my eyes. It’s an outline of a black heart. Spindly skeleton fingers wrap around a red rose in the center with tiny diamonds etched into the black edges of the heart.

I remember the day she gave it to me on my sixteenth birthday. I couldn’t even fathom how she scrounged up enough money to buy this, let alone spend a dime on me. I’ve always told her that the only gift I will ever need in this life, or the next, is her. She wrote in her sketchbook that she was secretly stealing money from our late foster parents’ wallets. A dollar here, two there. When she spotted the necklace, she knew it belonged to me. I was reluctant to accept it, but the pleading look in her eyes softened my demeanor, like they always do.

I leap off the bed and stride over to Willow. She’s applying shimmery pink lip gloss to her plump lips, rubbing them together. So slowly… it’s almost sensual.

Standing behind her, my gaze locks on her lips, and she flicks her gaze to meet my stare in the mirror. The corners of her lips curl into a smile, and she rubs her lips together one last time before making a popping sound.

“You look beautiful,” I murmur, never once losing eye contact.

Willow’s wardrobe is vibrant and full of color. She could’ve easily fit in with the popular girls if we weren’t inseparable. But fuck that, she’s mine, and Willow isn’t callous and shallow like all those girls are. She has a pure heart and a kind soul.

Calling her beautiful is an understatement. She’s drop-dead gorgeous. She’s wearing a white off-the-shoulder cropped blouse with a cinched waist, accentuating her curves and a pastel pink skirt.

She looks good enough to eat. And I’m fucking starving.

Willow blushes, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear, and lowers her gaze.

I step closer to her, brushing my breasts against her back. Her breath catches on a hitch, and she meets my hungry stare in the mirror. I push her strawberry-blonde hair, still warm from the straightener, over one shoulder, without a word. The pads of my fingertips gently brush against the exposed skin on her shoulder, and I watch the goosebumps pebble her ivory skin.

I wrap my arm around her, showing off the necklace in front of her face. “Will you wear this for me, beautiful?”

Her large green eyes widen, confusion settling on her features.

“It’s okay. I want you to wear it. For me.” I lean closer, whispering the words against the crest of her ear.

She sucks in a sharp inhale, nodding slowly.

Around her delicate neck, I clasp the sterling silver chain. I trace my fingers over the pendant and I let my hand wanderlower, feeling uncertain. Between her breasts, down her flat stomach, past her navel, to the waistband of her skirt.

Willow pants, her eyes following my every movement. I let my hand rest on her smooth skin. I wrapped my other hand around her waist, pulling her against me.

I’m well aware that I may be crossing a line with her. But I can’t find it in me to stop. From the way she looks, her perfect curves, and her long legs, that I crave to spread wide open so I can feast on her. To how her hair smells like strawberries, the scent that I want to envelop me for the rest of my life. Her soft pants I wish to devour with my mouth. Her moans and gasps of pleasure I yearn to draw from her.

I fucking want it all. And I’m wondering if she wants this, too, because one thing is certain—she isn’t moving my hand.

I never considered myself a lesbian or bisexual. Labels aren’t my thing. I despise them. It never mattered to me whom I loved, as long as they accepted me, regardless of gender.

Willow and I have little experience on the boy front. She said she once kissed a boy on a school bus in elementary school. That captures the entirety of her romantic life. As for me… well, I don’t enjoy talking about my experiences much.

I lost my virginity when I was a sophomore. To Brad fucking Moore. One of the star hockey players at our school, and I was dumb enough to believe he actually wanted me.

It was all a prank. They wanted to make fun of one of the Draven sisters and make us the school’s laughingstock. Without my consent, videos of me and him circulated throughout the school.

Little did everyone know they were watching my very real fucking rape.

They mocked me. Tortured me. Called me every synonym of whore in the fucking dictionary.

But I told him no. I told him no repeatedly. He was too strong.

From that day on, I’ve tried to bulk up as much as I can because one day I plan to be stronger.

I’ve never wanted to kill someone until that day. Willow keeps me at bay and soothes the rage that lives and breathes underneath my skin. I would have snapped if it weren’t for her holding me together.

Willow trails her fingers over mine, over the soft flesh of her stomach. She brings me back to reality, grounding me in this moment that I want to stay in forever—with her. It is always only her.

I gather the courage and take a leap of faith to ask her if I can drag my hand even lower. I need to know what she feels like. Is she as slick between her thighs as I am for her?

---