Page 2 of Sick Like Me

Slowly, re-tucking the chain beneath her clothing once more, she turns her head towards me, her sapphire blue eyes darkening as the moon’s beams disappear behind a cloud, leaving us in shadow, and Wesley’s head thuds against the ground.

“Caelus,” she greets politely, like we’re old friends.

We’re not, despite the way we keep meeting in the dark, pulled towards one another like lost spirits finding the light.

“You shouldn’t be here,” I rumble, my voice a deep, low warning, that doesn’t have the desired effect.

“Why not?” she asks whimsically, her body still angled away from me, hands relaxed by her sides, head canted, that siren blue gaze on me from the corner of her eye.

“Because this is Carnell land, Miss Stone,” I tell her more sharply.

Irritation flaring beneath the sudden tightness of my skin, that’s how it always is around her, a hatred carved so deep intomy bones that it’s settled in my marrow. She smiles then, tipping her head further right, angling herself so she can look at me more fully, her chin brushing her shoulder.

“That could be argued, though,” she replies softly, “couldn’t it,MasterCarnell?” she mocks with a tinkling laugh that hits me right in the balls.

Anger thrums just beneath the surface of my light skin, skin that suddenly feels like it’s not quite my own whilst I’m in the presence of this girl. This twenty year old fucking nightmare with poison laced lips and a blank stare that makes the hair raise on the back of my neck and my heart pound inside my chest like a battering ram trying to crack through my ribcage.

It’s why I stay away from her.

Ostara Stone makes me forget myself.

And that’s just about the most dangerous thing that could ever happen to me.

When I stride towards her, closing the too large, yet too small, distance between us, I’m honing in on her like a predator. Every instinct screaming at me to kill. My natural born enemy, my grandfather’s once-best friend’s granddaughter, the rival blood to everything I know. She is as forbidden to me as I am to her.

Which is why we always meet this way.

Nothing ever happens.

But she speaks to me.

And she never communicates with anyone, not anyone she plans to keep alive anyway.

Except for me.

Suddenly, we are a collision.

The way our teeth clash as we come together, her hands claw at my bare shoulders, nails cutting in deep, as my fingers dig into the soft flesh of her arse. She’s light in my arms, tasting sweetand impermissible, and I lap at her mouth like it’s melting ice cream as I heft her up high into my arms.

The wrap of her long legs twining around my waist, the rubber soles of her shoes jabbing into the tops of my glutes, dragging me into her as we fall against a tree. My cock is hard, weeping at the tip, and her hips are rolling, grinding and crushing her cunt against the ladder of my abs, bunching the very light fabric of my stringer vest up between us.

She hisses as I bite her bottom lip, tasting the bitter remnants of her poison-tinged weapon. It isn’t something I stop to think about though, the fear of death. Not with the heat of her pussy rubbing against me, her nails drawing blood down the juts of my shoulder blades. The scent of her arousal seeps through the stretchy material of her leggings, my nostrils flaring in the cold wind as I bite off our kiss. Dipping my face down into the hollow of her throat and curling my tongue up the length of her bared neck.

Her head drops back as I suck on the underside of her chin, swirling my tongue around the clamped circle of the inside of my teeth. She grunts as I bite into her, the hollow space not much more than skin and bone, so I know it hurts. It doesn’t stop her though, a whimper dropping from her throat, quickly stripped away by the whip of the summer breeze. Her knees tighten against the ridges of my rib bones, heels digging in harder against my lower spine.

“Cal,” she breathes, her eyes opening as I release my bite on her chin, licking up the length of her jaw.

Those long, skilled fingers claw upwards of the muscles in the top of my back, dragging sharply into my thick mess of dark brown hair, the curves of her nails breaking the skin of my scalp.

“Ozzie,” I bite into her neck, my hazel eyes flicked up on her blues. “Tell me to stop.”

I demand it like I would do it.

Stop.

Even though I wouldn’t.

We are destruction.

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