Page 297 of As the Rain Falls
We finish eating our snacks in silence, our eyes meeting, lingering, then darting away. I shift over the leathered seat, angsty enough to want something to happen. He rolls up the windows, and I watch the condensation gather on the glass.
“We’re still meeting Angelina, though, right?” I ask, just to fill in the silence. We’re supposed to meet her and Mateo for pizza. Antony has capoeira. Kayla is busy with dance.
“Yeah,” Beckett says, watching me now. “I told her we might be late. I wanted to spend some time alone with you.”
“Oh!” I blush. “Okay!”
I play with the hem of my skirt. Kayla’s, actually. She’s taller, and we don’t wear the same size, but I made it work with a hair tie trick I saw online once.
“Stop looking at me!” I blush, but it feels silly to pretend I’m not seconds away from doing something reckless.
The seatbelt clicks free.
Beckett locks the car, and I move, but he’s already meeting me halfway. His hand cradles my face, and his thumb touches my cheek, my jaw, and the corners of my lips.
Memorizing.
Claiming.
“You’re so beautiful.”
And just like that, I become his.
The driver’s seat shifts back, and the space between us disappears. I make a faint sound that’s a lot like begging, clinging to him. I’m on top of him, and he is under me, thighs parting to make room for my legs. We’re not doing anything yet, but it feels like we’re doing plenty, though.
He angles his head slightly to the right, making sure we’re fitting perfectly, and I just do my very best at not passing out as I wait for him to kiss me. It’s delicate when he finally does it. The kiss is really soft at first.
Testing.
Tasting.
Wanting.
My palms mold against the shape of his shoulders. His hands grab my waist, pulling me towards him possessively. I let him and help him even.
His fingers push the skirt I’m wearing up, finding my shorts underneath. I whimper when his tongue meets mine, tasting sugar, oranges and chocolate, too sweet but perfect, and the sound of my voice is so girly for him.
My mind starts unraveling.
It’ll ruin everything.
Me.
Him.
Us.
We’re already fighting to keep the broken pieces together. I can’t stand our timing and how off it’s been all along. But the worst part? I can feel him sneakily slipping deep every single time, and he has yet to take my clothes off.
I can ruin Beckett Evans in more ways than one, and I want to ruin him like this every single time. I just can’t let him have the upper hand. Not again.
Fuck him and leave.
It’s an old, small voice in my head, like a familiar instinct. I thought the right boy would chase it away and fix my broken pieces, but I’m still me. The same stupid, broken girl.
I take his hands, guiding them underneath my shirt. He palms the sides of my breasts, bringing them closer together, rolling my nipples gently between his fingers.I immediatelyshudder.My back arches, and he gives me the faintest whimper that makes me want to die.
Beckett likes this. Of course, he does. But what surprises me is that I do, too. God, I love it for all the wrong reasons. For starters, that’s all I know. Sex is my constant now. My solution for when my skin feels tight is to find a way for me to makethings worse, destroy myself a little more, and take it a little further.
