Page 47 of The Last Kind of Kiss
“Yes.”
“Are you going to say it?”
“No.”
“Has anyone ever told you that you have an attitude problem?” he quips.
I snort. “Nobody that wasn’t big enough to handle it.”
“Angel, I think I just proved to you I’mbigenough to handle it.”
“How about you do less talking and more spanking?”
A single hit. Barely powered, just enough to sting the skin. He’s going easy on me. I don’t even wince.
“I thought you were going to give me arealpunishment,” I tease, turning my head sideways so I can see him in my periphery.
He growls something inhuman, so deep and powerful that I feel it reverberate through me. This time, his hand comes down and properly smacks me, nearly unbalancing me in the process. I jam my molars down on each other, swallowing back a whimper.
“Is this real enough for you? Or do you need another attitude check?”
Bristol spanks me again, and the noise is so loud that it rings in my eardrums right after it bounces off every flat surface in the vicinity. He doesn’t give me a reprieve. I let out a moan before I can stop myself, loving the possessiveness that bewitches him, loving the fact that he’s gaining as much satisfaction from this as I am. Jesus. I’m not going to be able to walk tomorrow, and I’m probably going to have a hand-shaped bruise on my butt. It feelslike he bruised my pussy too. Is that possible? Can dick bethatgood?
My butt aches from the force of his hand after he finishes, and it’s no doubt redder than a fire hydrant. He brings me into his arms instantly, plies me with so many kisses that they start to tickle, and then transforms from a grizzly bear into a soft teddy bear. He’s got me in a spooning position while he snuggles against me, the perfect height to let me feel the pounding of his heart that mysteriously seems to quicken in my presence.
“I don’t want to wake up from this dream,” he whispers against the shell of my ear, seconds away from drifting off to sleep.
Moisture rides my waterlines, and I wish it was because of the spanking. “Neither do I.”
16
SILENCE IS A GIRL’S WORST FRIEND
LILA
When a good thing happens, people expect it to last. At least for a while.Iexpected the goodness to last, and I shouldn’t have let my piddling insecurities buoy so close to the surface. The good can’t exist without the bad. Both come and go in waves, and right now, it feels like all the bad is flooding my sinking ship as my hands frantically bail water. Drowning no longer skims the realm of impossibility; it’s probable. It always is if you risk treading water.
And I risked everything.
I haven’t heard from Bristol in a week. He’s gone radio silent. And after I exceeded my texting quota of five consecutive messages with no response, I gave up on trying to reach him. I didn’t want to humiliate myself further. You know the saying: fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.
I wish I could say I’m not surprised. I wish I could say that this possibility didn’t cross my mind, but I was so blinded by the taste of life he gave me that I didn’t stop to question the authenticity of it. The way he pleasured me, the way he spoke to me, the way he held me that night until dawn cracked over the horizon—I thought I was finally out of the woods.
I don’t know what to do. The campaign is still happening. This whole “fake dating” scheme is still in play. He’ll have to talk to me eventually, and I’m afraid that I’ll forgive him the moment he apologizes. I’m afraid that I’ll reinforce this heartbreaking cycle. I blame myself for allowing this to happen again—for baring my soul to him and not expecting him to dig his fingers into it like a blackened bruise on the skin of an otherwise perfect peach.
I’ve been desperately waiting by my phone. I haven’t gone outside in days. It’s been a chore just to feed and shower myself. I feel like I’ve gone through the worst breakup of my life, and yet we were never together in the first place. The chocolate may have assisted my decision that night, but my heart was the ultimate sway vote.Itrusted Bristol with my body.Itrusted him with my soul. And now both remain tainted.Hepursued me.Hewas the one begging for my forgiveness.Hepromised to fix things between us.
He has to be the evilest person on this fucking planet.
I push the straw of my drink around, watching as a mountain of ice cubes clink against the walls of the glass. Even though the sky is clear and sunlight warms the tops of my shoulders—which is rare for it being fall—I couldn’t be less enthused to be outside right now.
Aeris and I are situated on the patio of Deja Brew, shadowed by a trellis-like overhang ripe with vines of ivy that curl through weather-beaten boards. The seats of the chairs are crisscrossed with woven rope, while the metallic backs feature intricate whorls of stainless steel. The tables are small and unvarnished, lending to the rustic aesthetic of the local café, and some even have unsteady legs propped up with dog-eared books. Bushels of azalea periodically dot the perimeter, and strings of twinkle lights swoop low overhead, coiled around splintering supports and neighboring tree branches. The ground is layered in amedley of stones, all pieced together with rubble caulking and the occasional sprigs of grass.
Aeris wanted to treat me to lunch, and she wasn’t taking no for an answer. She got all scary on me and threatened to desecrate my red bottoms if I didn’t agree. So, I dragged myself out of bed in the most disgusting baggy sweatshirt and sweatpants combo, slathered on deodorant, and did absolutely nothing to the rat’s nest on my head. Rational Lila wouldn’t be caught dead wearing this outfit. Stains aren’t messy girl couture. It’s just…messy.
Aeris’ sympathetic gaze keeps loitering from behind her laminated menu, and she hastily works to fill the awkward silence escalating my pity party. She regales me with exciting stories about her job as a social media manager—which she was promoted to after some breakout vegan articles in partnership with the Riverside Reapers—and she’s careful not to mention her famed fiancé due to his…attachment to He Who Must Not Be Named.
I’m happy for her, I really am. She always believed she didn’t deserve to be loved, and that way of thinking had taken a toll on her before her hockey Prince Charming swept her off her feet. Now she’s the happiest I’ve seen her in the eight years I’ve known her.
