Page 74 of Broken by my Bully
I rub my hands together and shake them out, just like she did.
Melissa peeks at me from one eye. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”
“Invasion of privacysucks,” I say with a grin. I don’t add that getting the chance to mar her perfect face, or get her back for all the snide comments is going to fill cup until it runneth over.
“Yeah, well, I like it rough some—” She cuts off with a gasp as my palm connects with her cheek.
I didn’t mean to hit her so hard. The way her neck snaps to the side, it’s like her head almost came off.
“Shit, are you okay?” I scramble forward, grabbing her shoulder.
She knocks my arm away. “Is there a handprint?” she mumbles, straightening as she gingerly touches her face.
My lips twist. “Kinda.”
“Damn, girl. Remind me never to piss you off.” She gives me an admiring look, and her smile actually shows a glimpse of her teeth. Then holds out her arm, getting ready for the next round.
I crow out in victory when I win, crack my knuckles, and slowly ease the third card off the stack.
Straightening my arms and flicking my hand, I wriggle on my cushion to get comfy?—
“God, just do it already.” Melissa’s half-yelling, but there’s a smile hinting at the corners of her mouth.
I’m full-on smiling, so fucking happy that I finally have the upper?—
Shit.
“Shit.”
“What? What is it?” Melissa scans my face and then holds outher hand. “No, wait. I don’t like that look,” she says, circling a finger in front of my face, then pointing at the bottle of tequila.
I pour us each another shot.
We clink, we swallow.
“Fuck!” I mumble, squeezing my eyes shut against the burn.
This time, the burn in my throat seems to spread through my whole body. I feel light, as if I took a big breath I’d start floating.
Must be the booze. I’ve never let myself get drunk before. I thought it would be better than this. More…exciting.
“Come on, show me already,” Melissa demands like a toddler about to throw a tantrum.
I grab an Oreo, crunching loudly on it as I show Melissa the card. Crumbs rain onto the carpet, but she’s too busy gaping at the card.
“I let you slap me,” she blurts out, eyes wide.
I laugh, and almost choke on a cookie crumb. “You didn’t let me do anything. Youchosea slap.”
She lifts a hand to the red handprint on her cheek. “It was fucking hard.”
“Don’t hate the player, hate the game.”
There’s panic in her eyes now. “Fuck that. You’re?—“
She cuts off with a jerk when I growl out, “Of course I won’t. Who in their right mind could?” I roll my eyes at her, tossing down the card between us. “Fuck.”
Cruelty
