Delicate (Wicked Hearts, #1)

by Sara Cate

She flaunts everything all the time and doesn’t even care that guys only want her for one thing. Which is fine. But it just seems to take all of the fun out of it for me. It might sound cliché, but when I find the right guy, I want it to be special—not just a quick romp for fun.

Every summer I come to the island, I seek him out, in the least creepy way possible, of course. Once or twice, I would gawk at him through the window as I passed on the boardwalk. More than once, I watched him eating at the diner down the street.

Why I’ve been so drawn to him, and act like a stalker suitable for a true crime documentary, I don’t know.

“You don’t want a tattoo?” he replies with a crooked smile. It’s contagious because I feel my own smile grow across my face. Without knowing why, I put my hand against my cheeks to hide the grin. The world’s worst flirter, right here. “N-no,” I stutter. He shows his pearly white teeth, and I swear my knees buckle.

I wanted as little black in my tatts as possible; I had enough darkness in my life. I wanted something bright on the outside.

I ride for another twenty minutes, taking a long ride around the island, thinking about that kiss. How in just a few hours, this girl has turned my world upside down.

all. I couldn’t let her and this addiction coexist in my mind. And since I couldn’t lose myself in her tonight, I lost myself in something far worse.

“No. I’m just not the right guy for you, Sierra.” Damn, this hurts. This is so hard I’d rather punch my hand through the glass case before saying something like that to her again.

This girl is impossible. Here I thought she was an innocent spring breaker, but I can already see the potential for her to really put me through hell.

I think it’s my nerves, being out with him by ourselves again, knowing that we are so close to something that excites me in a way I’ve never felt before.

“Just this week, Sierra. This could never be anything more. Could you live with that?” “Why?” I beg, wanting to kiss him again. “Because you and I are from different worlds, and I’d rather have one week with you than let you ruin your life to be with me.”

“Good.” With one hand creeping back to my ass again, he lifts my body so that I’m straddling the bike with him, facing each other. His mouth is on mine, no longer gentle and soft, but hungry and rough as he pulls my lips into his mouth with a bite.

“You were unexpected,” he says as I pull away.

Not a look of happiness, but a look of peace and contentment. The most content I’ve seen him look since I met him. I don’t know how he can be so content, because I am on fire, and I’m afraid of what I’ve just gotten myself into.

For five years, I’ve watched him, loving him from a distance. Now that he’s mine, I don’t know how I’ll be able to let him go.

Butterflies, tribals, tramp stamps, oh my.

I love her in a way that is dangerous and fucking mind-blowing. I love her in the same way sirens pull men to their deaths. I know it will kill me, but I don’t care. I would gladly give my life to whisper those words back to her.