If You Hate Me

by Helena Hunting

His free hand slides into my hair and curls into a fist, holding my head. “You know what they say about playing with fire.” He twists my head, his lips dragging across my cheek until they reach my ear. “Bad little Bea,” he taunts, catching my earlobe between his teeth.

All three heads turn my way. Tristan is in the middle of a sip of orange juice—he drinks an irrational amount of juice. He chokes and coughs into his arm. I hop to the floor, plaster a bright smile on my face, and head for the fridge, passing Tristan. His eyes are wide, and his mouth hangs open. It’s comical, really. “What the fuck are you wearing?” he blurts.

“The fuck are you doing?” Tristan asks. “Getting the coffee beans, genius.” “Keep your fucking eyes to yourself, Bright,” Tristan snaps.

“Ow! What the hell?” I try to swat his hands away, but my arms are caught in the shirt and my hair is in my eyes. He grabs the hem of his shirt and gathers it at my waist. “This shit is unnecessary. Everyone was already looking at you before you pulled this, Beat. It’s overkill, and you have a hell of a lot more to offer than your body.”

“Being attracted to me, even though you can’t stand me. So frustrating to abhor something and want it at the same time.” His eyes flare with surprise before they narrow. “Tread carefully, or you’ll wind up in over your head.” I poke him through his shorts. He’s definitely sporting a semi. I bet if I looked down, I’d see the ridge pushing against the fabric. “Your body betrays you,” I murmur. “What you wouldn’t give right now to be able to shut me up with your cock in my mouth, eh?”

And this kiss, this one fucking kiss is everything I didn’t want it to be. It’s not like any other. We’re years of history colliding. Her mouth on mine is a balm, and desperation has me tipping her head so I can deepen the kiss. I shouldn’t be doing this, but I can’t stop. All I want is more.