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.

Canadians like to bitch about the six months of snow and subzero temperatures. We also like to moan when it gets too hot. There’s really no pleasing us.

So true!

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.

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.

She gives me an incredulous look. “I don’t even like you.”

It’s what I need to hear. It stings, but I’ve mostly been a complete asshole to her, so I can’t expect any different. I push down the regret. She doesn’t deserve my vitriol. It’s not her fault she’s a constant reminder me of all the things I wish I deserved.

“Listen to how wet your pussy is for me. You pretend to be so sweet, but you’re a dirty girl, aren’t you? And I’m going to make you filthy.”

“Every time you think about the things I’ve done to you, and you’ll think about them often—” Probably with regret. “—you’re going to wish I’d taken your ass, too. And it’s going to drive you fucking mad that I didn’t, because you’re too inexperienced to handle me.”