Make My Move (Hannaford Prep, #5)

by J. Bree

I don’t need to know all of the details to know that she’s fucking it for me. She’s everything I want and now I have her, I’m not going to fuck this shit up.

She kisses me like she’s with me in this worship and, fuck, I’m done for. This is it. This is the only girl I’m ever going to fucking want.

Why did she have to be so fucking… perfect. Why did she have to be everything that I needed, everything I didn’t even fucking know that I wanted, and also be completely unattainable? So fucking off-limits that I might lose my dick if I can’t get my shit together.

To break her because nothing ever lasts and I’d rather be the one ruining things than having my world turned upside down for some Mounty girl from the slums with eyes that haunt my dreams.

She’s the ache in my chest that I can’t cure, no matter how hard I try.

Fuck me, I guess this shit is karma for all of the reckless shit I’ve pulled with the girls that came before her, because I’m going to have to work hard for this shit. That’s fine. I’m playing for keeps this time.

She stares at me for a second and I lose it, I lose the last tiny scraps of my soul that she didn’t already own because when Lips Anderson looks at you she sees everything.

I want her more than I've wanted anything else in my life. That in itself should be terrifying. It's not.

I kiss her like I've never kissed a girl before. I kiss her like she's the only fucking drug I'll ever need pumping through my veins, like I don't fucking care that she's going to be my downfall and that doing this is the end of everything I love and covet in my life. I kiss her like it doesn't matter that I'm betraying two of the most important and vital people in my life. I kiss her like I love her.