Bad Boy Blues(36)
Before I can even form words, Zach shifts. His hands wrap around my waist and he orders, “Spread your legs.”
“What?”
Looking back into my eyes, he shakes his head once. “You want me to stay away from you, don’t you? You want me to keep my promise? And you’ll do anything for it?”
Is he… implying what I think he’s implying?
When I keep looking at him with a frown, he squeezes my waist hard. Harder than I had anticipated, and I whimper.
“Answer me. You’ll do anything to save yourself from me, yeah?”
I nod. Wordlessly. Like a little, plastic, brainless doll.
“Then let’s see how much you wanna be saved. Show me how much you hate me, Blue. Spread your fucking legs.”
I get a serious case of shivers at his low tone. I’m not sure if my thighs drop open themselves or he powers his way between them.
But suddenly, he’s here.
Between my thighs.
“You’re an a-asshole,” I stumble over my words, raking my nails over his chest, panting slightly at the bulk of him.
“Heard you the first thousand times before.”
Zach’s hands travel down from my waist, smooth down my dress, and the throb follows. My skin beats like my bleeding heart.
He keeps going until he reaches the hem of my dress, just above my knees. In the silence of the bathroom, my harsh breaths are the only sound. I couldn’t stop them, even if I wanted to. I need extra air, extra oxygen to be able to survive this.
His bronzed hands get under the skirt and all I can see are his wrists, one of them with the tattoo peeking out.
The feel of his callused fingers makes me whip my eyes up at him. Only to find him watching his hands on me, as well. Something about that is so… needy. As if he has to look with his own eyes before believing that he’s touching me.
Touching the tender skin of my thighs, making me squirm.
“Zach…”
He lifts his eyes up to me. “Are you a virgin?”
My thighs shake at the intimacy of his question. At the expanse of his broad chest that’s filling up my entire vision.
“What?”
“Your cherry. Do you have it?”
I should push him away. I can end this whole thing now. I can just jump down from the counter and take off. I don’t care if he ruins my dates, uses me for his amusement.
I don’t care. It’s okay. I don’t want to date or fall in love or anything even remotely that.
As long as I don’t feel this way. Heavy and panting and so, so lazy yet so awake and throbbing.
But my mouth opens and I answer his question, instead. “No.”
His thumb moves in circles, hot and rough against my soft skin, as he says, “You’re lying.”
I am.
“I’m not,” I reply, fighting against the effect of his circling thumbs.
Why is it hypnotic?
It’s making me drowsy.
His skin is flayed and half peeled-off in places – probably from the bike – and every circle he makes feels scrape-y, full of friction.
Zach’s mouth stretches into a lazy smile. “But you blush like one.”
Then he moves again. Putting pressure on my thighs, he slides me down the counter until my ass almost hangs over the edge. He hitches up my calves around his waist and my ankles cross at the small of his back, just over his tight butt.
I thought his thumbs were driving me insane but the scratch of his jeans along my thighs turns every breath into something… erotic.
Before I can dwell on that, Zach grabs my face.
His hands are so large that they span my entire cheek, going up to my messy hair. “So, if I shove your panties aside and stick my finger inside you, I won’t find that tiny little piece of flesh that proves you’re untouched?”
I shudder at the graphic picture he’s painted.
Inside me. His finger.
Fingers that are tangled up in my hair right now. Fingers that are rough and raw.
I shake my head. Only I don’t know what I’m shaking it for. Am I telling him he can’t do it? Or answering his question?
“I won’t, huh?” He takes it as a reply. “I won’t find it.”
“No.”
Why am I lying?
His fingers in my hair tighten. “Who took it?”
“What?”
“Who. Took it?”
“Who took what?”
“Your cherry. Who did you give it to?”
My lips part under his hovering ones. When did we get this close? Not touching but breathing over each other’s skin.
Grabbing his wrists, I find my voice. “None of your business.”
His black eyes are swirling. “When’d it happen?”
“After you left.”
His smile is cold. “Did it hurt?”
I jerk out a nod.
“It did. Was he big?”
“Stop. Please.”
“Was he big or not?” He squeezes my cheeks, his fingers curled around my hair in a vise-grip. “Did he stretch you out, Blue? Or is your pussy tight as fuck for me?”
I have no idea what’s happening. I literally have no idea why he’s asking these questions.
All I know is that I’m flushed and shaking and quivering.