Dreams of 18(74)
I raise my eyebrows at him, waiting for his answer.
His anguished frown disappears as he senses the shift in the air. The shift that I created with these desires that I can barely keep hidden.
These desires and dreams that I’ve had since I was sixteen. The dreams that I want him to make true now that I’m eighteen.
He pushes into my chest with his large breath. “What do you want?”
His heart is beating under my palm.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
My own is going at a rhythm complementary to his. A Morse code of some sort.
“I want you to make my dreams come true.”
“And what are those dreams?”
“First, I want you to buy me all those dresses you promised,” I say with a turned-up chin.
“Yeah?”
“Yes. You can’t say it and not do it. And then, I want you to grow me all the roses that I want.”
A flicker of something amused and seductive all at the same time passes over his features. “You want roses?”
“Yup. And you have to give them to me.”
His fingers creep up and bury themselves in my hair. “Okay. So my baby wants roses. What else?”
My baby hits me in the stomach and a spasm goes through my pussy and I whisper, “And most importantly, I want you to fuck me.”
His heart thunders at this request.
It punches his chest and I feel it on my palm.
His heat intensifies and I feel it on my skin. If this is what he’ll give me, his body, I’m going to take it.
In fact, I’m going to demand that he give it to me after everything he’s put me through.
I deserve it.
That’s what I deserve.
His fingers, buried in the mass of my hair, tighten and bundle the strands together. “You want me to fuck you.”
“Yes.”
“You do know what I just said to you, right? I’m not going to give you more. I’m not going to change my ways for you.”
I narrow my eyes at him before I go to the top button of his shirt. “I don’t want you to. I’m not a child. I’m eighteen. And ten months. I understand what fucking is.”
I pop it out and go for the second one but he stops me with his hand on mine. “You do, huh?”
Biting my lip, I peek at him through my eyelashes. “Yeah. I don’t know where you think I came from, but I am from this world.”
“You don’t feel like it.”
I swallow a lump of emotion at his reverent tone and say, “I am. And I don’t want you to be noble or good. I don’t want you to do the right thing. I don’t want you to write me notes telling me to leave because you should know by now that I’m not going anywhere.”
“Yeah?” He pulls my neck back slightly, by the hair and whispers, his face over mine, “So what do you want me to be?”
“I want you to be what you said I make you. I want you to be bad.”
Don’t all normal girls want to turn bad boys good?
But then, I’m not normal, am I?
I want him to forget his good ways and be bad.
I want him to have me so he can do with me whatever he wants. All as long as he gives me what I want.
Him, however I can get him.
A rush of air escapes him and fans my lips, all rich and delicious. He lets go of my hand on his chest and brings it over to my face. He cups my jaw with his long fingers and says, “You want me to be bad.”
I continue unbuttoning his shirt. “Yeah. Because you know what, I think you are bad.”
“How do you figure that?”
“You tore my dress, remember? And only bad men tear a girl’s clothes off.”
He tightens his hold on my jaw. “They do, don’t they? I am a bad man, then.”
“Yup. So you just wasted time being good.” I shake my head at him. “Besides, I have a secret.”
“You have a secret.”
“Yes. I would’ve let you do it last night.”
“Do what?”
“I would’ve let you put it in.”
I’m somewhere down at the middle of his shirt when I say this and his reaction makes my hands stumble. In fact, his reaction makes me gasp and grip his shirt tightly, so tightly that I’m on the verge of tearing his clothes off tonight.
At my words, he pulls my head back so suddenly that my neck is all stretched up now. He brings his face so close to mine that his beard is brushing my jaw and chin with every breath I’m taking.
And his eyes.
God, his eyes are all violent and explosive, as explosive as his chest that’s crashing into mine with his heavy breaths.
“Put what in?” he growls.
“Your cock.”
“Put it where.”
“Anywhere.”
His furious fingers in my hair curl and uncurl like a time bomb. “Anywhere. What’s anywhere, Jailbait?”
“Anywhere means anywhere you want, Strawberry Man. I know what men like, you know. You think I’m so na?ve and all but I’m not. I know they like pussy. But I also know that they sometimes like to put it in the ass.”
His stomach hollows out. “You want me to put it in your ass?”
“If you want to. I’ll let you put it in wherever you want.”