now, he’s the serotonin I’ve needed. Warmth welcomes me, and it’s nice to not feel so alone, even if it won’t last.
“Do you like her?” The words slip from me, not intentionally, but the question has been there, lurking in my mind for a while now.
His humor flattens; a crease in his brow is all that he’s expressing now. Without him answering, the doubt in my mind wants to yell, of course he does, but the softer side of me, the one who holds hope and doesn’t give into the demon’s whispers, he never could.
“What do you want to hear?”
The response no one asked for comes from his lips, and I’m stuck between kneeing him where it hurts, and crying over the fact that boys are stupid as shit. It’s not about what I want to hear. It’s about the truth and nothing less. How does he not understand that? How do none of them ever get that all I’ve ever wanted is honesty?
Pushing him away, I back up. He follows, and I’m eventually against the wall, merely missing the painting that created the domino effect of having Jordan here right now.
“Fine. If you won’t tell me if you like her, will you tell me if you’ve touched her?” My voice breaks at the last three words, feeling the crack as if it actually happened and not just a metaphorical question.
“Does it bother you?”
Aggressively raising my hands in the air, I groan loudly. “Would you stop answering my questions with a question?”
He doesn’t chuckle. His face isn’t expressing more than he’s pondering my words. Either that or he’s keeping his emotions close to the vest. I never really know with him.
His left hand touches my jaw briefly, sliding down to my throat. As he twirls his finger across my veins, I take in a deep breath, hoping to steady myself.
“Are you jealous, Corpse?” Gripping my hips with both of his hands, he digs into them a lot more than I expected.
I let out a whimper and hate myself for allowing him that sound. He doesn’t deserve it from me.
“Thing is,” he teases, pushing his hips into mine, “Southern Peach Barbie couldn’t possibly turn me on like you do.”
I breathe out a shallow breath. It’s quiet and small, but it’s there nonetheless, and he takes advantage of my weakness.
“You’re the only girl for me, the only one I want to sink deep inside and hear whimper my name. The only one I want to touch and devour. The only one I want as mine.”
He lifts me easily, pressing me into the wall. My longer skirt slides up as my thighs wrap around his waist, and I moan when he grinds himself against me.
It’s been so long.
Without touch.
Without taste.
Without release.
We move together, gyrating. No mouths touching, no skin touching, just our clothed bodies seeking friction in the middle of a goddamn hallway for anyone to pass.
“How could you think she could ever turn me on?” He closes the distance between our mouths, latching onto my bottom lip, dragging the pearly whites across my flesh aggressively. “Haven’t you learned yet? I like freaks with too many tattoos and piercings. I like to make my girl scream and cry, and when she begs me to make her come, making her wait is my favorite part.”
I melt into him at that, sweat licking every vulnerable inch of me. The brat inside me wants to rebel and the masochist inside me begs me to incite anger too. They both want the pain and punishment he would offer if we had time.
“Tell me not to fuck you in this hall, Corpse. Beg me not to shove my cock inside you and show you that Melissa means nothing to me.”
A garbled cry releases from me. He knows I won’t. Not beg, not deny this, not stop us from fucking against this barren wall.
“She’s your fiancée now. She’s yours. You’re not mine,” I whine. It hurts to express the words and make them leave my mouth. Jordan uses one knee to keep me up and I hear as Jordan unbuckles his jeans and pulls out his dick. His eyes are darkened orbs, the nearly black navy blue completely stealing my breath.
“Fuck, Corpse. You shouldn’t have me this tangled.”
Without telling me exactly what he means, he moves my panties to the side and shoves inside me. My back arches off the wall, and he smacks a hand over my mouth before a strangled sob escapes from the pleasure.
“Jordan,” I groan.
“That’s