Norma Jean - By Amanda Heath Page 0,8

was young and stupid. I didn’t know how to handle things and you were the easiest target. I know that doesn’t make it right but I wish I hadn’t said those things. You didn’t deserve it.”

I want to tell him he’s damn right I didn’t deserve it but I refrain. My heart even warms to him a little with the “I wish I hadn’t said those things,” comment. Wanting to take them back shows a feeling of guilt. I want him to feel guilty. I want him to hate himself as much as I hate myself. “I’m over it. It was years ago.” Lie.

His hazel eyes look deep into mine. I see hope swimming around in there and I can only wonder what he sees in mine. “I just want you to forgive me.” He doesn’t add “so I can live easier”, but I know it’s what he wants. He should know I would never forgive him.

“You can work on it. Maybe one day I will.” Lie. He gives me a half smile and I feel myself show him one in return. This might be easier than I thought.

I turn my head away from him and back on the TV. And like the guy he is, I feel his hand creep up on to my thigh. His fingers twine with mine and I shiver at the feel of his breath on my neck. I turn my face slowly towards his. He is so close to me, it kind of freaks me out. I don’t get this close to other people. I don’t want them to get a good look at my face. He rubs his nose along mine and says, “Kiss me.”

I admit my breathing becomes panting at his softly spoken words. “Why?” I ask looking right at his lips. They look soft yet firm and I have phantom feelings ghost across my own at the memory of last night.

“Because I want to remember it.” Butterflies go off in my stomach. I don’t know where those came from. I don’t want butterflies. I just want the lust, using him is just as bad as what he did to me. But I refuse to feel anything but lust and hate for him.

Chance

I can see she wants to with the way she is breathing and her lustful eyes staring at my lips. It’s truly amazing the color of her eyes. I have never seen it before except on her mom’s face. I didn’t think they were her real color until I looked it up online. Elizabeth Taylor was famous for them. It is so unbelievably beautiful on this girl. This girl who I spent years hurting because of my own pain. She doesn’t think she is beautiful, but she is. Oh she is.

I finally get tired of the waiting game and place my hand on the back of her head, threading my fingers through her hair. I push her lips to mine and move them softly against hers. She places her hand on my shoulder and clutches my shirt. I groan in the back of my throat as she slips her tongue into my mouth. They tangle together and I find myself pushing her down on the couch with my upper body.

I just wanted it to be soft and innocent, this is not. It’s like she pushes every button I didn’t know I had. She moans when I put most of my weight down on top of her. I want to take off this shirt and see what her body looks like. She pulls the holder out of my hair and gently tugs on it bringing a little bit of pain and pleasure.

I groan when she slips her hands under my shirt and slides them up my torso. I take my hand from her hair and slip it under her shirt. I hold myself up with my other arm so I can take full advantage of this. Her skin is so soft and it erupts with goose flesh as I slide my hand back and forth over her flat stomach. There is a dangly belly button ring and I gently tug on it making her arch her back. Both of her legs wrap around my waist and I fight to not thrust my dick against her warm jeans.

“Take off your shirt.” She whispers against my lips and I don’t hesitate to lift up and tear it over my head. She takes her time to look over my chest and stomach and when