Sweet, intoxicating, dangerous. Those are the three words I would use to describe Jake Oliver's kiss right now. His lips moved against mine hungrily, lustfully. Like I was just another toy designed to please him, to pleasure him. He pinned me against the wall, and pushed me against it roughly. I let out a little moan. He pushed away for a second, and looked at me with so much need, it almost drove me insane.
"You like this don't you?" He asked with this deep, growly voice that made my loins stir. I wanted him.
"Uh-huh," I responded meekly.
His rough, much larger hands made their way to my skinny pale throat, choking the life force out of me. If it were any other person, this would be the part where they kicked Jake right in the balls and made their escape. But I wasn't normal. I thrived through pain. I lived for pain, I craved for pain. And cutting my wrists or taking loads of cocaine didn't exactly give me the pain I wanted. Jake was better than any drug, any razor. And I'd hate to admit it, but I think I was addicted to him, how he executed pain in just the right measure, which made me want him more and more. But the gag was , I couldn't have him. I could never have him.
I pushed those thoughts far back into my mind. I want this. Instead, I focused on his loopsided grin, his stormy eyes that promised no comfort.
His grip easened on my frail neck, and I involuntarily took a huge gulp of air.
"Choke me again." I spat.
A pretty, arrogant smirk split his handsome face and I knew what it meant.
I like it when you beg.
Just then, his phone buzzed from his jean pocket and agitatedly, he reached for it, and placed it against his ear. All this time, his free hand was wrapped loosely around my neck.
I didn't hear much of the conversation because of the adrenaline pumping in my veins.
He pushed away from me and began to put on his clothes.
"Where are you going?" I asked, my face twisted in confusion. Don't tell me I bought six packs of condoms yesterday and not end up with rough back breaking sex, Jake style.
He gave me the look.
The look I've gotten used to seeing so many times when I've overstepped my boundaries.
I don't belong to you. You belong to me.
"It's Kamila, she needs me."
Kamila Brooke, your typical rich American girl. Tall, sexy, black shiny hair that bounces against her lean back when she walks, delicate hands, smooth caramel skin, pearly white smile and an inevitable career as a model. Jake's girlfriend.
I know, I know, how the heck I'm I sleeping with a taken man and still enjoying every minute of it?
I told you. Im not normal.
Also, I believe that Jake is only dating her to keep his blooming acting career afloat, and not because he's head over hills in love with her. I'm pretty sure I filled up that position a long time ago. But Jake sure has a funny way of showing it.
"Stop staring, it's creepy." He spoke, so non chalantly I have to admit it hurt.
I pulled up my pants, avoiding his eyes the whole time. I must've looked pathetic, staring at him like that.
"So, are we gonna continue this later?" I spoke, but it was already too late, he was out the door.
★★★
