As the candle light flickered, so did my thirst for Jameson Hawthorne's mouth on mine. I was done kissing him for the night, as he had destroyed my lips and my dignity. I at least had to retrieve those things.
It was like the boy could never get enough, as if he was thirsting for more. He was never satisfied.
"I see you've rejected me," I can hear the vicious smile on his mouth, the arrogance that would normally scare somebody away. He wears it like a coat, and if he took it off, there would be nothing left of Jameson, only a dry husky of what he was.
"I haven't rejected you," I roll back over, forcing myself to gaze into his piercing look. The side of his mouth stays up.
"I suppose that's true," Jameson hoists himself up onto his elbow, his silky locks shielding his eyes.
I reach out and move his hair, fingers lingering on his cheekbone that could cut through stone.
The Hawthorne's were a different race, too beautiful to be human, yet, Jameson was the one who took the prize for being the prettiest.
His perfectly sculpted body, symmetrical features, a deep green gaze no normal person could resist, silky voice that took command of a whole room, a daring personality that would never be doused by any kind of force.
And he was mine.
