through his shirt.
I want to say a different flavor. I rummage for something believable, but nothing comes to mind, because who’d believe pineapple when there’s raspberry?
Licorice. Chocolate?
He’d catch my lie immediately. No, he wouldn’t. Heck, why would he? I’m overthinking this. For all he knows, I’m just some girl he’s never met before, someone who turns him on. He wouldn’t even care enough to consider if I’m lying.
“You don’t like lollipops? That it?” He smiles his wide, bright, careless smile, the one he kept until the last months he lived here, until he started beating the crap out of everyone he didn’t like. It’s good to see that smile again.
“Lollipops rock. And it’s my favorite too—raspberry is. Especially when they’re blue,” I admit. And God, it’s time to pull a Cinderella and get the hell out of here.
“What time is it?” I hurry out while his eyes are wide and beautiful and shiny under those black lashes he has.
“Blue raspberry?”
“Or licorice,” I backtrack. “I like chocolate too.”
“I don’t think I understand the conversation we’re having,” he says, “but I’d talk about anything with you. Who are you?”
“It’s midnight, huh?” I ramble, clutching my hands together like the prim ladies in the church my mom used to go to.
“Nine thirty. Got somewhere to be?”
“Yes. Home.”
Keyon shakes his head. Then he swallows the distance between us and clasps a hand around my upper arm. I remember the heat from his fingers vividly. All these years, and my body still recalls it. “Don’t go anywhere. If you want to get out of the party zone—”
“Like here?” I joke.
“—yeah, like here. I’ll show you my digs.”
“Your room?”
“Rooms,” he specifies. “We can chill, and I’ll find out more about you.”
Terrible plan. Get out while you can.
“Okay.”
PAISLEE
I said yes. How did we get to this? It’s fast and abrupt, and his body is hard as steel. Oh my God, I was cocky minutes ago, inviting, in control of his lust. He was just another man, not the Keyon I knew as a teenager, and nothing like the boys and men I lay with in this town.
Who the hell did I just open my arms to?
We’ve had a drink in his three-room apartment upstairs at the Coral Mansion. I can’t even begin to consider the luxury of it at the moment, the damask, silk, the velvet—the rich colors draping everything. I can only imagine his mother being in charge of the décor.
But there’s this man in my face, pushing me against a wall with burning eyes. They flame almost orange, not a smooth whiskey—I feel like I’m an opponent, someone he needs to crush. I want to tap out, only I’m simmering too, needing to brave this, find out what he’s about.
Keyon growls. He freaking growls before he cups my throat with a hand and devours my mouth against the brocade wallpaper. It’s on purpose when he looms over me, making me feel small and trapped by his body. Something snaps into action in my head, and suddenly—
I’m scared. It’s been years since train stations have come to life while I’ve had sex, but they do now as he pushes against me so hard a painting crashes to the floor. My heart palpitates. Why so rough?
Stay calm, stay calm, stay calm.
I remind myself that I’m not a virgin, not twelve years old, that Keyon isn’t an insane, gross drug addict wanting to hurt me.
I’m hot when he rips my cleavage open, narrowly saving the buttons. I don’t have time for scared. Psychology books say I search for approval, but I just want to blow his mind. Soon his eyes will cloud over with pleasure.
My pussy throbs for him already, strange—it must be his smell, his body against mine when he pushes my breasts together and gives me a shove against the wall. He latches onto a nipple and grumbles, “Fuck, you’re exquisite.” Wedges a knee between my legs and lifts me with it like it’s nothing.
“Can we slow down?” I ask as if I’m
I want to say a different flavor. I rummage for something believable, but nothing comes to mind, because who’d believe pineapple when there’s raspberry?
Licorice. Chocolate?
He’d catch my lie immediately. No, he wouldn’t. Heck, why would he? I’m overthinking this. For all he knows, I’m just some girl he’s never met before, someone who turns him on. He wouldn’t even care enough to consider if I’m lying.
“You don’t like lollipops? That it?” He smiles his wide, bright, careless smile, the one he kept until the last months he lived here, until he started beating the crap out of everyone he didn’t like. It’s good to see that smile again.
“Lollipops rock. And it’s my favorite too—raspberry is. Especially when they’re blue,” I admit. And God, it’s time to pull a Cinderella and get the hell out of here.
“What time is it?” I hurry out while his eyes are wide and beautiful and shiny under those black lashes he has.
“Blue raspberry?”
“Or licorice,” I backtrack. “I like chocolate too.”
“I don’t think I understand the conversation we’re having,” he says, “but I’d talk about anything with you. Who are you?”
“It’s midnight, huh?” I ramble, clutching my hands together like the prim ladies in the church my mom used to go to.
“Nine thirty. Got somewhere to be?”
“Yes. Home.”
Keyon shakes his head. Then he swallows the distance between us and clasps a hand around my upper arm. I remember the heat from his fingers vividly. All these years, and my body still recalls it. “Don’t go anywhere. If you want to get out of the party zone—”
“Like here?” I joke.
“—yeah, like here. I’ll show you my digs.”
“Your room?”
“Rooms,” he specifies. “We can chill, and I’ll find out more about you.”
Terrible plan. Get out while you can.
“Okay.”
PAISLEE
I said yes. How did we get to this? It’s fast and abrupt, and his body is hard as steel. Oh my God, I was cocky minutes ago, inviting, in control of his lust. He was just another man, not the Keyon I knew as a teenager, and nothing like the boys and men I lay with in this town.
Who the hell did I just open my arms to?
We’ve had a drink in his three-room apartment upstairs at the Coral Mansion. I can’t even begin to consider the luxury of it at the moment, the damask, silk, the velvet—the rich colors draping everything. I can only imagine his mother being in charge of the décor.
But there’s this man in my face, pushing me against a wall with burning eyes. They flame almost orange, not a smooth whiskey—I feel like I’m an opponent, someone he needs to crush. I want to tap out, only I’m simmering too, needing to brave this, find out what he’s about.
Keyon growls. He freaking growls before he cups my throat with a hand and devours my mouth against the brocade wallpaper. It’s on purpose when he looms over me, making me feel small and trapped by his body. Something snaps into action in my head, and suddenly—
I’m scared. It’s been years since train stations have come to life while I’ve had sex, but they do now as he pushes against me so hard a painting crashes to the floor. My heart palpitates. Why so rough?
Stay calm, stay calm, stay calm.
I remind myself that I’m not a virgin, not twelve years old, that Keyon isn’t an insane, gross drug addict wanting to hurt me.
I’m hot when he rips my cleavage open, narrowly saving the buttons. I don’t have time for scared. Psychology books say I search for approval, but I just want to blow his mind. Soon his eyes will cloud over with pleasure.
My pussy throbs for him already, strange—it must be his smell, his body against mine when he pushes my breasts together and gives me a shove against the wall. He latches onto a nipple and grumbles, “Fuck, you’re exquisite.” Wedges a knee between my legs and lifts me with it like it’s nothing.
“Can we slow down?” I ask as if I’m
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