Page 28 of Fiery Little Thing
Sighing, I rub my leg up and down the cotton sheets and smile to myself. Grandpa was forced to buy me a new set for school. It’s cheap, but it feels damn good not sleeping in something threadbare or ripped. At least once I’m out of this place, I’ll have semi-acceptable bedding—anda goose down. I’ve always wanted one of those.
“I’m so sick of your shit.”
My eyes snap open.
I’m tripping. I did not seriously just hear that.
I notice movement from the shadows in the corner of my room. I don’t get the chance to make a sound before the man is on me, trapping half my body beneath the blankets. How does that saying go? Strike, scream, then run? Fuck it, screaming is my first instinct anyway. He doesn’t cover my mouth fast enough because a strangled cry leaves my lips before his hand is on me.
“Shut up,Blaze,” the man growls, fisting my hair to keep me steady as he moves his face closer.
My mouth snaps shut. I blink, adjusting to the darkness and making out the beautiful deadly features of the man on top of me.
“Kohen?” I mumble against his hand.
Oh, this motherfucker has a death wish.
Three questions race to mind: how did he getinhere,whyis he here, and how do I get himout?
I don’t let myself think about the sudden burst of desire that rips through my core at the realization his hips are nestled between my very bare legs, and that he’s lowered himself down to his elbows on either side of my head.
His hand slowly moves away from my mouth, and that’s when I strike. Pain radiates from my forehead as I whip my head forward,colliding with his nose. In the darkness, I can just make out his widening eyes.
Good.
His creepy smile as he touches his nose is a littlelessgood.
I leverage my arms and wiggle my hips to throw him off me, but he’s back on me before I get that chance.
Not good.
Thick thighs straddle my waist, and his strong hands wrap around both my wrists, holding my body captive against the bed. I buck my hips and attempt to sock him with my head again, but everything about him is overpowering.
“Why the fuck do you keep fighting me?” Kohen snarls, tightening his hold on me.
I swing my legs up because they’re the only free part of my body, except he easily holds them down by shifting his legs over mine, and the next thing I know, the only brutal thing I have left is my tongue. “Because you’re a psycho pyro who won’t leave me the fuck alone.”
“I bet you fucked Elijah just like you fucked Duke.”
My jaw drops. How the fuck does he know about Duke? I narrow my eyes. I bet his parents told him about it after they heard it from the police.
“And you, what?” I huff. “Wanted a slice of the action? Wanted to see if your balls fall off, you creep?”
His hold around my wrists goes painful for a split second before he uses one hand to put my throat in a steellike grip. “Don’t you dare put me on the same level as those two dicks-for-brains.”
The rough material of his jeans scrapes against my lower stomach, and I tense. I’m going to need to check myself in to see Dr. Van der Merwe, because my heart is slamming against myribcage for reasons other than the threat to my safety. The pale moonlight sneaking through the gap in my curtains highlights his cheeks and the path along his nose, accentuated by the shadows that fall on his face and dip beneath his jaw and down the column of his throat. For one very concerning, very unsettling moment, I want to know whether he tastes the same way he smells.
Enough of this shit. This creeper behavior is not okay—maybe just a little—no.Fuck, I hate that it turns me on a little that Kohen could have done anything to me if I were asleep when he came in. He probably got an eyeful of me for however long he stood in the shadows of my room.
I try thrashing around again, and shifting my elbow. But nothing works. This guy has a better grip than the security guards.
“Careful. You’re starting to sound jealous,” I say. The accusation even sounds ridiculous to my ears, but Elijah mentioned he thought the pyro was acting territorial.
“I’m not!”
There goes the painful grip again. If I wake up bruised tomorrow, I’m definitely snitching. No one will believe me unless I have proof, but I’m sure McGill and every other person in this school will spin it in a way to say that I somehow did it to myself.
My entire body is protesting from all the movement, and the added strain tells me that it’s going to hurt like a bitch tomorrow. I try to whip my head forward to knock his nose, but he dodges it easily because his grip around my throat stops me from getting very far.
