“Okay,” he says simply, and stops when he’s a few feet away from me. “I dropped it off at your house like we agreed. Do you want me to take you to it?”
“No,” I blurt, and then drop my face into my palms. I fight off the tears, hating for anyone to think I am weak. But I have a feeling he knows just how weak I am. I’m a mess of insecurity, ridiculous idealism, and desire for someone who’s old enough to be my father. I’m fucked up in the head.
“Okay…” he repeats stiffly as if he’s trying to calculate how to best handle me. “Can I get you something to eat or drink?”
As if on cue, my stomach responds by growling loudly. I lay a hand over it and shrug.
“If you were going to eat, I’ll eat.”
“What are you hungry for?” he asks me, turning toward the archway that leads to the kitchen. Its old yellowed linoleum is fraying at the corners, and the cupboards are mottled from years of distress. There’s a stink coming from the sink, and I nearly plug my nose at its offensiveness.
“I don’t care.”
“Um,” he grunts and stomps from his fridge to his bread bin. “Do you want a grilled cheese?”
“Grilled cheese?” I repeat stiffly. When have I last eaten something like that? My stomach groans loudly as if she has a voice of her own. She wants the cheesy, crispy, buttery goodness. But then I have flashbacks of dad yelling at me, telling me that I’m getting fat and that the extra calories will ruin my future.
In the spirit of hatred for everyone who wants to control me, I agree that grilled cheese does indeed sound good.
“So, Sav. What’s on your mind?” Wyatt asks as he retrieves all of the necessary ingredients and utensils. He flicks on the glass stovetop and I swallow hard as I realize that I’ve been staring and examining the length and thickness of his strong fingers. I can’t say, you, so I say…
“Derrick and I got into a fight,” I say, and cross my arms as I lean against the doorframe to the kitchen.
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
He says it mechanically, almost as if it’s what he knows he should say but there’s no true meaning or feeling behind it. Sorry. Is he sorry that I got in a fight with his son, and ran straight to him? Is he sorry that he couldn’t prevent it? Is he sorry that I’m a foolish little girl with wayward thoughts and pathetic dreams?
“Don’t be,” I exhale.
Every move he makes reminds me of a predator, his large shadow gliding across the room carrying the truth of what he is. A fully experienced, true, hardworking, callous-handed, masculine effigy. His mere presence startles me, sending shockwaves of excitement running through my belly. Perhaps this is what Elaina calls ‘infatuation.’ It’s the best, sweetest moment in a relationship because it churns you up like a tornado of desire and sexual need. But, I suppose this would be more like a crush than anything else. I can’t tell if he wants me or if I’m just a silly little girl he feels sorry for.
“What did he do?” he growls the question out as he slathers the bread with butter.
“How do you know it wasn’t me that started the fight?” I tease.
He glances back at me, draws his deep hazel eyes from my toes back up to my head, lingering on all the key points of my body, and shrugs.
“Just a guess.”
This look causes something uncomfortable to happen in my core, my dry panties suddenly becoming uncomfortably warm. I can feel the juice there, the wetness that tells me my body is responding to something that he’s doing. Can his look alone cause this? Is this what true attraction feels like? I blush, a heatwave flowing over me.
“If Derrick is being an ass to you, you shouldn’t stay,” he tells me sternly, flipping both of the sandwiches in the pan.
I nearly roll my eyes, but his sternness reflects how much he cares. It feels good, too good, that he is worried about me.
“It’s complicated,” I decide to say, and he nods in understanding, never looking away from the pan.
“Were you supposed to stay there tonight?” he asks, voice tight.
“Yes. But not anymore. What about you? Did you have any plans for tonight?” I ask, hinting at my curiosity about his girlfriend. The cop I’d seen him kissing in the bleachers.
“No. None,” he says curtly, and I frown.
“So, it’s not an inconvenience for me to be here?” I ask.
“I think it’s risky. Not an inconvenience,” he explains simply, and my heart pounds in my chest. Risky. He knows that there’s something off about what’s going on between us. He knows, like me, that we’re both allowing something to exist that most likely shouldn’t. We’re feeding off of the sinful taste and can’t get enough. Even though all we’ve done is tasted and never truly taken a bite. I flex my hands and lick my lips. For some reason, him saying this gives me courage.
“Risky?” I ask, trying to maintain an innocent composition.
“You know just as well as I do,” he turns to face me, leaving the grilled cheese to crisp in the pan. “Whether you want to talk about why is up to you.”
I swear he can hear my heartbeat as I meet his gaze. We’re two people trapped in a web. But at this point, I am not sure who the spider is. Every move I make, every word I speak, it feels as if I’m imprisoning myself in this web, and there’s only one way out.
“I don’t want to talk about that. I want to know you,” I say hesitantly, nearly writhing with discomfort when he glances back at me yet again with a menacing expression.
“You don’t want to know me,” he promises, sharp chin lifted. I admire his cropped beard and the tug of muscles in his jawline.
“You don’t know what I want.”
I feel more in danger now than I had only moments before. Now, he looks at me as if I’ve made a grave mistake, as if I’m completely idiotic, as if I’ve succumbed to my own ruin. Wyatt glares at me for a few breathless moments before turning back to the pan and loading up our plates with the grilled cheese. He jerks his head toward the table out in the dining space connected to the living room and I follow him like a lost puppy.
Speaking of puppies, his dog Nuke flies inside from the crack in the sliding glass door and attacks me with his love. I pat him briskly, letting my hands drag over his thick gold fur. Wyatt scolds him and tells him to get out.
“He’s fine,” I argue.
Wyatt rolls his eyes and then sits down at the table, and sets our plates across from one another. Nuke curls up in the corner on his dog bed, eyes luminous with rejection.
“Okay. Let’s get one thing straight,” Wyatt blows out a breath. “You can’t know me. If you give yourself time, you’ll realize you won’t want to. You’re young. You have your whole life ahead of you. I don’t think you should waste it trying to get to know someone who is old enough to be your father,” he explains from his seat in front of me, back completely stiff.
“But I should waste it on the other people in this town who demand my attention?” I snap back, irritated by his resistance. I can’t tell if he wants me, or if he’s truly just a good person. But a part of me knows that he wouldn’t entertain me here if there wasn’t a small part of him that liked the thought of me, and this alone gives me the courage to continue.
“You can choose who gets to truly know you. You can say no to whoever doesn’t fit within your boundaries,” he says simply. “It’s easy.”
“Then I choose you,” I say, surprising even myself. But it’s not easy. I think words are easy, actions are not.
His eyes flash up at me, and his eyes glaze with something I can’t name. His throat bobs as he swallows, and he looks down again.
“You’re going to get yourself in trouble, Sav,” he mutters. “The texting was one thing. This is different.”
It’s a warning and a challenge; equally riveting. Sitting in front of him, it’s easy to forget about what had occurred with Derrick, the danger I face at home, and the loneliness I feel each and every day. He makes it simple, and I take a small bite of the sandwich to show that I am here, I am
committed to staying, and that he can’t get rid of me that easily.
He begins to eat too, and when I get halfway into my sandwich, I feel nauseous. I set it down and go to get a glass of water from the kitchen, knowing that my stomach isn’t used to eating whole meals. Whether it’s from forcing myself to limit my intake, or from my dad doing that for me, eating has always been a struggle. When I return, he doesn’t look up at me.
“Are you okay, Savannah?” he asks.
“I’m nervous,” I admit. “I don’t know what I’m doing here.”
“Do you think it was a mistake? You know where the door is,” he nearly growls the words as he finishes his grilled cheese.
“It’s not a mistake,” I retort angrily, setting my cup down on the table. “Why are you so ready to throw me out? I thought you said that you’d always be here for me.”
The beauty of the struggle between us is that I don’t know who is in control. I feel dirty in all the right ways, and this makes me yearn, perhaps foolishly, for something more. The reality that he is my boyfriends dad, that he’s so much older than me, and that I shouldn’t even be here is tantalizing. It’s poison, slowly spreading through my system to hold me captive.
“I did say that,” he agrees. “And I will.”
Wyatt
How the fuck is she actually here in my house standing across from me? I’m disoriented, this reality not feeling real. I stare up into those innocent aqua eyes and want to take her here and now, to wrap my arms around her and pull her to the floor. But I won’t. As much as I want to.
She’s going to make the first move if this is what she wants.
She will show me.
But I can see the nerves in her face, the trembling of her hands, and the hesitant biting of her lip. I wish I could hold her and tell her that everything will be okay, but I’m not that sort of man. I don’t think she’d accept it even if I offered it.
“But you don’t want to let me too close?” she parries, questioning me into anger. I haven’t yet seen this side of her. She is stronger, less bound by the restrictions of watchful eyes. Why does she hide herself from everyone else? Is she so reliant upon the acceptance of others?
I shrug in response, moving to get up. But she bolts around the table to stand in front of me. Oh, how I love her fire. I hide a smirk and without warning I jerk her forward by both of her arms, grabbing her around the waist and then forcing her to sit astride me.
“Is this what you want?” I murmur, my heart firing off excitedly in my chest. I know that I’ve just done something I shouldn’t have, but the feel of her is too enticing. Her slim frame meshes with my thighs, and she’s lost all storm inside her. What’s replaced it is an expression of breathless delight. And god, I wish I didn’t like it so much.
“You know I could take what I want from you without question. Why are you putting yourself in so much danger?” I ask, lifting her chin so that she is forced to stare into my eyes. She breathes slowly, her chest rising and falling deeply. I want to tangle my fingers up in her hair and kiss her perfect pink lips, to trace her gold skin with my fingers and explore every single part of her unknown to me.
“Because you’re not dangerous,” she whispers. “At least, I don’t think you are.”
“Older men prey on young women like you,” I tell her as if offering a piece of advice. “And you offer yourself up like a sacrificial lamb.”
“I’m not a lamb,” she tells me, voice reedy. “Just answer one question.”
I incline my head reluctantly, my hands dipping low onto her hips. I cup her hip bones and I swear that she rocks against me. Perhaps it’s unintentional or perhaps she knows exactly what she’s doing to me. Either way, I know she can feel my growing hardness and its unavoidable girth beneath her. She doesn’t flinch or pull away. She remains here in my lap, her arms wrapped around my neck as I hold her in place.
“Do you want me…” she takes a deep, shaking breath. “Like I want you? Did you like the texts?”
It takes everything within me not to throw her to the floor and tear the clothes from her body. I tighten my grip and readjust myself, sniff, and then stare her straight in the eyes. My Savannah. She is a gorgeous, freethinking, delicious piece of girl. She’s so much more than the grades, the cheer team, and the preppy outfits. She is blindingly haunting, a temptress to my soul. Somewhere inside her is a woman who wants change, challenge, and alternativeness. And this is exactly what I want.
“Yes.”
A small gasp escapes her lips, and she seems relieved.
“But we can’t,” I tell her crossly, in my best fatherly tone. “We both have reputations, and I don’t think this town would be accepting if they found out. Your Senior year will suffer, and my business could crumble.”
She swallows a giant lump and I reach up with my thumb to gently caress her cheek. She doesn’t flinch. She even shuts her eyes momentarily, showing her enjoyment of my touch. I’m so blown away that I get carried away and draw my thumb toward her ear, and then down her neck. There’s a hitch in her breath and then I realize that I am turning her on. I am lighting a fire in her body that I should not have any access to. My cock strains against my pants, against her thigh, and I suppress every urge inside me telling me to go further. I don’t deserve her.
“What if I don’t care about any of that?” she whispers, anguish trembling in her voice. “What if I choose this?”
“Choose what? Do you even know what you’re choosing? You can’t know. You’re eighteen, Sav. Have you even had sex yet? Your life is just starting. I’m in the middle of mine.”
“Does it matter?” she says, and I’m shocked to hear her affirm what I’ve feared. She’s a fucking virgin, and I’m here pulling her onto my lap wishing I could fuck the daylights out of her. She wouldn’t be ready for that. She needs someone gentle, someone prepared to give her romance and care.
“I know you had an experience with a younger girl before,” she snaps, jerking her head up to stare me in the eyes. “My friend told me. Did you do this to her, too? Did you lead her on and then drop her?”
I’m caught completely off guard by this mention of my past. This story is one I don’t even dive into in my moments alone. I keep it locked and sealed away in the vaults of my memory because I hate it so much. How the fuck did her friend know about this?
“Did you tell your friend about…”
“About what? That you’d texted me the other night and that I’d told you I touched myself when I think about you?” she asks, her lovely face strong and brazen. “No. I didn’t. She just offered up the information a while back.”
“Hm,” I grunt, and grip her harder. “Sounds to me like you’re making a lot of assumptions. And you know what? I don’t like when people make assumptions of me.”
“Then by all means, Mr. Draper, tell me the story yourself,” she says in challenge. God, I want to kiss her.
“That isn’t a story for today. For right now,” I clear my throat and lean back in my chair, releasing her hips.
She doesn’t move. She stays perched there, spine straight, her perky tits pressed out as if she were offering them up to me. Oh, how I wish I could ravish them fully. Suckle them until her nipples are bright red and marked with bruises.
“You know what?” She crosses her arms over her chest and narrows her eyes. “I think you’re the one who is scared.”
“You think?” I reach out and grab her jaw, pulling her closer to me. “Why would I be afraid of a little girl?”
We exchange breaths, slowly, gently breathing each other in. It’s a sacred moment where we’re both addressing the small amount of space between us. I want to close up the inches between our lips, to give her a reason to pull away. I wish she was a normal High School girl, the kind who wouldn’t think twice about giving me the time of day, who wouldn’t dare sit on my lap. The kind who would label me as sick as I label myself.
“Because you don’t want to admit that this is something you enjoy,” she says
.
I push her off of my lap before I do something I regret, and walk across the room, staring at the wall, trying to get her out of my head. One more minute of her pressing me, and I might snap. And she can’t possibly know the dirty kinds of thoughts going on in my head. She isn’t prepared for them.
“I think you should go,” I say.
I hear her take a deep breath, then she grabs her backpack from the couch. I listen to Nuke’s pitter-pattering nails follow her on the hardwood as she stomps out of the house. This is the hardest thing I’ve ever done, standing here without stopping her. But it’s for the best. I won’t ruin her. I won’t taint her life with my darkness, as much as I like the idea of letting every last shadow inside me run free across her skin. Inside her skin.
“Fuck you, Wyatt!” she calls from the front door, and then I hear the door slam.
Yes. Fuck me.
Be angry with me. I can take your cruelty, darling. I just can’t take your destruction.
Savannah
Scalding tears line my eyes for the second time in the day. My heart is broken on so many fronts that I can’t even decide which to pick up first. The mile walk from Wyatt’s house to my own is filled with the horrifying realization that I am eternally alone. That I will always be alone, and that this life is a lie I’m always going to be forced to live. He’s denied me, and now I don’t have even a lifeline to the outside.
I don’t have another route. Another way.
I have the smooth-trodden pathway of the women before me, ushering me onward, telling me to be perfect, to live a lie, and to pretend that it’s all real.
But none of it is real. Except for him. My heart burns; an aching hollow of flames in my chest. He’s the first thing in my life that was different, without the gilded facades and manicured dialogues, without even a drop of ‘keeping-up-with-the-jones’s’ poison in his veins. He doesn’t drink the kool-aid. The massive lie that we all have to support for it to even exist.
The Prom Queen's Sinner: Thornwood Small Town Forbidden Romance Book One Page 8
