1642734778_punk-57-pdf

since you’re still letting Fuckface drool all over you while making me hard
as a rock for a damn week.”
I bite my bottom lip, trying not to cry. I never cry in front of them.
“You turn me on.” He cups my face, brushing my hair away from my
eyes and a tear off my cheek. “God, you turn me on. You’re driving me
crazy. I want you to need my hands on you. Do you?”
I hold his eyes, seeing the pleading in his. Seeing, for the first time, the
need. He’s desperate to hear me say it.
And I know right then and there I want to be the only girl he ever looks
at like that.
“You’re not boring,” he says softly. “You’re not average, and you’re not
stuck-up. You piss me off, but you excite me.”
His face is shrouded in shadow, but I can feel him everywhere. He puts
his forehead to mine, his whisper thick and heavy, spinning like a cyclone
inside me. “They don’t get you and me. I know that’s what you’re afraid of.
You’re perfect. I’m never in line. You’re beautiful, and I’m bad, right?”
His breath hits my lips, and I reach up and touch his hand on my face,
sliding my cold fingers between his warm ones.
“They’ll never matter to us, Ryen. No one knows how this feels.”
Tears ache behind my eyes, and I breathe hard, giving into it. I slide my
thigh over his lap and straddle him. I fist his T-shirt, our lips inches from
each other. “If you touched her,” I cry softly, “it’s not going to be pretty.”
He nods. “I know. I’ll keep the knife in here for you.”
I laugh and kiss him, his hands falling to my hips as I press my body
closer. I hold the back of his neck as I deepen the kiss, the heat of his mouth
sinking to the end of every limb in my body.
But I pull away, turning my head toward the front windshield. Shit.
People walk about, and I can see a couple guys in the car ahead of us, as