Page 10 of He Loves Me Not

"You…I…" She splutters and then makes this sound like her head is two seconds from exploding.

"I'm just teasing, baby," I say, laughing and grabbing for her hands when she tries to wrap them around my throat. "I only say it because I fucking love the way you look at me when I do."

"Like I want to kill you?"

"Like you're in heaven and hell at the same time," I murmur, resting my forehead against hers. "Maybe I know a thing or two about feeling that way, and maybe I like knowing I'm not the only one."

"I'm too young to have gray hair," she mutters, wriggling down until her head is against my chest. "You're going to give me gray hair. And probably angina."

I squeeze her ass, chuckling. "There are plenty of things I'd like to give you. Neither of those are on the list."

"Too late," she mumbles.

"It's going to be fine, Ava," I promise. "Just trust me."

She cranes her head back, looking up at me with those wide blue eyes. "That's the problem, Dawson," she whispers after a moment. "I want to trust you. I want to believe that this can work. I want to think that we can do this, and no one will get hurt."

"Then what's the problem?"

"The world doesn't work that way," she says sadly.

"It will," I vow, meaning it.

She sighs, settling against my chest again. She doesn't say anything, and I'm guessing that means she doesn't believe me.She will, though. One goddamn way or another, I'll make sure her world works that way.

I don't have a choice, not if I want to keep her. And, more than anything, I want to keep her. She's it for me. I've known that for the last year. Now, it's time to get her on the same page and get her used to the idea.

And while I do that, I will be inside her at every available opportunity. I'll get her addicted to me, my cock, and the things I do to her. If that's how I get her to give me a chance, I'll take it. I'll fucking run with it. And just like when I'm on the field, I won't miss.

Chapter Five

Ava

When I wake up, Dawson isn't in my bed. I just lay there for a long time, convinced last night was a dream. I do such a great job convincing myself that I'm shocked when I see his marks on my throat in the mirror when I stumble to the bathroom.

"Crap," I groan, burying my face in my hands. It wasn't a dream.

I don't know if I want to kick my feet and squeal or crawl under the nearest rock and hide.

Unfortunately, I don't have time to do either. If I don't get my booty in gear, I'll be late. The last place you want to show up late is to a room full of eighth graders. They'll demolish the place.

I'm not even in my car before my phone is ringing.

"Hello?" I mumble into it, trying to juggle my stuff, the phone, and strong-arm the car door at the same time.

"Morning, sweetness," Dawson purrs in my ear.

I drop my coffee.

"Dammit."

I'm almost positive entire dreams are made just of his laugh. It strikes places it shouldn't, doing things that are all too delicious.

"You that happy to hear from me, huh?"

"I dropped my coffee."

"Need me to bring you more after practice?"