Page 63 of Beautiful Monster

The best thing I can do at this point is give him the cold shoulder. It’s what gets under his skin the most.

Climbing up on the scaffolding, I’m kneeling on the second rung, packing up my unused shades of blue when I feel something cool and wet along the back of my leg. Letting out a gasp, I turn to see Alexander standing behind me with an ashy shade of turquoise smeared across his finger.

Without another word, he picks up a dollop of the seafoam green with the same finger and spreads it across my arm.

“Alex!” I shriek, pushing him away.

“Stop being so angry at me,” he whines.

“Well, stop treating me like a kid.”

“Stop acting like one.” This time, he plucks a blue finger on my forehead.

“You’re one to talk. This stuff is toxic, Alex.”

“No, it’s not.” He laughs.

When he reaches for another glob of paint, I swat his hand away, sending the tray flying, splattering blue paint all over his tile floor. Before he reacts, I slather my hand with sky blue and spread it across his chest, all over his shirt, mixing it with the strands of chest hair peeking out of his collar. He grabs my wrists tightly in his hands, stopping me. We’re not playing anymore, but we’re not quite fighting either. It’s charged, and my heart is thudding harder than ever as rage boils up from my gut. I feel like a kid who can’t have what she wants, bursting with emotion and desperate to let it out.

Suddenly, his paint-covered hand is around my waist as he hoists me off the scaffolding. I let out a desperate shriek as he carries me out to the pool, hanging over his shoulder like a bag of flour.

“Put me down,” I scream. But it barely gets out of my mouth before he’s tossing me in the water, jumping in after me. The summer has recently faded into a warm autumn, leaving the evenings cooler, and the frigid water in the pool sends waves of electricity through my body.

When I pop up for air, I shoot him a snarl. I want to hit him, more than ever. “You’re an idiot for what this will do to your pool water.” The usually crystal-clear water is starting to look murky already from the paint all over his hands and my waist.

“I don’t care,” he says, pulling me closer by the waist.

“And I’m the immature one.” When my body slams up against his, his arms tight around my waist, I shut up.

Without a word, he brushes my wet hair out of my face. “Do you have any idea how hard it is for me to not act like an impulsive teenager around you?”

My breathing slows, staring at his face and the soft wrinkles around his eyes. Suddenly, I know exactly how I want to use this pent-up aggression. I want to push him, test the strength of his convictions.

The pool wall is against my back, and he frames me in with his hands on the ledge on either side of me. I watch the movement of his chest as he breathes. The water clings to his wet T-shirt flattened against the cords of muscles that run down his arms. My fingers move to touch them.

I clench my thighs together, feeling the arousal warming my center.

I expect him to swim away, to stop himself from saying anything that he would deem too risky like he normally does. Instead, he leans in, as if speaking directly into my throat. My heart stops when I feel his cool breath against my wet skin.

“I keep thinking about the night of your birthday. How sweet you tasted. It takes all the self-control I have to stop from crawling into your bed and doing it again.”

His lips don’t touch my skin, but he blows softly, sending goosebumps along every inch of my body.

It becomes harder to swallow when his fingers slide down the length of my shoulder, starting at my earlobe and traveling down to my elbow. My arms close around his neck as he presses me against the wall, grinding his erection into my lower belly.

“Why don’t you?” I breathe.

With his breath against my cheek this time, he continues. “Because I wouldn’t have the strength to stop. Not again. I’d strip you of your clothes and bury my cock inside you. You think I like hearing you say my name? I wouldn’t stop until I heard you scream it.”

I can’t help it, but a soft moan escapes my lips at his words. In response, his hands lift my legs until they’re wrapped around his waist. My brain is lost in the sensation, but there’s an acceptance there that he will never do these things he talks about. The things he wants to…we both want him to. This is what he needs to feel better about himself, to deny himself these indulgences until he knows he can trust himself to be a better person for me. I can accept that now.

But still, I want his lips on my mouth so bad, it hurts.

I don’t beg. It wouldn’t be fair.

But there are no rules against my lips on him.

Tilting my hips, I grind myself against his stiffness and let my lips absorb the moisture from his neck. With tiny droplets of water on my tongue, I kiss his pulse.