“Have you always been like this? B-before.”
Stupid, stupid question.
Stupid, stupid Salem.
What would this accomplish anyway? Why do I care how he was before, when he was with my sister?
But the thing is, I don’t think he was like this. I don’t think he was this crazy dominating and crazy possessive. Sarah would have hated that.
Because Jesus Christ, I love every inch of this.
I love every fucking inch of his deep-seated need to control me.
When understanding breaks over his face like dawn, I fall in love with him even more. Because it only manages to darken his features. It only manages to make him wilder, more possessive, more… mine.
He leans forward, his grip on me still absolute. “No, I wasn’t.” His thumb digs into my fluttering pulse. “Maybe it’s you. Maybe you bring out the worst in me. And you wanted me, didn’t you? You wanted my fire. My heat. My fury.”
I jerk out a nod.
He throws out a mean, tight smile. “Well, you got me. Every broken, cut-open piece of me.”
Good.
I want him, however he comes. I want him to burn me, cut me, slice me open.
I don’t care.
I’ll still smile at him. I’ll still love him. I’ll still dive into the ocean and jump off an airplane for him.
He’s my Arrow.
My darling Arrow.
I swallow, feeling as crazy as him, feeling as submissive and feminine as he feels dominating and masculine. “I just wanted to be… perfect. For you. I wanted him to take that piece of me away that made me unfit so you’d –”
He cuts off my words when he steps into me even more.
On top of that, he pushes my neck back, so I look him directly in the eyes.
“You wanted to be perfect for me,” he rasps.
“Yes.”
A harsh look ripples over his face, and I don’t know if he wants to kiss me or kill me.
“Do you know what I’ve been doing all week? Ever since you started leaving your sexy fucking notes in my mailbox?”
“What?”
“I’ve been jerking off,” he says with clenched teeth. “I’ve been jerking off like a goddamn teenager, here, in my room. At the school, in my fucking office. I’ve had to stop myself three times – three fucking times – from sending for you so I could see.”
“See what?”
“Your virgin pussy,” he rumbles. “So I could see if you’re really not wearing any panties under those schoolgirl skirts of yours. If you’re really walking around the school hallways with that tight piece between your legs, all bare and unprotected. So I could see if your pussy is really as swollen and pouty as I think it is.”
Finally, I let go of the wall and clutch his t-shirt, my mouth all open and panting, my eyes all glazed over with lust.
But he’s not done yet.
He delivers his final line as he almost kisses my lips. “If you got any more perfect for me than you already are, I’d fucking lose my mind. I’d bend you over and fuck you in front of the whole school while they watch and gasp and talk about rule-breaking.”
Perfect.
He called me perfect for him.
Oh my God.
I don’t… I don’t know what to do. This is all I’ve ever wanted. To be perfect for him.
I don’t know what to say except, “Arrow, I –”
But he cuts me off again, his lips pressing into mine so hard, his teeth digging into my plump flesh. “Do you remember the rules?”
I arch my spine, trying to get closer to him. “What rules?”
He watches my struggle but doesn’t help me. He simply states, “My rules. Rules of being my fuck doll. You remember what I told you?”
I think about it. My mind is so foggy and drowning in lust and happiness at being called perfect for him that I have to really focus.
A second later, it comes to me. “Yeah, I do.”
“What are they?”
I swallow as a stinging needle pierces my bubbling happiness. “Y-you fuck them and forget them.”
His jaw clenches and something passes over his features, a shadow I don’t have the brain power right now to understand.
“There’s another rule,” he clips, pushing our mouths together, and I peek out my tongue and lick his lips to get his taste.
Tangy and fiery.
“What is it?” I whisper, promising to follow all his rules even though it will hurt me.
His blue eyes catch fire at my question.
His entire body catches fire when he replies, his voice and words bathed in violence. “That absolutely no one, no one at all, gets to touch what’s mine. Because I don’t share, remember? You don’t let anyone put their hands on you. You don’t dance with strange men. You don’t talk to them. You don’t look at them. You don’t think about them. Is that clear?”
That’s the easiest rule anyone has ever laid down for me.
The easiest rule in the whole world and I nod without hesitation. “Yes. I won’t. I don’t want anyone else.”