8

His usual bored expression is gone. The star, perfect player is gone, too. Instead, there’s this dark spark of sadism. He gets off on my struggle. No. Scratch that. He gets off on seeing me helpless. The arsehole is turned on by my weakness. Is he... a full-blown sociopath? “You’re sick,” The words leave my mouth in a haunted whisper. He lifts a shoulder. “Could be.” His fingers snake into my bra and circle a nipple. I thought it was torturous over the cloth, but having his skin against mine is complete hell. I can feel the pulse of his nerves — or mine — and it’s making me hyper-aware of everything. Of the pine scent around us. Of the rustle in the trees. The humidity in the air. And his sheer asphyxiating presence. I screw my lids shut, not wanting to feel whatever sensation that’s crawling up my spine. His touch is bruising, uncomfortable even, but there’s a flash of something going through me that I can’t identify. No one has ever touched me this way before, and I hate that Aiden K