His head lolled forward; he pressed his forehead to mine. Our lips were inches apart. His breath smelled like cigarettes and expensive whiskey.“ You’re determined to make me ruin your life.” It sounded as if he felt sorry for me. He reached up, gripped my neck, applying enough pressure to spike my adrenaline. I liked it. I raised my head, daring him to squeeze harder.
“Like you could,” I taunted“
I can. And I very well might.”
He drew his bottom lip into his mouth.
“Keep playing, little sister, and I’m going to give you the nine inches of heartache you keep begging for.” It was a warning I would later wish I would have taken heed of. He used his thumb to trace my lips once, then his hand dropped to his side.
Not a love story- A f*cking story.
Triggers.
Standalone
