“What?” I shift and try to make myself smaller.
That was amazing, but I don’t understand why he pulled away. Did I kiss him wrong? Was that bad? I’ve never kissed anyone before, and I can’t help feeling like I wasn’t enough, even though he is smiling at me like I’ve given him some gift.
He flops onto his back next to me and grabs me before I can escape any scrutiny. Tucking me into his side, he cages me in his arms. Should I be fighting him? Do I try kissing him again? I don’t understand what’s happening.
“I’m going to see you every day, and it’s going to kill me not to pounce on you.” Mickey pushes himself onto his back and raises himself on his elbows so he’s staring down at me with a grin. “On that note, no skirts, no shorts, no low-cut shirts, and—I never thought I’d agree with the teachers—no shoulders. For God’s sake, you better put away the shoulders. They’re too tempting. And those thin little tank top straps? So breakable,” he rambles, talking so fast I almost miss what he’s saying. I'd believe him if he told me that he was drunk or high.
If the term ‘on top of the world’ could be captured, it would be Mickey at this moment. He’s encapsulating pure joy. I’ve never seen him smile so brightly before. There isn’t a hint of maliciousness or mischief in his lopsided grin. If he started skipping around the room, I wouldn’t be surprised.
I wish I could feel what he’s feeling. My lips curl into a smile, but it’s forced, so nothing happens to the look in his eyes. He’s happy. Truly happy.
But he stopped. He pulled away from me.
His brows drop suddenly, frowning to himself. “Actually, cover the ankles, too. There isn’t an inch on you that doesn’t do it for me. I’ll control myself, don’t you worry. But if someone looks at you?” He whistles. “If you thought I was crazy before, you have no idea what you’ve just unlocked.” Moving again, onto his knees this time, he settles between my legs as if he’s done this thousands of times and belongs there. “Do you know how long I’ve wanted to do that? For years, every single time I saw your pretty pink lips, I imagined what they would feel like between my teeth and whether they were as sweet as you look.”
I blink at him. He’s not making sense. Why won’t he—why did he pull away? “But… a year? Is there—" Something wrong with me? Someone else? Something else? Is he waiting for me to be better or more mature?
He chuckles to himself and runs his hands up and down my thighs and waist like the feel of me is a drug he can’t get enough of. “A year and one day from today, you’re not going to be able to walk. Because once I get my hands on you, you’ll be ruined.”
Oh, right.
My age.
Two years isn’t that big a difference? So many girls at school have older boyfriends, and it’s not like I just met Mickey.
What if he’s actually waiting for me to be different—better? What if one year is a countdown before he decides whether he really wants me? What happens in the time between? How am I meant to change?
“It’s getting late,” he says, without even looking at the time. “We should go. There’s a long ride ahead of us, and I want you tucked into bed before midnight.”
I try to hide my grimace. He wants to get rid of me like he always does at night. He deposits me back into my room before nine and doesn’t return until morning to take me to school. What’s he doing after this? Will he call Cassie and get her to help with the bulge pressed against me?
“Okay,” I whisper. Even though there are a hundred questions I could ask, I won’t utter a single one.
Don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answer to, and don’t cry for help when you’re drowning. The only things that can save you are the answers you never asked for.
I can imagine my heart shattering into a million pieces if I ask him where he’s going. He’ll say he’s running into the arms of a woman when he’s just been in mine.
He kisses my lips that I pretend I don’t feel, even though I kissed him back with the weight of all the questions I never asked.
I take his hand and let him help me to my feet, and we pack away the items while Mickey goes on a tangent about all the motorbikes that came into the garage this week. I’m listening, but not really. I feel full and hollow at the same time. It’s an awful thing to feel.
I’m barely conscious as I climb back onto the bike and ride for hours until we stop in front of the two-story house with the window open on the top floor.