Chapter 6: Red Thorns: Chapter 5

Sebastian is kissing me.

As in, his lips are on mine.

His mouth is mashed to my agape one.

It feels different than what I’ve imagined. I thought his lips would be harsh, maybe made of granite like the rest of him, but they’re surprisingly soft—tender, even.

At least, at first.

I’m so caught off guard that I do the one thing I haven’t done since I was a little girl and blood flowed all around me.

I remain still.

If anything, I go limp against him as he nibbles on my bottom lip, demanding access into my mouth. And it’s a flat-out demand, as if he has the right to kiss me and has for an eternity.

The hotness of his body pressed to mine and the strong scent of his cologne are dizzying.

And not in a good way.

But in more of an ‘I’m losing control and slipping through a loophole’ kind of way.

When I keep my mouth clamped shut, he bites down on the sensitive flesh of my lip. The sharp movement nearly rips the skin and draw my blood so he can suck on it.

Feast on it.

Assault it.

I open with a start, in equal measure due to his actions and my reaction. Sebastian doesn’t slow down, doesn’t take a breather, and he uses the chance to plunge his tongue inside.

If I thought his lips were tender, I take it all back. They’re as merciless as the rest of him. He kisses like he plays, razing through my defenses, seizing the opportunity and scoring, over and over.

He doesn’t only kiss, he’s out to devour me. To paint black stars in the midst of the bright white lights. His tongue ravages my tender one until no air is allowed into my burning lungs. Until I’m wheezing, silently begging and imploring.

For what, I have no clue.

In just a fraction of a second, his hold on my waist is the only thing keeping me standing.

It’s like a foreign entity has possessed my body and I’m caught in a trance. Partly because I want to end it and partly because I don’t ever want this to be over.

The two facets clash and claw at each other, creating a suffocating tension in the confines of my shriveling heart.

I’ve never been touched like this, as if I could be swallowed whole any second. As if his large strong hands could hold my face—and other parts of me—hostage. As if his body could easily overpower mine and force me to submit.

And the scariest part isn’t the confusion that accompanies those thoughts. It’s the sharp tingles between my legs. It’s the dipping of my stomach that matches his maddening rhythm.

It feels like hours have passed when he releases my lips, a small trail of saliva sticking between us as he pulls back. A strange sound echoes in the air and I realize it’s mine.

His tropical eyes cage me for the second time tonight, only this time, the mask he always wears doesn’t hide the fire in them.

Like fireworks.

Or maybe a volcano.

Either way, it’s at the point of eruption and I don’t want to be there when it happens. I don’t want to witness the moment when the perfect star actually shows to the world that he’s not so perfect after all.

And yet, I’m held prisoner by the power of his presence, entranced by the smallest details. Like the way sweat trickles down the side of his face, giving him the aura of a warrior. The way the black line shadows the color of his eyes. Or how his spicy scent mixes with sweat in a masculine kind of way.

Even the imperfection of his damp hair that haphazardly falls across his forehead looks flawless.

Sebastian swiftly shifts his attention to the side and that’s when I’m struck by the fact that he just kissed me on television.

Fuck.

The reporter is saying something, but it filters through my buzzing ears. Not only because embarrassment is whirling through me, but more due to the fact that I’m caught off guard. That I didn’t see the situation coming and couldn’t act accordingly.

Sebastian doesn’t let me go and I don’t struggle. One, I’m still in some sort of a haze. Two, it’d draw more unwanted attention to myself. Three, it’s fruitless to compare his strength to mine.

As I wait for the reporter to go away, I can’t help inhaling his scent into my starved lungs. There’s a high note of bergamot, pepper, and amber. Mixed with sweat from the game, he smells like a fighter. I can’t help imagining him crushing someone in his path.

Or me.

My core clenches at the thought and I quickly shove it back to where it came from. But it doesn’t completely go away. It remains there, lingering, biding its time, and taunting me with endless options.

And now, I think I’m in serious trouble because this scent? Yeah, I don’t think I’ll be able to erase it from my memories anytime soon.

The reporter finally leaves with a knowing smirk in our direction, but Sebastian’s grip around my waist doesn’t ease. If anything, he tightens it further until I wince.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I hiss, finally snapping out of whatever spell his scent just cast on me.

His eyes twinkle under the lights as if he’s finding pleasure in whatever show he’s putting on. “Which part? Kissing you? Or doing it publicly?”

“Both!”

“Why? You’d rather I did it in private?” His thumb strokes the bare skin above my skirt, grazing the line of my belly. A tender sensation blossoms at the bottom of my stomach with each caress. “I can take care of that.”

“I don’t want you to take care of anything except for leaving me the hell alone.” I slam both hands on his chest to push him away, but he might as well be a buffalo. A dangerous one with boundary issues, because he takes that as an invitation to step further into my space.

His chest creates friction against my breasts that I want to hate, but I can’t help the increasing tightness in my stomach. We’re separated by his football gear and my sports bra and top and yet, it’s like his naked skin is rubbing against my nipples, stimulating them, peaking them, and crossing the line of no return.

“But I don’t want to.” The words leave his sinfully proportioned lips with a seductive tilt.

“What do you mean you don’t want to?”

“I don’t want to let you go, Naomi. I rather like it here. Just like this.”

“Well, I don’t.”

“Is lying a defense mechanism of yours?”

“Leave me alone before you meet my actual defense mechanism.”

“And what is that?”

“I’d rather show you.” I lift my knee to hit him in the balls, but his reflex is faster than mine. His large palm nearly engulfs my thigh and he loops it around his and positions it in a way that seems as if I’m humping him in public.

If my attempted attack fazes him, he doesn’t show it as he smiles in that fake-ass way. Like some fancy politician in front of cameras. “Now, Naomi. If we’re going to have a healthy relationship, there shouldn’t be any violence present. Unless…it’s the type of violence we both agree on.”

A shudder grips me at the sinister undertone of his words, and although I don’t really understand what they mean, an unfamiliar part of me rises to the surface with a force that startles the shit out of me.

It takes me a few seconds to get my bearings. “Who said I want any relationship with you?”

“You should. I recommend it.”

I scoff, trying to squirm, to no avail again. “Of course, you would.”

“I’m rich, handsome, and a star. Oh, I also come from a prestigious family. What’s there not to like about me?”

“Everything you just mentioned. Oh, and your arrogance is the cherry on top. Sorry to crash it to the ground, but I don’t do douchebags. Better luck next time.”

He chuckles, the sound surprisingly carefree compared to his demeanor. “You are a funny one.”

“No, I’m kinda bitchy. Ask your besties, Reina and Brianna, and they’ll tell you the deets.”

“I’d rather ask you. Dinner tomorrow?”

“In the funeral home before they cremate you?”

“Or just somewhere nice where we don’t have to worry about dead people.” He speaks calmly, a smirk tugging his lips, and appearing completely oblivious to my sense of sarcasm that usually works in shooing people away.

“I’m not sure if you got the memo, but I just insinuated that I’m not interested in you.”

“No, you insinuated that I’m arrogant and that you hate all the qualities I mentioned about myself.”

“Okay then, I’m telling you now that I’m not interested for the reasons mentioned above.”

“So let’s forget about them.”

“What?”

“Forget about the background and who I am. Do you have any objections otherwise?”

“I can’t just forget them.”

“You can pretend to.”

“Doesn’t work that way. Your name and face and position in the college are what defines you.”

His jaw clenches. “And what defines you, Naomi?”

“You tell me. Aren’t you the one who forced a kiss on me, then wanted to take me out to dinner like some doting dick? We’d never properly spoken before you slammed me to the ground a few days ago, so I’m free to believe you’re playing me.”

“Or maybe I’m just interested in you.”

“Oh, please. Name one thing you know about me.”

He remains silent.

“You have nothing? Figured as much. Go play this game on someone else because I don’t have the time—”

“You hate being a cheerleader and throw every tantrum under the sun to be kicked off the squad. However, the dean and the coach keep you on because of the checks your mommy writes to the college. You were raised by a single mother of Japanese origins and you have a tendency toward passive-aggressiveness and straight out aggressiveness when your race is brought up. You use sarcasm and self-deprecation as a defense mechanism, but you don’t react well when those tactics are directed at you. You barely smile because you like being angry at the world and everyone in it and prefer to be an asocial weirdo instead of putting on a mask. You sometimes wear black-framed glasses in class that make you look like an adorable nerd. Oh, and you listen to hard rock at a volume that will damage your ears in the future.”

My lips part as I stare up at him. There’s…no way he’d be able to know all of that about me. Not when we’ve barely had any contact.

Hell, I doubt he remembers the first time we met officially—or unofficially or whatever.

“So?” He grins. “How did I do?”

“Are you waiting for a score? If so, it’s an F.”

“Lying again, even though you’re clearly impressed. Oh, and you’re slightly trembling right now.”

I go still against him, cursing my involuntary body reaction.

“Now I know what you truly are,” he says.

“And what is that?”

“Tsundere.”

“What?”

“It means someone who’s hot and cold. Violent on the outside, despite being soft on the inside.”

“I know what Tsundere means and I’m not a damn anime character.”

“I’ll confirm that during dinner tomorrow.” He lifts my hand to his mouth and brushes his lips on my skin that instantly turns red.

I’ve always praised myself for being above having emotions, or at least, not showing them. But right now, it seems as if I’m an open book in front of Sebastian.

He finally releases me, his hard, warm body leaving mine as he turns around, then strides away.

“I won’t be there!” I shout after him.

“See you tomorrow, Tsundere,” he calls back without looking at me.

I’m left there, fuming and boiling with a thousand different emotions that I can’t contain.

The most prominent of all—strange arousal.

The type that feels wrong and right at the same time.