Taming the Street Racer ✔️

02 | see you in my dreams

Hands are on my body. Lean, nimble fingertips trace up the curve of my spine, to the nape of my neck, then back down toward where I want his hands to stay. His palms are rough, sending chills through my skin as he presses into me.

My legs rest on either side of his firm body and I feel something pressing up from between them. Every inch of my skin is pressed against his and I don't feel fabric between us. And I don't mind.

I close my eyes and sigh into his shoulder as his hand finally finds the place I've been asking him to go. The other hand snakes up my neck into the tangles of my hair, gripping the strands and arching my neck up toward him. I let out a strange, soft sound and the hands indulge me further.

The softest lips press small kisses from the crook of my shoulder, across my arched neck, and up toward my face. The final kisses are pressed to the corner of my parted lips, then they cease. My hair is released and I straighten, his lips press to my ear and tell me to open my eyes. To see him as he truly is.

When I do, I see blood covering his chest and neck but no wounds in my line of sight. At eye-level, full lips are spread into a malicious grin. I look up further, past the crooked nose and finally see them.

The grey eyes, full of evil I didn't know possible. I've seen this look before, in a hallway, with these eyes trained on an unbreathing boy. The same eyes, the same look, now focused on me.

He pulls his hand from my hair and places it back on my neck before I can do anything, replacing soft fingertips with a tightening grip. His darkening eyes don't move from my face. My heart stammers out of my chest and I can't breathe.

I scream.

I sit up, immediately feeling dizzy and confused. I look around frantically for a second, looking for him and his hands and his stupid eyes. My racing heart slowly falls back into a normal rhythm and I curse, lying back down.

Perfect. My least favorite person in the world is now walking in my dreams.

I try not to think of his soft touch and teasing lips, nor the terrors that came afterward. But the effects of him, whether his soft caresses or his attempt to fucking kill me, still linger on me. My skin has a slight sheen of sweat and my sheets are haphazardly twisted around my legs.

I feel exposed and naked, still imagining his stare trained on my heated skin. I can't let myself think of the possible reasons as to why I would be imagining him being with me in that way.

Ever since I came into contact with him yesterday, I can't seem to get him out of my mind. His voice, chillingly cold, keeps echoing in my ears. The threats, the harsh words he spit at me.

But also his genuine smile toward his little sister, the comical kiss he pressed to his sister's chubby cheek. The way his voice softened when he called her Gracie.

I don't know what to make of him and I shouldn't even be trying. I don't even know him. Not to mention, he was an absolute dick toward me when all I wanted was to make sure Grace was picked up on time.

But even as I tell myself those facts over and over again, the question lingers: Why can't I get him out of my head?

I try, in vain, to clear him from my mind by getting ready for school. I'm on autopilot as I go through the motions of putting myself together in the bathroom, getting dressed, and walking downstairs. His eyes feel blazed into my memory.

As I sit down across from my parents in our breakfast nook, they seem to be in some deep, private conversations. Probably about how much sex they're gonna have later tonight or how much they love each other. They're grossly in love.