Bruised

26.

When she turned back to Leon, he was smirking at her like he'd read her thoughts.

He lifted a brow at her, stepping backwards into the alcove. His fingers, still tight around her own, tugged her in after him.

She giggled, moving closer until she could feel the heat off his body and his breath on her face.

"What do you think you're doing?" Natalie asked.

"Sneaking around with a girl," he replied. "Obviously."

He paused, frowning at her for a moment before releasing her hand and pulling off her tie.

"What are you—" He tugged the tie over her head, fixing it around her neck.

"There," he said. "It's like we're classmates now."

Natalie pulled on the tie, loving the way it looked on her—the way it smelled, just like Leon. She slid her hands up his chest, locking them around the back of his neck.

"And what class did we just sneak out of?"

"Come on, Natalie. You'd never sneak out of a class," he replied, chuckling lowly. He lowered his head, resting his forehead against hers. "This is lunch time, of course."

"I don't know. I never thought I'd sneak out of my bedroom window, but I did. I think you'd be able to convince me to do anything," she said.

Leon's lips twitched. He moved even closer, eyes dipping to her lips, nose nudging at her own. "Really?"

She nodded. Just barely. A miniscule movement of her head. She felt his lips brush against hers and her eyes unconsciously fluttered shut, her lips parting for his.

And then he was kissing her.

Natalie thought she would never get enough of him kissing her. No, his lips were quickly becoming another form of oxygen for her. She wanted more of it. More of him.

And now, the way he pressed her against the wall of the alcove, hidden in the shadows of his school grounds—her heart pounded. Heat pooled in her stomach. His hands slid down the sides of her body until his fingers gripped the bottom of her skirt.

In one swift movement, she was hoisted up, her legs wrapping around his waist as he pinned her back against the wall. Her fingers found their way into his hair, tugging on the strands near the nape of his neck.

"Leon," she sighed into his mouth. He pulled back, just a centimetre, eyes searching hers frantically.

"Fucking hell," he muttered. "Sometimes, I think I was made for you."

"Made for me?" she echoed, giggling.

"Do you know how much I think about you?" His voice was breathy. Every whispered word sent shivers through Natalie's entire body. "It's like, I try so hard to think about something else—anything else—but you're always there, in the back of my mind. And I want to take care of you when you're sick or hurt, and make you smile, and... It's like this—this obsession. I think I would do anything for you."

"Why?" Natalie asked, her voice matching his whisper. She felt stunned at his confession. "Why me?"

"Why not you?" he murmured. His lips brushed hers, his eyes turning dark. Intoxicated. "Why anyone but you?"

"I think I'm obsessed with you too," Natalie said.

She ran her hand up from his neck and over his jawline, memorising the angles, memorising the barely-there scruff of stubble. She continued up, over his cheekbone, feeling the healed scars along the way, before cupping her hand against his cheek.