Matches | √

Chapter Eleven

"How caveman of you," I want to tease but the words come out breathy and needy and everything in between as my body lights for the boy beneath me.

"Maeleigh," he growls. The darkness in his eyes raging with flames and I know he's almost at his breaking point. A part of me wants to push him there, to see the side of him I haven't seen yet.

But I let myself pull back. Besides the making out and occasional fondling, Asher and I haven't done anything else. I keep saying I won't sleep with him, and he's oddly respectful of that. But I also know if I continue to push him, the respect will fly from every bone in his body and he will throw me down and do every dirty thing we both secretly want.

"Fine," I murmur as I reach over my nightstand to grab the blue Polaroid camera my mother gave me for my birthday last year.

I sit back on Asher's lap and let him relax into the mattress, as he sees what I'm doing. He places his hands behind his head as if he owns this room, rules it. And he does, because no matter where he is he stands out, he rules. I snap a quick picture letting the flash illuminate the dark room to capture a moment only it can. To capture the confidence that radiates off him like a drug. A drug that I'm breathing in and letting slowly change the things I want in this life. The things I desire.

"Why did you do that?" he asks simply.

"So I have proof," I tell him as the picture slides out of the camera. I pluck the picture and shake it lightly before setting the camera back on the nightstand alongside the picture. Letting the image come to life.

"Proof of what?" he questions with a slight tilt of his head.

"Proof it wasn't a dream when I wake up and see that you're gone," I tell him quietly though in the still room my words echo.

"How do you know I'll be gone?" he asks as if there's a possibility he won't leave once the sun kisses the sky.

"Won't you though," I say, knowing the answer. He won't stay over; he won't be beside me when I roll over to see the way his face brightens in the morning. To hear his raspy morning words. To feel the heat that radiates off his perfect body.

But instead of focusing on the bad, I turn my focus to him and press my lips to his.

My eyes flutter open as the bright morning light infiltrates my room. I open and close my eyes to try and adjust my gaze before flicking it over to the empty space beside me.

A sigh cuts through me fully aware he wouldn't be here when I woke up, and yet here I am a part of me hoping he would be around. Hoping he would make an exception for me, but while I know he feels something for me. I can't be mistaken about who Asher Lawton is, a selfish ass.

But an ass who when he touches me and kisses me makes me feel a fire from within I never thought someone like me could feel. It makes me feel confident and sexy in a way I never thought possible.

He's a drug. A drug I realized I've become completely addicted to, hungry for my next hit. For the touch of his magical fingers. Caress of his addictive lips on my own. He's everything I shouldn't want in this world, everything I should hate.

Especially after last night.

He kissed Francesca, I remind myself.

I want to hate him for kissing her. I want to be disgusted and never let him touch me again. I want to be angry, boiling mad. And part of me is all of those things mixed into one conflicted person.

Because a large part of me expected it, expected him to disappoint me in some way. So it doesn't surprise me or shock me, it's expected. It doesn't make it any hurt less per say, but expecting the pain helps curb the bite. The sting to the heart that's grown weak to one boy. One man.