Style

Fuck you

She stared at her buzzing phone.

He was texting her. Almost blowing up her phone with the number of texts. And she knew precisely why he was texting her.

She bit her lip.

She shouldn't go. He wasn't right for her.

But he was like an addiction. A bitter habit that she wished would just say good riddance to.

It would be so much easier to neglect her phone and settle back into her bed, and just not go.

Instead, she rid herself of her pyjamas and slunk into a pair of tight, denim jeans and a tank top, not bothering with underwear simply because she knew it wouldn't be of any use.

Not quite fretting herself to look into the mirror, she tiptoed out the door, sighing a million times, and as she looked out, she noticed his car parked right outside, the headlights lighting up the dark street.

A strong wind blew past her, as her heart sped up instantly, while she made her way over to the Mustang he loved all too much. Wordlessly opening the door, she slid in and immediately felt his eyes on her.

"Didn't think you'd actually come," he whispered lowly, pulling away onto the road. His stare got more troublesome, but she kept her gaze on her lap. She couldn't steal a glance at him, not yet.

"Me neither," she replied, swallowing. She cursed herself for being so frail in front of his deadened eyes, those cold, hard coffee-coloured orbs that would always make her fall into his mercy.

His jaw tensed, and he stayed quiet.

She knew he was mad.

She could feel it radiate through him; the tension was so thick, a knife wouldn't even be able to cut through it.

He kept looking ahead on the road, driving almost recklessly, his glare still being hardened. She kept flicking and unclenching her fists nervously, her breathing first being deep, then shallow.

Why did he make her feel like this? He wasn't even doing much, but all she wanted to do rip his shirt off and touch the daylights out of him, all the while feeling shit about herself and him.

Abruptly, she felt the car pull to a halt, and she looked through the window and to a familiar abode.

Striking down on her lip harshly, she tilted her head to look at him again, when suddenly, she was met with a soft pair of lips.

And it happened all over again.

He was kissing her. Once, twice, just enough to know that he's everything and she'll never be satisfied because she would always need more.

She sinks in further, almost letting out a smile, but she held back. She couldn't. She shouldn't.

But she needed him. Oh, she wanted him now.

But before she could do anything else, she picked up a faint fragrance of something fruity, almost citrusy. Something she was convinced that she'd never wear, and so, she tugged back, her eyes swiftly ablaze.

"You were with her tonight, weren't you?"

He stared at her, his eyes narrow. "And you were with him," he retorted. "I could smell that dick ever since you entered."

"Oh, fuck you," she said, her nose flaring as she sat up straight.

"Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't you?" He snarled. "And don't bitch about me being with her when you're always grinding up against him."

"Well, I wasn't with him," she muttered angrily, flicking away a piece of hair that fell onto her eyes. "In fact, I haven't been with him for the past few days. But you wouldn't know, would you? You hadn't texted me, or called me, through the entirety of it all, maybe more. So you have no reason to be irritated, especially since you've been too busy fucking that floozy."

He stayed silent.

"And why'd you even text me?" she demanded indignantly, crossing her arms. "Tell me, Shawn."

Shawn scowled, glancing away from her. "You know why, Camila."

Now it was her turn to stay hushed, well, at least for a few seconds.

He looked back at her, and she swore that all she wanted to do at that moment was slap the hell out of him and then kiss those intoxicating lips of his. But she resisted the urge to do either just yet.

"You make me feel like shit," Camila frowned, glaring at him. "Did you know that?"

"Then, why are you here?" He asked, his voice deep and almost husky. "Why do you keep coming back?"

Her eyes snapped up to his.

Hot and heavy breaths leaked out of her nose, her anger towards him smouldering and seething out of her.

Oh, how much she wished she could stop coming back to him.

But she couldn't. He's an addiction to her. An inclination that she can't stop.

"Oh, fuck you," she sneered, before blindly and frantically reaching for him, grasping onto his shirt as she banged his lips against hers.

She felt him smirk against her lips, and she just pushed against him harder.

He kissed her like it was the first time they ever kissed. It was soft and inebriating at the same time, making her head spin uncontrollably.

She could taste his minty toothpaste that she had grown to love, mixed with the saltiness from her angry tears that slipped when she didn't want it to.

Grasping his shirt and twisting it in her palms, she bit down on his bottom lip, and he hissed heatedly, suddenly having his arms reaching out to wrap itself around her waist and pulling her forward.

Though she painfully bumped her knee against the gearshift and the steering wheel, she was too engaged in other matters.

Between the feel of his lean, muscular body and the intoxicating drive of his lips devouring hers, she forgot about what they were quarrelling about. All she could think about was their sloppy kisses, with their teeth clanking and tongues clashing.

His calloused fingers brushed against the sliver of skin that peeked from her tank top, driving her insane. She let out a guttural moan, grinding her hips against his, gasping as she felt his stiff hard-on.

Right as he felt her rub against him, he pulled back. Camila stared at his swollen lips, gulping, while Shawn stared right back at her. Their breaths mingled with each other, but they stayed still until Shawn spoke softly.

"You're fucking crazy."

She smiled.

.......

Authors Note: I could've easily put this on my imagine book (because this story is only gonna be two chapters long) but I was bored.