“I did?” I repeat.

“If you didn’t take me there, if you…” he trails off and shakes his head. “But it doesn’t matter now. Let me kiss you.”

He reaches out for me, but I struggle to push him away. He’s strong, even when drunk. “No. I’m not willing to pay the price.”

“No price.” He grins and his cheeks crease with those dimples.

Those beautiful, beautiful dimples.

My heart might have stopped beating for a second.

He told me I’m beautiful and he hates me for it, and it’s the same for him.

He’s so brutally handsome, I curse him for it every day.

I curse him every time I see a good-looking man and compare him to Xander.

I curse him every time I have fantasies and he’s always the main character in them.

I curse his perfect hair and ocean-deep eyes and charming fucking smile because they never belonged to me.

“I hate you,” I murmur, though my fingers dig into his T-shirt. “I hate you so much.”

“I hate you, too, Green.” His lips hover a few inches away from mine.

“Stop calling me that.”

“I’ll call you whatever I fucking please. You’re my Green.” He grabs me by the arm and flips me so I’m lying on the bed and he’s hovering above me. “Now, shut up and let me kiss you.”

Even though my body is yelling for that and shouting at me to let him make my fantasies come true, because I know he will, I don’t give in to that urge. I plant both hands on his chest. “Are you going to be disgusted with me afterwards?”

“I’m never disgusted with you.”

“But –”

“Shut up, Green.” There’s no maliciousness behind his words. If anything, they’re playful, amused even, with a casual appearance of his dimples.

“The other time, you –”

“Shut the fuck up, Green.”

“Not until –”

My words die as he grabs me by my nape and invades my mouth. And I don’t mean a simple kiss. This time, he’s really devouring me.

It’s like he’s starving and I’m dinner. He’s on a stranded island and I’m his survival.

A moan rips from me as his body moulds to mine. The friction of his hard chest against my breasts and thighs elicits a violent shiver. My nipples tighten and strain against my camisole. A tremor grips me and my hands shake as I dig my fingers into his back – his strong, sculpted back.

It’s as if my hands don’t believe what’s happening. How do people normally react when their deepest, darkest fantasies come true?

If I had known, I would’ve probably done something about it. But right now, I just let myself fall into it, free fall and all.

Hard and fast.

With no landing in sight.

“Fuck,” he growls near my mouth. “Why do you taste better than in other dreams?”

“W-what?”

“Shh, don’t talk. If you do, I’ll wake up.” His fingers curl at the hem of my T-shirt and bring it over my head.

My chest heaves as his eyes trail down my body, the stretch marks and the not-so-flat stomach. It’s nothing like the model figures he’s used to. I despise comparing myself to them, but I can’t help it.

He’s my best fantasy, and it hurts to be his worst.

“You used to be more beautiful.” He runs his hand down my stomach. “I hate the fake you, she’s not my Green.”

And then he’s kissing down my stomach, over every stretch mark and every blemish, over every curve and part of me I don’t even like to look at myself.

His hot lips leave scorching trails in their wake like a rapid burning fire.

“Don’t change.” Kiss. “Don’t be fake.” Kiss. “Be you.” Kiss. “Be my beautiful Green.”

A sob tears from my throat with every word out of his mouth and breathed against my skin. I cover my eyes, not wanting him to see me this way.

What the hell is he doing to me?

“Look at me.” The order in his voice makes me drop my hands slowly.

He’s hovering over me again, his hands disappearing underneath my back to unclasp my bra.

The deep blue of his eyes holds me hostage as he speaks in a low, gut-wrenching tone. “Always look at me, not away from me, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Even if I hate you and you hate me.”

“Okay.”

“Even if we wake up from this.”

“Okay.” My voice breaks at the end.

With a single tug, he removes the bra and lets it fall to the side. My nipples harden, tightening into tiny buds, but it’s not because of the air. It’s due to the hungry look on his lethally attractive face.

He’s not even touching them, but it’s almost as if he is.

“Your tits are so perky and small.” His strong fingers wrap around my breast. “So perfect in my hand. I knew it.”

Still cupping my breast, his thumb and forefinger grasp my nipple and tug. I cry out, my heart squeezing in my throat.

He does it again, this time twirling, then pinching hard afterwards. The friction of his bandage against my skin adds another pleasurable sensation that shoots straight between my legs, soaking my thighs.

“Do you know how much I’ve wanted to do this? How much I’ve wanted you like this and hated myself for it? How much it fucking kills me?” As he continues to torment my nipple, his mouth latches on the other one, biting and nibbling.

My back arches off the bed with the torture. It’s as if I’m being levitated. My body isn’t mine anymore as it floats in the air without any landing in the foreseeable future.

His free hand travels down between us and undoes the buttons of my denim skirt. I don’t think as I push it down.

“Stop,” he growls against my flesh. “This is my show, my rules.”

Damn him. I’m not even allowed to do anything on my first sexual experience. But then again, why am I surprised Xander is the bossy type?

If anything, I might have secretly hoped for it. I might secretly be a bit more wet by his words.

He shoves my skirt and underwear down in one merciless tug as he pushes off me and slides down my body.

The empty air makes my breasts feel abandoned, but the look in his eyes as he watches me splayed in front of him is worth it.

He reaches behind him and pulls his T-shirt over his head, revealing his sculpted abs. It’s not about being fit or muscular, it’s the charisma that he adds to it, the certain carelessness of being so deadly and mouth-watering.

Xander is the epitome of male beauty – tall, blond, hard, slightly tanned.

Kneeling at the foot of the bed, he stares straight at my pussy and I instinctively close my thighs.

“Nuh-uh.” He shakes his head, a disapproving glare on his face. “Open them wide.”

“But I can’t.”

“Yes, you can and you want to.”

“But –”

“You don’t want to?”

I bite my lower lip.

“Answer me, Green.”

I can do more than answer him when he calls me that. I can fly to the moon and carve my name in the stars like he once brought me a star – that I might still be hiding.