Wreck Me (Corrupt Legacy Series #2)

“I will say this until you believe me: you are not your father. Don’t get me wrong. You have his charm, the disregard for safe job choices, but you… you did what he would have never done. Take a break, get your head straight. What you have doesn’t have to be a life sentence.”

Yes, but a part of me is hell-bent on testing how far I can go, not caring about the outcome.

“Love you, Mom.”

“Love you more.”

***

Of course Abigail is the first in class. I won’t even hide that my gaze fixes on her thighs as I approach her. As if she was expecting me, she’s perched against the desk, looking like my dream woman. Seeing her dressed in a school skirt and white stockings is pure eroticism. Only a bit of her thigh is exposed. That small patch of skin tempts me to touch it, lick my way up, and feel if it’s just as soft and smooth as I imagined it would be.

She lifts my chin with a dainty finger, and I smirk, not a bit sorry she caught me.

We’ve been playing these push-and-pull games for three weeks now. I forget she belongs to someone else, and in the process, she tends to forget that too. But fuck if I get any romantic vibes from them, which makes things easier.

She inches her skirt up a bit, and I gulp. My hands tremble with need as I grip her waist.

Mischief is written all over her face. “Found something interesting to look at?”

“Princess.”

She lowers to me, and now I am inches away from her chest.

“You’re playing with fire.”

“I see no fire.”

I shoot from my seat, caging her in. At any moment, students could come in.

“Admit you want me.”

She grips my jacket’s lapels. Her soft pink manicured fingers look good on me. They would look even better on me when we’re both naked. I bury my head in her neck. That sensual mix of vanilla and roses hits my nostrils, drugging my insides.

“Tell me how bad you want my lips on you.”

“Dane…”

“Yes, princess?”

It’s as if I ate shit instead of luck because the school bell blasts through. Suddenly she scoots up, arranges her uniform, and takes her seat.

Students pile in moments later.

She sticks her head in her book and doesn’t look up for the entire class.

An array of feelings tear through me, and they escalate with every minute.

When we’re dismissed, I rush outside, needing to calm down before I throw her over my shoulder and make her admit this is not one-sided.

I feel her behind me. Every atom of me is hyperaware of her presence, but I keep walking. Outside, I turn a sharp right, and in an alcove, I throw my back against the wall. With shaking fingers, I light up a smoke.

She’s in my face, frustration flashing in her eyes, making them appear even more vibrant.

“I told you I wouldn’t kiss you like this.”

She yanks the smoke from between my lips, tosses it to the side, and stomps on it. I grab her and push her against the wall, burning for her.

I slowly expel the smoke in her face. It is quite fitting because this is how she always makes me feel. Burning. On the edge.