MY BOYFRIEND’S CREDITOR 2
“I'm not your f*****g pe…” I say shoving his hands away. He jacks me up to my feet roughly.
“You're not my f*****g what?” He growls, suddenly angry. He's tugging at hair, pressing my back to the wall.
“b***h, you'll f*****g be whatever I say you are do you get that?” He pinched my chin roughly.
He then kissed me. It's not sweet. It's not tentative. It's a threat made flesh, his mouth claiming mine with years of hunger behind it.
His tongue pushes past my lips and I taste coffee and want and the bitter satisfaction of finally breaking. The smart thing would be to shove him away. Knee him in the balls and try to run away again.
Instead I fist his back and drag him closer.
He groans against my mouth and his hands free my hair to grab my hips, lifting me up so
