I’m still thirsty.

I stretch out my arms and accidentally hit Sloan in the shoulder. I glance over at her, but my head is too groggy to focus. She rustles a little, but she doesn’t wake up. I look at the alarm clock and squint. It’s 4:30am. She still has two hours before she has to get up and get ready for school.

I give myself a minute to adjust to the darkness until I can see her really well. Then I roll onto my side and watch her sleep.

She sleeps on her back now. Never on her side, never on her stomach. When I was a kid, my dad always slept on his back, even when he’d pass out on the couch from whatever substance he was abusing that day. I asked him why he slept like that once and he said, “When you’re on your back, you’re prepared for anything. It’s easier to wake up and protect yourself. If you get too comfortable, you’re left off guard.”

It makes me wonder if Sloan sleeps on her back as a protective method. Then it makes me wonder if she sleeps on her back to protect herself from me.

No. She doesn’t fear me like that. She fucking worships me.

She used to sleep on her stomach, though. Maybe I just need to buy a new mattress. Maybe she just doesn’t like this bed.

She also used to sleep naked, but she hasn’t done that in over a year. She claims it’s because there are too many people in this house and she doesn’t feel comfortable. It used to bother me when I’d crawl on top of her at night, only to find she was wearing fucking pajamas and I couldn’t slide inside of her until after I got them off of her.

After complaining enough, she finally compromised and only sleeps in a t-shirt now. Easier access, but I’d still rather her be naked.

I pull the covers down, careful not to wake her. Sometimes I just like to look at her while she sleeps. I like to think she’s dreaming about me. Sometimes I touch her, just soft enough not to wake her, but enough to make her moan in her sleep.

Her t-shirt is bunched up around her waist. I lift it, slowly, inch by inch until her breasts are exposed. And then I lean back, reaching under the covers and into my boxers. I grip myself and begin stroking as I watch her sleep-watch her soft breasts move up and down with each slow breath she inhales.

She’s so fucking beautiful. All that long dark hair. Those lashes. That mouth. I’ve honestly never seen another girl as beautiful as her in real life.I knew she’d be mine the first time I laid eyes on her. I couldn’t allow something this perfect to be with anyone else.

But I wouldn’t allow myself to pursue her right away, because I liked the way she looked at me. I could see the innocence in her eyes as she would stare at me in class. I made her curious. And even though I pretended not to notice her, she made me curious. I could tell she was different from any girl I’d ever been with.

Nothing scares me-not since I was a kid. But the way I obsessed over the thought of her came pretty damn close to scary. The thought of being able to corrupt something that sweet made me think about her more than anything else in my life.

Before Sloan, I wasn’t the type of guy that loved girls. Not in the traditional sense, anyway. I used them for what the majority of them are good for. A quick late night fuck, sometimes a pre-breakfast fuck, but never anything after 8am or before 8pm. Guys who allow girls in their life between the hours of 8am and 8pm have shit for brains.

That’s a direct quote from my father.

I used to remind myself of this every time I’d look at Sloan, before she was mine. Every time I’d catch her staring at me in class. Every time my dick would jerk in my pants when I thought about her.

Shit for brains.

The more I observed her, the more I started to question my father and whether or not he even knew what the hell he was talking about when I was younger. He probably never experienced a girl like Sloan. A girl who had yet to be corrupted by another man. A girl who was too timid to know how to flirt with a guy. A girl who hadn’t had the chance to become a whore yet.

I told myself I’d test her out. See if she was the exception to the rule. I caught up with her after class one day and asked her if she wanted to go to lunch. It was the first time I’d ever asked a girl on a date, come to think of it. I expected her to smile and shyly agree, but instead she looked me over, turned away and kept walking.

That’s when I realized I was wrong about her. She wasn’t shy. She wasn’t unfamiliar with how cruel people could be. She knew exactly how cruel the world was and that’s why she kept her distance from everyone.

Little did she know, her fake disinterest made me want her even more. It made me want to pursue her until she wanted every part of me…even the cruelty. It made me want her to beg for it.