Summary: She told herself it was never really because of love, and so she let him touch her.
Disclaimer: Don't own nothing, same as everyone else on here :D
Ratings: K
Pairings: Dasey angst.
AN: Feed Back would be great! Thanks guys!
Love.
Kelsey♥
Not becuase of Love
And the first time she let him touch her; she blamed it on the shampoo on the floor.
They had been kneeling together on the bathroom floor, both covered in shampoo and lotion.
They were both on either side of the small bathroom, armed with bottles of lotion and shampoo.
Her thoughts wandered momentarily to the how ridiculous they both looked right now. That didn't matter, she was entirely too focused on bombarding his hair with the Nair in her hand. They had spent the majority of the time locked in the bathroom, throwing five year old insults at each other.
Thinking this would be the last time he ever called her klutzilla, she had lunged, hands positioned to squeeze right away.
Next thing she knew her shoes were covered with sticky yellow Johnson's Shampoo and she was in the arms of her step brother.
She should have pulled away right there, but she didn't.
She let him pull her body up against his strong frame. She let him devour her mouth in his. Tongue's engaged in a heated wrestling match. This wasn't about feeling, the kiss held not emotion to pull her off her feet and leave her breathless. It simply an urge, but she got that. ..
And so she let him touch her.
And the second time she let him touch her, she blamed it on still being a virgin.
They met in the middle of the living room, the family gone to a soccer match, and they're dislike towards each other only fueled the heat between them.
Clothes were ripped off; screams of pain were called out. And they lay in a mass of tangled couch pillows and clawed backs in the middle of the floor.
And when they were done, he simply got up and left to 'hockey practice' without a backwards glance.
Every logical part of her had screamed no, but some part deep down, had wanted it so much…
And so she let him touch her.
The third time she let him touch her, she blamed it on that Sunday Evening.
The remote lay at her feet in her bedroom, a book lay open fluttering in the breeze. A sigh had escaped her lips, as she stretched out on her bed on that Sunday Evening.
She hated Sunday Evenings, the aspect of school tomorrow and going back to the harsh world of reality always left her sighing.
And he knew that, because a minute later he had bounded in wearing nothing but thin boxers.
She sat up suddenly, her heart racing, her mind blanking, as he flopped on top her.
She should have protested, should have said it was wrong, but no words were exchanged between them. It was part of the rules. And as she turned over for him, she couldn't help but think she had nothing better to do…
And so she let him touch her.
The fourth time she let him touch her, she blamed it on the lack of hot water.
She had raced to the bathroom, him right next to her. It was a race to see who would get the hot water today.
She wasn't surprised to find herself being flung to the side, or his infamous smirk as he closed the door behind him.
She had got up in a rage, with every intention to bang on that door. But much to her astonishment she had barely touched it, and it had swung open.
She should have closed it softly, she should have walked away, but the thought of showering for the third time that week in freezing water, she took a deep breath….
And so she let him touch her.
The fifth time she let him touch her, she blamed it on stress of the finals.
She was tucked in the corner of the library way past school hours, flipping through pages of her history text, trying the cram in as much detail as possible. Trying to think.
Because that's what she did best, think.
She had gone home that night in tears, because she didn't want to think anymore, thinking hurt.
But she shut the door of her room, armed now with her math book, and a glass of milk, ready to study. Another sleepless night would sure follow.
Gentle pelting on her window had made her look down, and see him throw pebbles at her window.
His hands were gesturing towards his car, and himself.
She should have shut the blinds and walked away, but the thought of thinking overwhelmed her…
And so she let him touch her.
The sixth time she let him touch her, she blamed it on addiction.
He was her drug.
He let her drink away the need to be needed. And she felt needed with him. The hour was quite, the house creaked with every step she took.
And with a pacing pulse, she had raced to his room, to find it already open.
He knew she would be coming.
And he stood there, a small package in his hands, lazily pulling his shirt off. He smirked at her, as he watched her eyes undress him.
He lounged himself carelessly on his bed, and glanced over at her with an impatient glare.
This wasn't right, this would never be right, she should have turned around right there, and shut the door on him, but she was addicted…he was her drug…and he knew that…
And so she let him touch her.
And the seventh time she let him touch her, she told herself it was never because of love.
Tears streamed down her face as he shut his door on her, and left her in the hallway in her bra, and shorts, with her clothes jumbled in her hands.
She hurried to her room, and shut the door with a thud.
She thought back to the times she had let him touch her. The kisses had been aggressive, the words exchanged between them were merely to express desire, and need. The touches had left her shivering for hours, his lips had bruised her. He had bruised her.
She didn't love him. She told herself as she threw on her pajamas. She never loved him. He was merely there to fill a void, as she was for him.
She had drifted off to a deep sleep, she didn't love him.
What seemed as moments later he had barged in, hockey equipment in hand. She sat up in a daze, hearing words like lost the game, horrible game, terrible game.
He was breathing heavily as he threw of his sweat clothes in a pile by her bed.
She had sat open mouthed staring at him. Not noting he had thrown himself on top her, crushing her down.
She should have pushed him off…she should have cursed him for doing this to her…but as his bites became harder on her neck…his desire increasing, she told her self it was never really because of love….
And so she let him touch her.