My first story posted here :
So... I thought I'd start with this little drabble type thing that popped into my head.
Don't worry, you don't have to like it, but any feedback is welcome :

Anybody looking for a beta reader, or willing to do the same for me, don't hesitate to get in touch.
I'm Abbi.
Nice to meet y'all. :

Nothing is ever what it seems.

It was night time, and they were alone.

She felt his warm lips on her skin, and her breath hitched. She winced a little, and he lifted his head. "Does it hurt?" He asked her; it seemed he was rather considerate sometimes, after all.

"It's not even gone in that far," he teased, and she grimaced. He was taking advantage of her girlish squeamishness, and he was well aware of it- she took back her previous thought.

If he had been a just a little bit ordinary, maybe if he'd been the tiniest bit like Sam, the geek boy next door, maybe then she could have ignored his growls. Maybe she wouldn't have let him approach her. Stupid, stupid boy.

His mouth started its ministrations again, and she squirmed a little.

It was a gesture a thousand times more intimate than any she had been used to- he sucked her finger and looked up at her with hooded, lustful eyes. He was gorgeous, and she couldn't tell him to stop now.

Was it natural for a girl to be so uncomfortable in that position, she wondered? She was positioned on a tree stump in the middle of the woods, after all. Surely, that was good enough reason for her to awkward… right?

She cursed herself for getting into that situation, only realising she'd actually said something out loud when he smirked at her. "Crazy girl," he murmured. She rather agreed.

She tried everything she could think of, she even tried counting bugs on the floor. The excitement kept mounting within her, even as she tried to deny it. That narcissistic, immoral imbecile, how was he managing to stay calm?

He was touching her. His eyes bored holes into her skull; he was too close, and he was enjoying her humiliation far too much.

She knew that if she didn't get rid of him soon, she may just fall in love with him, and that could never happen, not with him. Never with him. But she stayed put. It hurt too much for her to even consider moving.

She vowed never to speak to him again, and the shame of her actions burned her cheeks. Stupid, hormonal, weak little girl. Curse her feminine ways.

She'd cried like a baby, after all, and it had meant nothing, really, and she was fairly sure he was playing games.

But oh, thank God, finally; after what seemed like forever, it was over. No more pain and no more anxiety and no more too-closeness, just a sensation of relief that flooded through her body.

He hovered over her face, giving her a shiver in her spine that anticipated a kiss they hadn't yet shared.

She thanked him, and he sauntered back to the campfire, ignorant of her still-racing heart and flushed face. There was a tiny bit of blood on her finger, and she sucked it, remembering the feel of his tongue there.

He turned to grin once, daring her to come after him. He had a tiny piece of wood between his teeth, and she couldn't help but laugh. Asshole. He was still playing with her, even then. Son of a bitch.

Ten minutes passed, as she sat in silence, contemplating the encounter. She wondered if she'd ever tell her grandchildren the story, she wondered if her friends would believe her version of events.

And then she decided what the hell- it didn't matter, after all. And she walked back slowly, a rueful smile playing about her lips. And as the moon shone onto her pale face, she whispered into the darkness, damning the trees and night and camp, and fate itself for bringing her to him in her hour of need.

"Damn splinter."