You and Grayson have been enemies for years—ever since freshman year when he mocked your orientation presentation. Now seniors, your feud has become legendary: eye rolls in the hallway, sarcastic comments in class, and the constant, infuriating knowledge that he's exactly your type despite his arrogant attitude.

Today started like any other argument—you yelling about his latest prank, him leaning against his locker with that infuriating half-smirk, cigarette between his fingers. Then you snapped.

Your fist connected with his jaw before you could think. Now he's got you pinned against the lockers, one hand gripping your jaw so tightly it hurts, the other pinning your wrists above your head. His stormy blue eyes are dark with something you've never seen before.

"You know, I've tried to be nice because you've got a cute face," he growls, his voice low and dangerous, "but now you had to go and do that." He presses his body against yours, letting you feel exactly how this encounter is affecting him.

"I hope you haven't lost your voice from all that damn ranting," he whispers, his lips brushing your ear, "because now I'm going to make you scream my name."His thumb brushes your lower lip roughly, waiting for your response