I make it halfway home when someone grabs me. Their hands wrap around my mouth and waist, yanking me backwards. They pinch my nose closed. I suddenly can’t take a breath.
I thrash and kick wildly, but my attacker doesn’t care.
On some level, I know it’s Greyson. The neighborhood on this side of the university has always been quiet, almost sleepy at night. Willow and I have been living here for three years without incident.
My chest aches the longer I go without oxygen. My throat screams. Black spots flicker in my peripherals, and it only takes another few seconds for my vision to dim.
It’s only when I sag that he releases my face.
I suck in a deep, hiccupping breath.
He spins me around and puts me against the wall. The rough brick of the apartment building rubs into my back, catching on my hair. He has his hood pulled up, and there’s a wild look in his eye.
Without warning, he covers my mouth and nose again. His other hand presses down on my chest, keeping me pinned. Tears burn my eyes. My body is on fire, and all I want to do is fight my way out of this.
I scratch his skin. Pull at his wrists. For the first time, I am afraid of what he’ll do. And he sees it the moment it registers in my eyes.
He releases my nose, keeping my mouth covered, and leans in close. I suck in as much air as I can get. His lips touch his knuckles, the only barrier between us. His fingers dig into my cheek. His gaze moves all over my face.
“This is what I want,” he breathes. “I didn’t know it until just now. But your fear is better than any drug. I thought I wanted to torment you. But now I just want this. Over and over again.”
I shudder.
He’s a fucking lunatic.
And then his hand on my chest inches lower. He cups my breast through my wet shirt, squeezing roughly before moving down.
I swallow, and he catches the movement.
He’s breathing heavy, too.
When his fingers slide under the waistband of my pants, a new fight emerges. I buck and jerk my head to the side. I need to dislodge him.
“Do you fight me and make this worse for you?” he muses. “Or better?”
A rhetorical question, seeing as how I haven’t been able to get him to release my mouth.
“One day I’ll want your fight,” he decides. “Right now, I want your silence.”
He pushes past the hem of my panties, and I close my eyes. I have to fight my own groan. No one’s touched me there in months. I haven’t wanted anyone near me after the crash—especially not Jack. Evident by the sloppy blow job I gave him without asking for anything in return.
Greyson doesn’t have that problem. And even if I were able to voice my opinion—that he should get the fuck away from me—I have a feeling he wouldn’t listen.
He runs his finger down, and my eyes flutter open again. He pins me against the wall better, his leg keeping mine open. And when his finger moves across my clit, I can’t hold back my groan.
“Fascinating,” he murmurs.
I don’t want to know what he means.
His finger dips inside me, and he exhales harshly. I let out a low moan. It feels good, even when it really shouldn’t. He strokes me until I squirm, then keeps going. I fight it, my eyes narrowing. I clench my abs and ignore the intense feeling at my center.
I will not come because of him.
But it seems he won’t take no for an answer. He shifts, pressing against my clit with his thumb and pushing two fingers inside me. He finger-fucks me and watches my face. His tongue darts out, licking his lips, and he readjusts his grip on my mouth.
It’s a good thing, too, because his palm catches the obscene noise that bubbles out of me.
The orgasm crashes through me out of nowhere, and I’m suddenly grateful for the wall to keep me standing. He absorbs it all. My cunt clenches around his fingers. His hand slides out, and he brings his wet fingers up to his mouth.
He tastes me, and I freeze. I don’t know what to make of this—any of it. My skin is feverish, my core still tingling in the aftermath. And he licks his fingers, cleaning them and seeming to enjoy it. He finally releases my mouth and steps back.
“I take what I want, Violet. Remember that.”
