I WAKE up to fingertips on my cheek.
They walk a line on my face, one after the other. So light, I could almost believe it’s not happening.
But it is. I remember everything before I fell asleep. Seeing Whit. Bringing him to my room. Stripping in front of him—still can’t believe I did that—getting so pissed at him. He knows how to take something good and twist it into something awful. He self-destructs, and takes everyone else down with him.
It’s a horrible trait. But he’s a horrible person, so I shouldn’t be surprised.
He doesn’t seem so horrible right now though. I can feel his gaze on my face, heavy. Hungry. He touches the corner of my mouth. Skims my bottom lip.
Tingles rush through me and I’m tempted to part my lips, draw his finger inside and suck. That would surprise him. He’d probably love it.
That reason alone is enough for me not to do it. I’m still mad at him.
He touches my chin. Pinches it. As if he’s trying to wake me up and he’s frustrated it’s not working. My eyes pop open to find him watching me, his lips curled into a faint smile, his eye nearly a slit, the bruises around it even worse. “Wake up, sleepyhead,” he croons.
“Get out of my bed,” I tell him evenly.
“You’re the one who asked me to get into your bed in the first place,” he reminds me.
“Your invitation expired. Go away.” I’m about to roll over and show my back to him but he grabs hold of my shoulder, stopping me.
“You fell asleep.” He gently tugs, his grip strong, and I have no choice but to roll over onto my back. He scoots closer, hovering above me and I glare at him, hoping he can’t hear my heartbeat, which is currently racing. Or see how my breathing starts to accelerate at his nearness.
He’s in my bed. Naked. I can feel his body heat. I’m fully clothed, but naked beneath the hoodie and sweats. It would take nothing for him to strip me bare and have his way with me.
And I’d let him. Despite what happened earlier, when Elliot nearly attacked me. Despite the anger and the bitterness and the loathing I feel toward this boy in my bed right now, even though he saved me, I’d kill to know what it feels like, to have Whit Lancaster inside of me. Claiming me.
Making me his.
“Why did you take care of me?” he asks, his voice firm. Cold. He sounds more like himself. Earlier, he showed weakness. He was feeling low. Who wouldn’t, after getting into a fight in the middle of a thunderstorm?
I shrug one shoulder but don’t say anything.
He shifts closer, lowering his head near mine. “Answer me.”
“I couldn’t leave you out there alone.” I lift my chin, hoping he doesn’t notice it’s trembling. “Just like you couldn’t leave me.”
“You should’ve left me. I treat you like dog shit,” he states matter-of-factly. “Yet you brought me into your room. Cleaned me up. Dried my clothes.”
I stare at him defiantly, any words I could say are stuck in my throat. I have no answer for him.
“Cat got your tongue?” he asks, lifting a single brow.
I watch him, wary. Silent.
“You’re stunning, do you know that?” His voice softens and he moves his hand toward my hair, making me flinch. He ignores it, stroking my hair away from my forehead, his gaze thoughtful as he stares at me. “You try to hide it, but there’s no use. You’re fucking beautiful, and it frustrates the shit out of me, Savage.”
Now it’s shock that’s rendering me speechless. He thinks I’m fucking beautiful?
“It doesn’t matter what I do, you don’t back down. Any other person would’ve broke by now. It’s like I can’t break you, and that frustrates me too.” His fingers go still. “What’s happening in that mind of yours right now? What are you thinking? The same thing I am?”
I’m thinking I want him to never stop touching me.
“You stared me right in the eyes when you took off your clothes in front of me earlier, like you didn’t give a fuck.” He leans in, his cheek next to mine, and inhales. “All that smooth skin. Pink nipples begging for my mouth. Long legs I can imagine wrapped around my hips. Your body is all I can think about.”
I close my eyes and he grabs my chin, shaking my face. “Open your eyes,” he demands.
I do as he says, quaking. A shuddery breath escapes me.
“Do I scare you?” he whispers.
Deciding to be truthful, I nod.
“Good,” he breathes across my lips, his mouth so close to mine, I can feel it move when he talks. “Because you scare me too.”
The words hang between us, suspended in air, his mouth resting on mine, our gazes locked. His lips move, capturing my top lip between his and giving it a little tug. A sigh escapes me, bone-deep, my eyes falling closed. This is what I’ve been waiting for. What I’ve wanted since I saw him again. This.
This.
This.
He kisses me, his mouth seeking, his hand moving from my chin to cup the side of my face. I lean into his palm, needing to feel him, to feel something, anything. Whatever he can give me, I’ll take.
His lips slowly work their magic, clinging to mine, soft, teasing kisses that surprise me. I open for his tongue, a gasp escaping me when he licks at my lips before sliding it into my mouth to meet mine. Our tongues touch. Dance. He shifts closer, lying halfway across me and I worry about him. Press my hands on his shoulders to push him off of me.
“Your ribs,” I whisper against his mouth, but he swallows my words, the sound of our lips connecting again and again the only thing I can hear. I become lost in the sound, his taste, squirming beneath him, wishing I could get closer. Wanting to be as close to him as physically possible.
“Don’t worry about me,” he says at one point, his hand going for the hem of my hoodie. “Take this off.”
He shifts to the side, helping me remove it. I’m braless, and his gaze goes straight to my breasts when the hoodie is gone. He kisses my neck. My collarbone. My chest. My nipples are so hard they hurt, and I arch my back, desperate to feel his mouth on them. He chuckles against my skin, I’m sure he can sense my neediness and he licks one nipple, making me cry out.
“Too loud, Savage,” he whispers. “Might have to muzzle you if you keep that up.”
“Put your hand over my mouth to keep me quiet,” I tell him and he lifts away from me so we’re face to face.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” He cocks a brow.
I like the idea of Whit’s hand covering my mouth. I don’t know why. He brings out something in me. He makes me want things I would normally never suggest, especially out loud.
He lowers his head to my chest once more, raining kisses all over my skin. His mouth is so hot, his velvety wet tongue painting my skin, making me pant. I clutch the back of his head, sinking my fingers into his soft hair, clutching him to me. When he draws a nipple into his mouth and begins to suck, a keening cry falls from my lips.
He reaches up, his hand covering my mouth as he continues.
I moan against his palm when he sucks my nipple in earnest. I close my eyes, my entire body fixed on that one spot where we’re connected. He licks and sucks. Bites. It hurts. It feels good. At one point, I try to pull away from him, but he just sucks harder, his cheeks hollowing out. Until he releases my nipple with an audible pop before moving to the other one, giving it the same treatment.
All while I writhe beneath him, my skin on fire, my heart beating between my thighs, an incessant throbbing that becomes more and more intense.
His cock is hard, pressing against my thigh and when he’s finally through with my chest, he removes his hand from my face, watching me with swollen lips and that horrible black eye. The cut cheek and the split by his mouth, which I swear has started bleeding again. I reach out and touch the spot, pulling my finger away to see tiny drops of blood.
Despite the damage, he’s still heartbreakingly beautiful. I can’t believe we’re doing this. That he’s in my bed. That he wants to be here, and he’s not calling me names.
That I even have to think that makes me realize what we have isn’t normal. Far from it.
So what are we doing?
“I shouldn’t do this,” he murmurs. “I hate you.”
His words hurt. They steal my breath. Make me want to turn away.
But I don’t.
“Why am I so drawn to you?” I don’t think he’s really asking me this. More like he’s questioning himself. And I don’t have an answer. “Make me stop.”
He kisses me again, his mouth brutally attacking mine. I accept his brutality. Revel in it. I respond to him, winding my arms around his neck. Tangling my legs with his, pressing my chest against his so we’re skin-to-skin. He’s hard. Blazing hot. His tongue rubs against mine rhythmically, making me think of sex, and I want it.
I want him.
“Make me stop,” he repeats against my mouth, his hands going to the waist of my sweats and shoving them down my hips. I lift up, aiding him as he strips me bare, kicking the sweats off and shoving them aside with my feet.
He settles in between my thighs, his cock nestled between us and I spread my legs, giving him better access. He presses his forehead against mine, his hand going to my chin once more, squeezing until I open my eyes to find him watching me. His one eye swollen, the other one glittering, full of anger and so much hunger, it’s overwhelming. I try to look away but he won’t let me, his fingers gripping me firmly. “Tell me to stop.”
I remain mute, arching beneath him, tingling everywhere. I want him all over me. Inside me. I want to feel him come. I want to watch his face when it happens. I want to know what he looks like when he loses control, and I want to know I’m the one who pushes him to his absolute limits.
“Summer.” My eyes fly wide open. He never calls me by my name. It’s always Savage. Or whore.
God, he’s horrible. Terrible.
“Tell me.” He lowers his mouth to mine. “To stop.”
I slowly shake my head, and he kisses me. Softer this time, his mouth moving languidly against mine, our tongues sliding. He grinds against me, his cock heavy, pressed so close to my entrance it would take little effort for him to slip inside. He doesn’t though. It’s as if he’s withholding himself on purpose, and I lift my hips, trying to get him in me. Frustrated whimpers leave me, and I can feel him smile against my lips. Know with complete certainty that he enjoys torturing me.
“You want it, don’t you,” he says after breaking the kiss, moving to my neck. He sucks and licks my sensitive skin, his hips working against mine. I stroke my hands down his smooth back, trace the dimples at the base of his spine before I skim my fingers along one firm ass cheek. “Despite everything I do and say, how I call you a whore. How I have everyone on this campus treat you like shit, how I treat you like shit, you still want my cock inside you.”
I close my eyes, trying to ignore what he’s saying. His words hurt. It’s humiliating, how much I want him when all he ever does is treat me like garbage. I’m all twisted up inside over this boy, and I don’t understand why.
He pulls away from me and I’m immediately cold. Lost. I open my eyes and watch as he crouches before me, his hand gripping the base of his cock, stroking. My gaze lingers on his fingers, watching him masturbate. His cock is huge. Veined. Beautiful. He squeezes just below the head, a little pearl of milky white liquid dribbling from the tip. I’m fascinated by how rough he handles himself and when my gaze lifts to meet his, I find he’s already watching me.
“You’re dying for a taste.” His voice is flat, though his eyes gleam. He rises up, scooting closer, straddling me, his cock right in front of my mouth. “Take it.”
I part my lips and he does just what I described earlier. He feeds me his cock, inch by inch, and I moan around him. His heavy flesh throbs, stretching my lips, settling inside my mouth. I can taste him, the salty pre-cum, my tongue rubbing against his velvety hardness just before I gag when the head bumps against the back of my throat.
He pulls out, strings of saliva sticking to his erection, and he looks so pleased, my pussy clenches. “Fuck, you’re a pro. I knew you would be.”
Whit teases. Thrusts in and out of my mouth and I take it. I suck him deep. I lick him like a popsicle. I grip the base and squeeze and stroke, just like he did only a few minutes earlier. He thrusts his hips, matching my rhythm, his gaze hooded, his lips parted, his gaze never straying from what we’re doing.
I’m not a pro. Far from it. I’ve only given a couple of blow jobs in my life, so I don’t have much experience. But I want to do this for him. Make it good for him. Seeing the pleasure wash over his face, the groans sounding low from his chest sends delicious little shivers racing all over my skin.
He increases his pace, fucking my mouth, and I let him. An unfamiliar feeling rises within me, threatens to overwhelm, and I realize quickly what it is.
Power. I may look submissive, as if I’m being forced to do this, but I’m the one who’s giving him pleasure. I’m the one who’s got his cock in my mouth. I’m going to make him come.
And that makes me feel strong.
His body grows tense, a growl falling from his lips as he practically rips his cock from between my lips, his hand working furiously over the length when a spurt of white shoots from the tip. He comes and comes, shuddering and moaning, semen splashing all over my chest. I lie there and watch him in utter fascination, agony etched all over his beautiful face, his eyes closed, his fingers still gripping the base of his erection.
So beautiful, I think. I did that. I made him come that hard.
His eyes slowly open and he studies the mess he made, his expression indifferent. The Whit I’m used to.
The Whit I don’t particularly like.
He drags his fingers through his own cum and brings them to my lips. I part them readily, cleaning the musky, sour liquid from his fingers, my gaze never straying from his as I lick him.
“Dirty fucking girl,” he whispers, his eyes still at half-mast, his expression pure satisfaction. “You want your turn?”
“Yes,” I answer truthfully when he removes his fingers from my mouth. I’m throbbing between my legs so hard, I’m afraid he could touch me once and I’ll come.
“Maybe I shouldn’t give it to you. Maybe it’s all about me tonight.” He leans down and presses his mouth against mine in a feather soft kiss. “I’m a selfish bastard. I love nothing more but to take and take. It’s the Lancaster way. I could make you give me head again. You’d do it. I know you would.”
Anger rises, and I try to buck him off me with my body. He just laughs, the sound almost evil.
“Or I could fuck you until I come, and make sure you don’t. It would be easy,” he continues.
I don’t know about that. I’m so on edge, I feel like I could shoot off like a rocket at one touch.
“I could eat you out. How about that?” He raises a brow. Like I’d say no. “Lick you everywhere. Finger you. I bet you’re nice and tight, though I know I’m not your first. No way can I be your first. Not with how you act.”
If he’s trying to shame me, it’s working. He’d probably be disgusted if he knew my backstory. Who I’ve been with. I’ve tried to blot it from my mind, especially right now, but he’s not helping matters with what he’s saying.
“Have you ever touched yourself and thought of me?” he asks casually, a smile spreading on his face when he must see something on mine. A flicker in my eyes. A twitch in my jaw. Some sort of tell. “You have. Tell me, is the reality as good as the fantasy?”
“I wouldn’t know, since I’m the only one who’s been delivering so far,” I retort, referring to that epic blow job I just gave him.
My chest is still sticky with his cum, but I refuse to wipe it off.
“Let’s test out the theory then,” he says, shifting so he’s lying on top of me.
He moves so fast, I don’t have time to say or do anything but just lie there and take it. I wonder at his earlier injuries. He could barely move only a few hours ago, and now he’s so quick. Was he faking? Was it some sort of ruse to get into my room?
Maybe.
Probably.
I don’t care. He’s currently kissing my stomach, his hand on my right hip, holding me in place. My breathing accelerates, I’m so anxious to have his mouth on me, and I’m afraid I might come too fast and miss out on all the good stuff.
But I’m also desperate to climax. My entire body is strung tight, my muscles straining. He touches my pubic hair, then shifts lower, settling that elegant, skilled mouth right on my pussy.
A choked sound leaves me and he lifts his head, glaring at me. “Stay quiet,” he demands.
I do my best to obey. But oh God, it’s so difficult. His mouth is the finest torture I’ve ever experienced. And his tongue. He spreads my thighs as wide as possible before he attacks my pussy with thorough efficiency, not missing a spot. He’s everywhere, thrusting his tongue inside me. Searching my folds. Drawing my clit between his lips and sucking.
That’s all it takes. A little orgasm quakes through me, making me cry out and I slap my hand over my mouth, riding the wave, hating that it’s already happened.
That was so fast. Too fast. I won’t come again tonight. I know I won’t.
“Fuck, you’re responsive,” he murmurs against my flesh before he dives back in. He slips a finger inside me, his lips still on my clit. Another finger. Thrusting in and out, stretching me wide. His tongue flickers against my clit, faster and faster, his fingers keeping pace, until he curls them, nudging against something deep inside me that starts a tremble low in my body.
Oh. Keep doing that, is what I want to tell him.
But I don’t.
It’s as if he knows. He doesn’t let up. He’s relentless. Maybe he can tell by the way I’m moving, or the gush of liquid that’s flowing from my body. I’m so wet, I can hear his tongue slicking through me, his fingers pushing inside me. The feeling keeps coming and coming, intensifying. I strive toward it, throwing my head back, my hand on top of Whit’s head, holding him to me. My breath catches in my throat, my head spins, and I can’t breathe. I can’t bre—
Another orgasm slams into me out of nowhere, stealing every bit of oxygen and all of my thoughts. I’m mindless. Weightless. He doesn’t let up, his tongue still flicking against my flesh, his fingers still thrusting. I rub against his face shamelessly, the orgasm rippling through me, tears squeezing out of my eyes. It’s too much. Too overwhelming. Until finally I collapse, my breaths ragged, my head still spinning, my heart racing out of control.
I swear I thought I would pass out.
He kisses the inside of one thigh, then the other, his mouth gentle. As if he knows I’m coming down from the high, and my body is still so sensitive. He slides back up until we’re face to face, and I can feel his heavy erection nudging against me.
“You came twice,” he says with unmistakable pride, kissing me. I can taste myself on his lips. On his tongue. It’s as if he wants me to, his kiss is so possessive. Forceful.
I return it eagerly, enjoying my taste on his lips, moaning into his mouth. He swallows my sounds, the kiss turning wild. Reckless.
That’s how he makes me feel. Wild.
Reckless.
I’ve lost all control with Whit, and I don’t even care. It’s as if he’s turned me into this needy, uncontrollable little thing, and the only way I’ll be satisfied is by him.
He breaks the kiss first, smoothing my hair away from my face, studying me closely, as if he’s trying to figure me out.
Don’t bother. I’m hopeless, I almost say, watching him with glazed eyes, overwhelmed. Exhausted.
“Go to sleep,” he whispers and my eyes slide shut as if he commanded them to, my already relaxed body seeming to melt into the mattress.
Until I don’t remember anything else. Just him. And me.
