HE IGNORES me for three days.
Of course he does—this is what he’s done before. Now he fucks me to within an inch of his life and then pretends I don’t exist in class. On campus. At lunch. In the halls. It’s his usual mode of operation and I’m not even offended. At least everyone else still leaves me alone.
I let him have his way. He’s like a pouty little baby who has to have a tantrum—after he got what he wanted. Giving me the silent treatment, treating me like a stranger. He can pretend all he wants, though. We’re so aware of each other, I swear the air between us crackles and sparks with electricity every time we’re in each other’s presence. In American Government he’s always in his seat before I am, his eyes trailing after me as I walk past, my entire body lighting up from just a look.
He unnerves me completely, and I think I do the same to him. The awareness between us grows each day, and I’m more daring when he passes by me in the hall, or in class. I blatantly stare, not caring who notices. Who would say anything? He can’t help but look at me either, his eyes going to my chest. My legs. I roll up the waistband of my skirt just for him, the hem dancing around my thighs as I silently hope I drive him out of his mind.
One day after my French class, the hall floods with people, all of us seemingly moving as one. He approaches, head above everyone else, his gaze locked on mine. We pass by, his fingers finding mine briefly, so quick I could almost believe it didn’t happen. His index finger curls, snagging around mine briefly. One second we’re touching…
The next, he’s gone.
Whit Lancaster has become a dangerous obsession, and I don’t know how to get him out of my head. My blood. He said he was going to fuck me out of his system, but how is that possible? With our every interaction, it only gets worse. He becomes…more.
I can’t help but think I affect him the same exact way.
Mid-week we’re struck by a hot spell. It’s that last bit of summer before we’re slammed with frosty mornings and brisk late afternoon winds. Followed by endless rain and then eventually, nothing but snow. Everyone on campus is outside every chance we can get, grabbing at those last bits of warm temperatures and shining sun. At lunch, during free periods, after school.
Thursday during lunch, I’m in line at the dining hall, paying the cashier before I turn to head outside when I run smack into Chad, nearly sending my wrapped sandwich and bag of chips clutched in my hand flying onto the ground.
Chad grabs my elbow, steadying me. “You all right?”
I glance up at him. Chad is attractive. Not as handsome as Whit, but he’s close. He has warm hazel eyes and rich brown hair. He’s from a prominent family with British royalty connections—his aunt married a duke. His family also makes frequent appearances in gossipy magazines and sites, thanks to his sister, the social media influencer, who hangs out with Kylie Jenner and her crew.
But his hand on my elbow does nothing to me. Not even a spark. His touch is meaningless.
“I’m fine. Thanks.” I offer him a faint smile, but he doesn’t react whatsoever. He just drops his hand, nods at me once, and leaves.
I watch him go, as he heads for his friends, Whit of course, being one of them. His gaze snags on mine, his expression unreadable, and I stare back at the beautiful boy who’s blackmailing me. A boy who calls me shitty names, all while he touches me as if I’m the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen and drives me wild with his mouth. His fingers.
God, I despise him. He’s so confusing.
The rest of the day I catch Whit watching me with almost disgust in his gaze. Or anger. I can’t tell. He’s so incredibly frustrating, and now I’m the one who ignores him, determined to enjoy the day and its beautiful weather while I can. It’s late in the afternoon and I’m sitting on the grass close to the library with Sylvie, the backs of our thighs itching from the grass.
“I should’ve brought a blanket,” I grumble as I scratch myself.
Sylvie laughs. “I like the itch. Makes me feel alive.”
I send her a look, but she seems dead serious. She’s so—odd sometimes. I wonder if she lies about the dying stuff, but she’s always so sincere when she mentions it. “How are you feeling?”
“Oh, I’m fine.” She waves a hand, dismissing my question. “Mother found me a new doctor.”
Frowning, I pluck at the grass. “For what?”
“No one can ever figure out what’s wrong with me. When they don’t deliver the answers she wants to hear, she moves on and finds a new one.” Sylvie shrugs. “It’s just her way. She wants to make sure I have the best medical attention out there, and we can certainly afford it.”
I can only imagine the money that’s been spent on Sylvie’s health. “Do you have a disease?”
“Oh, I have all sorts of them, with names I can’t pronounce and they’re almost all incurable.” She presses her hands together almost in prayer, her fingers dancing against each other. “I have a copy of my medical file if you’d like to look it over sometime.”
“I don’t think so,” I say, making her laugh more. “Is that why you were gone over the weekend? Were you with your mother?”
“How did you know I was gone? I told no one. Mother showed up Friday morning and said we had to go. She whisked me away in the Rolls. Mommy always travels in style.” Her eyes narrow as she contemplates me. “Wait a minute. Did you speak to Whit? Is he the one who told you I left?”
“No.” I am in complete denial with Sylvie when it comes to her brother. “We don’t talk.”
We really don’t. Not much anyway. We just argue. Say mean things to each other. Get naked. And give each other orgasms. Now that we’ve progressed to full-on fucking, it’s all I can think about.
I can’t wait to do it again.
“Sure you don’t,” Sylvie says, her voice ringing with doubt. “He looks at you as if he wants to eat you up.”
My cheeks warm, and I know they must be red. “He does not.”
“He does too. He stares at you every time you walk past him. He even turns his head and watches you leave, and he never does that. You don’t have to confirm or deny, because I already know. You two are together.” She laughs when she sees the mortified expression on my face. “Mother will have an absolute fit and I’m sure he’s doing it to spite her, so enjoy him while you can.”
Her words cut deep, though she didn’t mean for them to. He’s only using me to upset his mother? And I should enjoy him while I can?
God, he’s such an asshole.
Sylvie holds her hand above her eyes and looks around, her face lighting up when she spots someone. “Hey! Over here!” She holds her arm up and waves.
I glance over in the direction she’s facing to see Spencer and Whit making their way toward us. My heart falls into my stomach as I watch him saunter over, his expression bored as usual. As if he’d rather be anywhere else but here. Near me.
“Brother dearest. Spencer.” Sylvie inclines her head toward them and they do the same. “What are you two gentlemen doing this fine, warm afternoon?”
“Looking for girls to fuck,” Whit says, his gaze on me and no one else.
Sylvie makes an irritated noise while Spence laughs uncomfortably. “I told you I don’t want to hear about your latest conquests, brother dearest.” She glances over at me, her lips curling. “You’re just trying to shock my friend with your crude language.”
“Not too sure about that. I don’t think much shocks Savage,” Whit says with a shitty grin.
I glare at him, wishing I could hit him.
I also wish he would touch me.
More uncomfortable laughter comes from Spencer, causing Sylvie to set her sights on him. “Are you looking for a girl to fuck, Spence?”
“Uhh.” His cheeks redden. He’s clearly flustered, which I find endearing. He’s also not as smooth as Whit. Nothing bothers him. Of course, this is the boy made of stone so I’m not surprised.
Sylvie’s tinkling laughter fills the air as she bounds to her feet and makes her way to Spence, stopping directly in front of him. He’s tall, and he towers over sweet little Sylvie. “Let’s go get ice cream.”
“We’re not supposed to leave campus,” he says.
She pats his chest, making a tsking noise. “I’m a Lancaster, Spence. I can leave whenever I want. Let’s go. Will you drive?”
Spence puffs up his chest, his brown eyes only for her. “Sure, Syl.”
Whit shoves at his friend’s shoulder before thrusting his finger in Spence’s face. “You touch a hair on her head, I’ll break every bone in your body.”
Spence rolls his eyes. “Lighten up, fuckface. I’m not interested in your sister like that.”
“You’re such a dick, Whit. Leave him alone,” Sylvie fumes, her gaze cutting to me. “Sorry to abandon you, but ice cream calls. Bye!”
I watch Spence and Sylvie leave, hyperaware of Whit’s eyes on me. Only when they’re out of view do I dare look over at him. “I’m surprised you want to be seen in public with me.”
He shoves his hands in his pockets, his expression impassive. “Sylvie called us over. What was I supposed to do?”
“Ignore her?” I arch a brow.
His gaze drops to my legs, lingering. “I’ve been trying to ignore you all week.”
His honesty is surprising. “Trust me. I know.”
“You’re rolling up your skirt.” His glittering eyes meet mine. “Trying to catch my attention?”
“Is it working?”
“Spread your legs a little and I’ll let you know,” he drawls, his gaze, once again, returning to my skirt.
I clamp my thighs together, drawing my knees up. “You’re disgusting.”
He laughs. Actually laughs. And it’s a joyous sound that reaches deep into my belly and tugs at something unfamiliar. “You fucking like it, considering you’re just as disgusting as me.”
His words hit home because they’re true. “Why have you ignored me?”
“I tried to convince myself I was done with you.” He shrugs. “Guess I’m not.”
Anticipation fills me, and I sit up straighter.
“Take a walk with me, Savage,” he says, his voice casual, the light in his eyes anything but.
Unease slips through me, along with a healthy dose of arousal. “I don’t think so.”
“I’ll show you something you’ve never seen before,” he practically croons, trying to lure me away.
I laugh. “I’ve already seen your dick, Whit. You don’t need to tempt me.”
He scowls, his lips twitching at the corners.
Almost as if he wants to…smile? Laugh again?
Well, he’s in a mood.
“Come on.” He offers his hand to me. “Let’s go.”
His voice is firm. A demand, not a request. I settle my hand in his and he pulls me to my feet, tugging me toward him. “You want people to see you take me somewhere on campus?”
“I don’t care what people think of me. Or you.” He lets go of my hand and starts walking.
I hurry to keep up. “Is that why you’ve ignored me the last few days?”
“I’ve been—busy.” He avoids looking at me.
“Busy ignoring me.”
“Maybe you’re not worth my attention.”
“So why are you with me now?”
His grin is evil as he aims it in my direction. “You’re the one who’s taking a risk. You shouldn’t go somewhere alone with me. Who knows what I might do?”
“You don’t scare me,” I say, my voice light and airy, as if I don’t have a care in the world.
It’s a lie though. He does scare me. He makes me uncomfortable. Nervous. He makes me want things I have no business wanting.
He makes me feel alive.
“I should,” he says nonchalantly, making a left once we’re at the back of the library. “Come on.”
I follow him as we take a path I’ve never been down before, toward a large grove of thick trees. He says nothing, his walk determined, as is the look on his face. I hurry beside him, not wanting to trail behind, curious to where he might be taking me.
“There are old buildings back here,” he says. “That used to be part of the campus.”
“Really?” My curiosity piqued, I wonder if I can ask more questions. Or if he will just shut me down. “Where are they?”
“We’re almost there.”
Birds are chirping as they fly over our heads, landing in the trees that surround us. The sunlight is warm, the sky a vivid blue, and I glance around as the trees become thicker, the buildings farther away, until I can hear the ocean waves in the distance.
A damaged building suddenly looms up ahead, its roof completely gone, as are most of the walls. I come to a stop, staring at it. A little spooked.
“Come on,” he says, tilting his head toward the building.
He leads me closer to the decaying structure, and I follow him as he walks around the crumbling walls. The brick is faded almost to white, parts of it covered in fuzzy green moss. I look around at all the destruction as I follow Whit up a set of rickety wooden stairs that I can feel giving way beneath my feet until we’re actually inside the building, though it’s completely open. No roof, no real walls, nothing remaining inside.
It’s a shell. A ghost from another time.
“What happened here?” I lean against an old window sill, the glass long gone. Glancing back, I prop myself up, sitting on the edge, watching him.
The air between us shifts, becoming electric. Whit approaches me, slow and methodical, much like a tiger stalking his prey. Carefully he undoes the already loosened knot of his tie, whipping it off his neck completely. He stretches the silk taut between his hands, stopping in front of me. “A fire. Happened over one hundred years ago. It was the original Lancaster Prep, the first building established here. At the time, my family and the staff didn’t have the heart to destroy it completely, so they left it standing and rebuilt elsewhere, buying up surrounding acreage to add to the school.”
I glance around, seeing the prominent chapel spear in the far distance. “It’s far from the rest of campus.”
“The entire staff used to live on campus. Where we stand housed part of their living quarters at one point. The building was close enough to campus, far enough to pretend they had some privacy,” he explains.
A bird chirps in the distance, and another bird answers him. Or her. Secret lovers, like us? Searching for each other in the forest?
My mind loves to spin a fantastic tale when it comes to my situation with this boy. Whit and I aren’t lovers. There are no emotions between us. We’re merely addicts, desperately seeking each other to help stave off the darkness that festers inside of us.
“I never knew it existed.” I trail my fingers along the wooden edge, careful not to give myself a splinter.
“Of course you didn’t, new girl.” His smile is treacherous and makes my heart pang in anticipation.
“Have you brought other girls out here?” I try to keep my voice casual, as if my question means nothing, but he knows. I’ve given myself away, wanting to learn more, anything about him.
“No. Why would I bring any girl out here?” He sends me a measured look.
“Why did you bring me out here then?” Because he wants to fuck me. When does he not? Outside, in secret. I imagine him lying me down in the nearby field, my legs spread, his head between them, his mouth hungrily licking my flesh. I love it when he goes down on me. Almost as much as I love it when he fucks me.
“Privacy. You made such a big deal about us being seen together earlier, and I realized you’re right. I need to keep us a secret.” He’s basically throwing my earlier concern back at me, and I suppose I deserve this.
“You’re ashamed of me.” I lift my chin, glaring at him.
“Aren’t you ashamed of me? Of what we have? We hate each other, yet here we are.” He gestures toward me.
“We make no sense,” I say in agreement.
“Yet you’re all I can think about.” He sounds disgusted with himself. With me. He yanks on either end of the tie, drawing my attention to it. “Sometimes I’d rather you didn’t exist at all. Then I wouldn’t have to obsess over you.”
His words light me up inside. They prove he’s drawn to me despite everything. “What exactly are you saying?” My words are a taunt. As if I want him to say something horrible and cruel.
Secretly, I do. I want to hear what sort of devious, awful thing he could come up with and see how it makes me feel.
“I could choke you right now with this and no one would ever miss you.” He curls the tie around his fingers, running the silk between them.
“You’re right.” My voice is cool, though deep down, I tremble. Can’t help but wonder yet again what makes someone so young so fucking diabolical.
He was dark even back then. When I first met him. When he called me a whore and kissed me to shut me up. He was brutal, but still unsure.
Now it’s as if he knows exactly what he wants, and exactly how to do it. It’s terrifying.
And exhilarating.
Whit steps closer, his body heat, everything about him invading me, and I draw myself up, my muscles braced as he presses the warm fabric against the delicate skin of my throat. “You’re not scared of me?”
It takes everything within me not to quiver. “No.”
“Are you stupid?” He raises a brow. “Or do you trust me that much? Same thing, really. Trusting someone gets you nowhere. You know this.”
We say nothing to each other. I stare into his icy gaze, a breath leaving me when he draws the silken tie completely around my throat. His fingers brush the back of my neck, sift through my hair and I close my eyes at the gentle touch, reminding myself it means nothing.
He hates me. This is torture. He gets off on seeing my pain. He’s almost eighteen and completely fucked in the head.
But then again, so am I.
“No one will hear you scream out here.” He tugs on either end of the tie, the fabric tightening. Just enough to let me know it’s there. Not tight enough to hurt.
Yet.
“You won’t hurt me,” I say with far more confidence than I actually feel.
“What makes you so sure?” He dips his head, his mouth hovering just above mine. “I’ll smother your screams with my lips. Swallow them whole.”
He sometimes becomes poetic when he speaks of hurting me. “I won’t scream.”
“I’ve made you scream before.” He drops one end of the tie, his fingers sliding beneath the hem of my skirt.
Gooseflesh rises where he touches me and the dull ache that’s always there between my thighs when I’m with Whit roars to life. “That’s a different kind of scream.”
“Pleasure. Pain. It’s interchangeable. You of all people should know this by now.” He rests his hand against the front of my panties. “You’re wet.”
I reach for him, my hand settling over his erection. “You’re hard.”
“I got hard when I thought about choking the life out of you.” His lips curl in the barest smile.
I don’t believe him. Maybe this makes me foolish, but seriously. It’s more the fantasy that turns him on versus actually wanting to hurt me. “You won’t kill me.”
He raises a brow. “What makes you so confident?”
“You don’t want to destroy the family name. Whittaker Augustus Lancaster, murderer? Your parents would disapprove.”
Anger flares in his beautiful eyes and his mouth touches mine in a brutal kiss. It’s all tongue and teeth, his fingers slipping beneath my panties to stroke my bare flesh, toy with my clit at the same time he bites my lower lip so hard, I cry out.
And come all over his fingers in a gush.
He laughs, shifting away from me, removing his fingers from my panties. My cheeks burn with shame at how easy that was, my entire body a shaky mess and when he shoves his fingers between my lips, I suck them, tasting myself, hating how badly my clit throbs in anticipation of what other punishments he’ll deliver upon me.
“You hate me so much, yet I barely touch you and in seconds, you’re squirting all over my fingers.” He drops a kiss on my nose, smiling. Though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Little whore. I bet you like it when I tell you how much I want to hurt you.”
My throat is clogged with too many protests, and I swallow them down. There’s no point in saying them. He’ll just laugh. Call me a liar.
Deep down, I know he’s right.
“Want me to fuck you now?” He tilts his head to the side, contemplating me. “Maybe you want to get on your knees and choke on my cock.”
I furiously shake my head, like the ideas he’s just put into my head terrify me.
They don’t. I want him to fuck me right here, in the dappled sunlight and the hushed quiet of the forest. I can smell the ocean nearby, hear it lick at the shore. In and out. Rhythmic.
Like sex.
I’m not surprised when he reaches both of his hands beneath my skirt and grabs at the thin waistband of my panties, tugging them down my thighs and off my legs. I watch as the delicate fabric falls to the ground, my mind buzzing. I’m breathless. My heart beats so hard, I swear it’ll burst from my chest. I keep my head angled away as Whit undoes his belt, the clank of metal making me wince.
All the while, he talks. Of how much he hates me. How badly he wants to fuck me. Hurt me. Split me in two with his cock.
He’s damaged. Scary. More intense than usual. I don’t understand his thoughts, his desires. They’re wrong. Demented. Sick.
But they satisfy something inside of me I’ve never experienced before. Something I struggled with for years. Something I fought against. I always called it ‘the darkness,’ and when he reads my journal, he must recognize it.
We’re the same, Whit and me.
His trousers drop, forming a puddle around his feet. When I dare look at him, I see his cock, thick and long, the head glistening, a drop of pre-cum pearling at the tip. His pale blue boxers are shoved just below it, and he’s coming for me.
My legs fall open in welcome. He sneers, his hands rough on my hips as he angles my body to take his. He thrusts, a sharp push of his hips against mine, filling me completely and I scream so loud, a flock of birds flutters away, their flapping wings frantic as they make their escape.
“You’re soaked,” he says through clenched teeth as he thrusts and thrusts, my body, my desire making it easy. It’s not a challenge when he fucks me. I’m never dry, and I’ve experienced that before. The dryness. The resistance.
I don’t imagine that will ever happen with Whit.
“Why do I always want to fuck you? Why?” He increases his pace.
Slowly I come to life. When he’s inside me, it’s like fuel. Nourishment. I lift my head, my gaze meeting his and I wonder what he sees. His expression softens. His movements slow. I reach for him, trailing my fingers along the side of his face and his eyes fall at half-mast. His lips part. His cock throbs inside of me and I shift, my ass dragging against the rough brick beneath me, scraping my flesh.
“Tell me you hate me,” he says just before he kisses me. His hot lips on mine feel like a gift, and I don’t reply. I just take what he gives me, wrapping my arms around his neck, sinking my fingers into his silky hair.
He’s hard everywhere but his hair. And his mouth—it can say such cruel things and do so much damage, but when he kisses me like this, they remind me of a cloud. Fleeting.
Ethereal.
I think of those other soft spots he tries to keep hidden. The skin on the inside of his arms that tickles when I touch him there. The dark, secret spot behind his balls that makes him groan when I touch it. His inner thighs.
His heart.
The realization slams into me. I don’t care how dark he claims to be, or how cruelly he treats me. There’s a wall there, but it’s crumbling. Much like the remnants of this building that surround us. I’m patient. I’ll tear down those walls and I’ll find the soft underbelly of his beating heart.
“Fuck.” He breathes the word against my mouth like a curse. A prayer. “You feel so good.”
I smile and open my eyes to find him watching me. His thrusts are rhythmic, pushing me against the brick, and I know my backside will be scratched and bruised by the time he’s finished with me.
“Tell me you hate this,” he says, his voice desperate.
“I hate it.” I don’t sound like I hate it at all. My voice caresses each syllable, as if I gain pleasure in saying it.
“Say you hate me.”
“No.”
“Say it, Summer. You fucking despise me.”
Once upon a time and very recently, I did. And sometimes, I still despise the things he does to me. But I don’t hate him. It’s like I look forward to this. The taking. The cruelty. The soft touch behind it.
“I’m not using a condom,” he hisses. “I could get you pregnant.”
“I’m on the pill,” I remind him. I know he enjoys fucking me bare, and I like it too. It’s something I’ve never done before. Yates was always careful about using condoms.
“I could give you a STD,” he continues.
I go still at those words, my gaze widening, panic making my heart trip over itself. When I meet his gaze once again, I see the deep satisfaction pooling in his ice blue eyes.
“Didn’t think I’d be fucking anyone else, did you? Would I really save this all for you?” He withdraws from my body, his fingers curling around the base of his cock as he drags it against my pussy. “Selfish little slut. This doesn’t belong to you.”
I say nothing, hating how my mind immediately gets carried away with thoughts of Whit doing this to someone else. Claiming someone else. Fucking her. Making her his.
I’m a fool. An idiot.
Reaching out, I try to hit him, but he grabs hold of my wrist, stopping me. He keeps me in place, pushing his way back inside me, his thrusts rougher. I press my lips together to keep from crying out. Not from the brutality of his cock, which I crave, but because of the little rocks and bits of brick cutting into my sensitive flesh.
“You can’t hurt me no matter what you do. Haven’t you learned that by now?” He laughs. Then sighs. I don’t know how he has so much control. I’m sure any other boy his age would be coming like a geyser by now.
Not Whit.
He’s unlike any boy I’ve ever known.
His movements increase and he buries his face against my throat, his soft hair tickling my cheek. He fucks and fucks, ruts like an animal, his hot breath coating my skin. I squeeze my thighs around his waist, letting him take me, my orgasm rushing forward, rising higher, like the birds I scared earlier, scattering in the sky in fear. It frightens me, this feeling, but I chase after it anyway. Needing it. Wanting it. I moan with his every stroke, not holding myself back, savoring the letting go, the orgasm building, growing, overwhelming me.
It’s going to be big. The biggest one I’ve ever had.
I’m teetering on the edge, my breath gone, my head spinning, when he pulls out of me, his fingers squeezing around the base of his cock, semen spilling out, all over my stomach, my pubic hair. He makes a mess of me, groaning, pleasure written all over his beautiful face and I stare, transfixed.
Aching. Empty.
He finishes with one last shudder, his eyes slowly opening to reveal the familiar, lazy gleam they get after he comes. He licks his lips while I watch him, and my fingers itch to claw over his face. Mar all that beauty.
I was so close, and he stole it from me.
“You’re a mess,” he says with disgust, his gaze dropping to my pussy. “You got cum all over you.”
He dips his fingers in his own semen and brings them to my mouth. I lick them delicately, savoring the slightly sour taste, in agony that I didn’t find my release. This is the first time he hasn’t let me come, and I’m sure he’s reveling in his newfound power.
“You need to learn your place.” He sounds bored. Looks like he could practically fall asleep as he watches me suck the cum off of his long, elegant fingers. “You hate me. You hate what I do to you. And while you belong to me, I definitely don’t belong to you.”
I don’t acknowledge what he says and he reaches for me, his wet fingers curling around my chin so tightly, I almost cry out. “Say it,” he whispers. “You belong to me.”
There’s no hesitation. “I belong to you.”
“If I catch you talking to Chad again, I’ll make you watch while I fuck his little sister.” He gives my face a shake. “Do you understand?”
I blink at him, confused by his mention of Chad. I didn’t even know he had a little sister on campus. What is Whit talking about?
He sees the confusion and it somehow infuriates him even more. “Tell me you understand!”
“I u-understand.” The stutter is a weakness, and I close my eyes in shame.
“He touched you,” Whit says, his voice low. Broken. His fingers loosen their hold and he strokes me. Touches the corner of my lip, whisper soft. “I saw it. He touched you and no one touches what’s mine.”
It all rushes back to me. The moment in the dining hall earlier. When I almost dropped my lunch. It meant nothing. I’m not interested in Chad. Whit knows this.
But then I also remember how he watched us in the dining hall, anger shining in his eyes the entire time. I didn’t recognize it in that moment.
He didn’t like seeing Chad touch me, because he believes I belong only to him.
“It was nothing,” I whisper, noting the pleased gleam that fills his gaze. “I belong to you. Only you can touch me.”
“Don’t ever forget it.” He kisses me, meaning it as a punishment, but I drink from his lips, taste his tongue, grateful for it.
The kiss, his possessive words, are like a balm. They piece me together when all he’s trying to do is tear me apart.
I watch as he puts himself back in order, my core still throbbing, in desperate need of release. That first little orgasm was nothing. Now my entire body hurts from the anticipation—and of my release being ripped away. All while he’s completely collected, as if nothing fazes him. Not me. Not anything.
The truth is there though, in his words. Chad touched me. And while it meant nothing, that innocent touch infuriated Whit.
He’s jealous.
A smile curls my lips and I avert my head, exhaling when he yanks the tie from my neck and winds it around his own.
His jealousy is my power too, I think as I hop off the window’s edge, reaching beneath my skirt to rub my sore and scratched butt. I won’t forget this moment.
Ever.
