Chapter 16
16
Aviva
I t would’ve been better if the pill had been poison. Because right now, I wished I were dead.
I was hot all over. So hot. My skin ached . I wanted to be naked, and what’s more, I wanted—no, needed—to be touched. I craved hands all over me, stroking, pinching, circling, rubbing, playing. I was soaked, my thighs covered in my own wetness. My nipples were so cold they burned, like someone had rubbed them with ice. And that thought was so kinky, I wanted to scream. Wanted to beg someone, anyone, to do that very thing to me.
No. Not someone, not anyone.
Jack.
The walk over to the hockey house was so uncomfortable, I sobbed the whole way. With each step, my thighs rubbed against each other. Even in jeans, the movement sent sharp sparks through me like someone was setting off mini fireworks in my pussy .
Finally, I arrived at the hockey house. I stumbled, my vision blurry from pleasure-pain, falling to my knees.
That’s how they found me, on my hands and knees on their front porch, moaning like a wild thing.
“Jack,” Judah—or Levi, I couldn’t tell—yelled. “Your party guest’s here.”
There were footsteps, and then I smelled Jack’s familiar scent—ice, spice, and whiskey—as he bent down and scooped me up in his arms like a bride.
“C’mon, princess. Your carriage awaits.”
I moaned, curling against him like a cat seeking pets.
“It hit you hard, didn’t it?” His laugh rumbled in his chest against my ear. I wanted to burrow into the sound. “Don’t worry, I’ll make you better.” He paused, and I might have realized how sinister he sounded if my brain wasn’t already blown with need. “Or worse.”
All I could do in response was whimper.
“Fuck, that sound is so sexy,” he growled.
He could talk. His growl made me wetter. I wanted to rub up against it, so I settled for rubbing up against him.
We were moving through the entrance, down the hall, around the living room where we’d danced with each other, past the kitchen where I’d first seen him, until we reached a room I hadn’t seen before. Big and dark, with a huge wood table in the center of the room. And then I was being lowered onto the table, slowly, gently, on my hands and knees. I stretched like a cat, and I think I must have purred? Or something, because laughter echoed through the room, and it wasn’t only Jack’s.
No. Even in my mindless state, I recognized the twins and Isaac. There were others in the room, guys I recognized from the research I’d done on the team before transferring. I should’ve cared, I should’ve been worried. Nothing good could come from me being on the table, surrounded by strange men. This was the stuff of nightmares. I should’ve run, but all I could do was moan at how cool and hard the table was under my hands and knees.
I felt hands on me, big hands—Jack’s hands. My sneakers and socks were removed, then my jeans were unzipped and peeled off, until I was bare below my waist.
Jack stroked me where I needed him, and I shivered.
“Fuck, already so wet,” Jack groaned.
And then there was a thick finger pushing inside my pussy. I moaned. It was exactly what I needed, and yet somehow, not enough.
“Jack,” I whined. “Please.”
He leaned over my body, his mouth on my ear. “Please what, princess?”
“Please, I need you.”
“Need me how?”
“Need your hand, your mouth, your cock. Need you to fuck me. Please, Jack, please, fuck me,” I begged.
Later, I would be horrified by the way I’d acted, but the Vixen had buried the part of me that rejected sex and was ashamed that I got off on Jack’s force and control. Right now, I was free to stop judging myself, or him, and just feel.
I luxuriated in it, in him. His big body behind mine as he leaned over my back and thrust his fingers in and out of me, rubbing exactly where I needed it. I came, for the first time that night, and even though it was a momentary relief from the endless need, it barely sated me. Instead it stoked the fire.
More.
“More?” Jack asked.
I must have said it out loud. But I nodded.
“Uh huh. ”
“Alright. More it is.”
And then his fingers and body disappeared, and there was a wet mouth on me, licking, sucking. I came again, and this time it was both better and worse. Better, because the orgasm was bigger; worse, because when it ended, I needed the next one more.
More.
More.
More.
I must have said that word so many times. Screamed it, begged it. The mouth wasn’t done. It hummed against me, sucking my clit between its lips and worrying it with its teeth. It , because at the moment, it was just a mouth. I didn’t know if it was Jack’s or not, it could’ve belonged to anyone, and even though part of me hated that, the not knowing, the other part of me reveled in it. Reveled in my orgasms, the freedom in my loss of control, the way the table grew slippery with sweat and my desire, the way my mind receded and my body took over.
More. More. More.
You sure? You sure you want more, princess?
Yes. Please, please. Yes.
Alright, but then you’re going to give me what I want.
And then that mouth was back on me, and someone was lifting my arms, and my top with its high neck was being lifted off of me, too. And I knew, on some level, that was wrong. They couldn’t see, no one could see…
No, I begged.
The mouth broke away. Yes, it growled.
And then the mouth was gone, and there was movement behind me as someone who smelled like ice, spice, and whiskey climbed up on the table behind me, and there was a cock, thick and curved and familiar, pushing inside of me. Something was missing and I wasn’t sure what it was, because it wasn’t only my shirt.
Damn, that’s hot, someone said, and then there were hands on my breasts, pulling and tweaking. I cried out at the cold-heat, the pleasure-pain, the fear-freedom of it all.
Don’t touch her , someone barked.
But you said…
I don’t give a flying fuck what I said. You don’t touch her. None of you touch her, or I’ll fucking kill you.
The voice was growling, but his hips were still moving, pushing inside of me at some perfect rhythm I couldn’t follow but loved just the same.
Yes, yes, yes, more, more, more.
I’ll give you everything you need, little thief. And then his hands were on my breasts, instead, pulling and tweaking and circling. And this was wrong, there was something wrong with this, that he was touching my bare breasts, that they were bare, that he could feel me, that he could feel?—
A thrust so deep I lost my track of thought and screamed, coming again.
Deep male laughter.
But no more words. I expected to hear them still, and was almost disappointed. They were like a quiet Greek chorus, or maybe they were judges scoring me for my performance. I wasn’t sure, and I didn’t care.
Not as the man behind me with the perfect spice, ice, and whiskey smell and the big hands hammered away at my pussy, hitting the right spot every time and making fireworks, big ones now, explode inside me, and behind my eyelids. I shattered again, again, and again, only for him to remake me into someone else, someone new and unrecognizable. And then that version of me was broken, too, by the next orgasm, and the next .
Until finally, with a loud roar, he came. I felt him, felt the wetness of his release fill me up, and the heat of it, the rawness of it, made me explode again, one last time.
I would’ve collapsed against the table, except his big hands caught me around the waist and pulled me backwards with him still inside me, me on his lap, him still hard, even though he’d just come. He bounced me on top of him, his cock sliding in and out, and this was familiar, too. I curled against him and let him use me this way, content to be nothing more than…
My little fuckdoll.
Yes.
My little sextoy.
Yes.
Mine. All mine. You hear me, Aviva? You’re fucking mine .
Yes!
I came again, one last time, and he came with me, and I couldn’t tell who was who and where he left off and I began, and once again, I reveled in the tangle of the two of us together, the confusion of all of it.
He softened inside me, and my pounding heart slowed. His arm was around my waist, and his other hand was holding my breast.
My bare breast.
My bare…
It came back to me.
Why I couldn’t be bare on top.
My scar.
He could feel my scar.
They could see my scar.
It was like I’d been drowning, and the realization pulled me above the surface. Blinking, I looked around me.
Jack had me cradled in his arms, resting his chin on my hair. Surrounding us were men, so many men. Three I recognized: the rest of the Core Four. The others, from his hockey team. Oh god. Was Coach Jensen here?
And they could see all of me. They could see?—
I screamed, the animal I still was wild with anger and grief and shame. The one thing I’d hidden, I’d kept to myself, and now they all knew. Now they all knew, and it was Jack’s fault, all Jack’s fault, and he’d done it because he hated me, and he wanted to punish me, and I hated him, hated him, hated him.
“What the fuck?” Jack growled, sounding confused, as his arms wrapped around me. I fought him, scratching and hitting, completely feral with my rage.
“That’s some scar,” someone said.
I cowered in on myself as I sobbed, but I had nowhere to go.
Behind me, Jack stilled. Squeezed.
“What scar?” he asked through gritted teeth.