Chapter 25
25
Aviva
I t took a while for sleep to come. I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, scenes from that night replaying in my mind. The worst was seeing Jack with his arm around someone else. And his words after.
I’m not jealous. I just like making your life hell.
Although I knew he was trying to piss me off, part of me couldn’t help wondering if he’d actually moved on from torturing me to someone else—someone he wouldn’t torture, but may actually treat well.
And that felt like shit. So shitty, I had to flip over and bury my head in my pillow to keep myself from crying.
Jack Feldman wouldn’t fucking make me cry, ever again.
Finally, I slept. Or must have, because I dreamed. I dreamed of a sharp pain, and then incredible pleasure—a mouth between my legs, and then a cock between my thighs, shoving inside me, fast and violent and ohsogoodiwassocloseiwasgoingto ? —
I blinked open my eyes. At first, it was a fog, some mist between dream and reality, because my left shoulder itched, and there was a cock inside me, and that wasn’t possible, because I’d gone to sleep alone.
Was I dreaming again?
Except there was Jack, staring down at me in the dark, his face hard with need and determination, his gray eyes black with lust, rage, or possibly both.
He slammed inside me again and I jerked away, crying out.
“Jack, what the fuck?! You can’t be here.”
“Do.”
Slam.
“Not.”
Slam.
“Tell.”
Slam.
“Me.”
Slam.
“What I can and cannot do when it comes to you.”
He shoved deep inside me, then twisted and ground his hips. His cock hit places it never had before, setting off a domino effect of little explosions that I couldn’t stop.
I tried to pull away. He just grabbed my hips, holding me in place.
“Get the hell out of here. Get the hell out of me !”
“No.”
“Funny that you understand what the word no means when you say it,” I gasped.
“I know what it means, I just don’t care when you say it. Because you don’t mean it, little liar.”
Oh, this fucking asshole.
Rage filled me, battling it out with desire. Neither won .
“You’re the fucking liar, Jack,” I told him between moans. “Because you keep lying to yourself.”
He froze for a moment, faltering in his thrusts.
“Bullshit.”
He leaned over me and shoved three of his fingers in my mouth.
Punishment. Or to shut me up.
“I do not lie. I meant it when I told you we belonged to each other. You think you can get rid of me that easily, princess?”
I tried to yell at him, but it came out garbled. I tried to spit his fingers out, but it was impossible. And as he kept twisting and grinding his hips, his cock shifting inside me, I forgot what I wanted to say.
“Come for me, Aviva,” he said harshly.
I had no choice. Not with the way the base of his cock was pressing against my clit, the curve of it was rubbing against my g spot, the absolute humiliating helplessness of his fingers shoved deep in my mouth, which shouldn’t have been hot, but was.
With a gurgled, garbled scream, I came.
With an animalistic roar, Jack followed me over, shoving his cock so deep in me I swore I felt it in my throat. I felt his release, because once again, the fucker hadn’t used a condom, and once again, I was too caught up in my own pleasure to care.
He’d broken me, and I didn’t recognize the pieces that were left.
Finally, he sighed, pulling out and rolling over to his side. He tried to turn me and pull my back against his clothed chest, but the fight that had been missing in me when I’d first woken up finally appeared. Kicking, slapping, scratching, I fought him, trying to scramble off the bed. To do what, I didn’t know. Tovah must not be home, because otherwise she would’ve barged in here already. Call campus security? Jack was as much a god to them as he was to the rest of Reina. Call the police? They were in Jack’s pocket.
Call Asher?
My brother would get here as soon as he could, and he could probably take Jack in a fight, but I couldn’t do that to him.
No, I was out of options.
“I’ll go to U-Wire. To ESPN. I don’t fucking know. I’ll tell them everything I know, if you continue this,” I threatened as I fought him.
I didn’t get very far. Jack must have just been playing with me like a cat plays with a mouse, because suddenly I was yanked into his arms, the heat of his chest scalding my partially-bare back, even through his t-shirt.
“Aviva, you don’t mean that.” He sounded earnest. “You don’t need a blackmail payout. I’ll take care of your money problems. Whatever you need—whatever even your brother needs—I’ll take care of it. Because I’ll take care of you. You can let this all go.”
His words were a blade, the insult cutting into my skin.
But it was nowhere near the pain of him abruptly releasing me and climbing off the bed.
“You motherfucking asshole,” I spat at him.
He froze, the softness leaving his face. His jaw ticked, but he didn’t say anything, just pulled on his boxers and sweatpants before stuffing his feet in his shoes and going to the door.
Just as it opened, I asked the question that had been plaguing me. “Who broke you? Who hurt you so badly you felt the need to pay the favor forward? ”
He didn’t even turn around. “You don’t get to ask questions.”
I never got to ask questions. I never got the upper hand.
I swallowed.
Maybe it would take something extreme, to get to the bottom of who Jack was. And while I shouldn’t care, knowledge was power . What I learned about him could help me, right?
Are you sure you don’t want to know about him, period?
It didn’t matter. Either way, I needed to know.
Before I could reconsider, I ripped my shirt over my head, tossing it to the floor and rising to my knees to face him. Even though it was dark in the room, I saw his nostrils flare. Whether it was because of my tits, or my scar, I didn’t know. I resisted covering myself. I was brave. I was strong. I could do this.
“If you tell me why you’re so fucked in the head?—”
He snorted. “That’s nice.”
“You’re not nice,” I volleyed back. “But if you tell me why , I’ll tell—I’ll tell you how I got this scar.”
His hand froze on the doorknob.
Got you.
For whatever reason, Jack needed to know everything about me. I was some mystery to him—how or why, I didn’t know—and for him, the scar was a puzzle piece.
For me, it was a last ditch attempt to get him to believe me, to understand why Asher was so important to me.
He turned around, leaning against the door and crossing his arms.
“Talk,” he said.
“You first.”
He shook his head. “Not how this works.”
I sighed. I hated it, but he was right. I couldn’t fight fire with fire, not this time. I had to put his out by pouring water over it, and the only way to do that was to expose my secret.
Exposure therapy was a good thing, right?
“I hate my scar,” I told him. “Because it’s a reminder of the night I failed.”
“What do you mean?”
I closed my eyes, picturing it. The blood, the guilt, the pain. I could do this. I could force myself relive the worst night of my life.
“Asher and I were ten years old,” I began.