Chapter 48
48
Aviva
“ A viva. Wait.”
I paused on the quad, outside of the building where Deviant Psych took place. It was a month after the fire, and I was on my way to class to give my final presentation—the one I was doing on my own after Jack had swapped partners to piss me off.
Jack was supposed to meet me. He had practice. After Joshua Jensen had died, and the truth about him had come out, campus had been in an uproar. The athletics department put out an urgent call for a new head coach, finally finding someone that they offered a disgusting amount of money to to break their contract and come to Reina. The new coach, Bill Matthewson, was “tough as hell” according to Jack and the rest of the Core Four. Worked them until they were exhausted, sore messes, accepted absolutely no bullshit—and was as respectful as they came. Jack had done his “lie detector” test over Coach Matthewson multiple times, and even had his brothers look into him, but he seemed clear.
Fortunately, Jack’s hand had healed well, and he was back to playing just fine. And when he wasn’t using his hand to play hockey, he was using it to torture me into orgasm after orgasm, or to bring me presents I didn’t need—books, flowers of all kinds (because I told him I didn’t have a favorite), even a puppy we named Psych—all ways of saying sorry for the past.
A past that was, thankfully, beginning to dim, making way for the bright future ahead of me.
But first I had to deal with whoever was calling my name.
I turned to see Dave Lawson standing there, hands in his pockets.
“Hey,” I said, startled.
“I owe you an apology.”
I looked him over, confused at how contrite he seemed. “For?”
He looked around to make sure no one else was listening. “I knew what Coach Jensen did to your brother. Knew it was true. Almost walked in on them, once. I’m sorry.”
Anger, bright and fast, filled me. “You fucking?—”
He lifted a hand. “I know. Believe me, I know. You and Asher deserve to rip my head off. I wanted his position on the team so badly, so I convinced myself it was consensual, and didn’t say anything.”
I processed his words.
“If you want to kill me, I get it. Or sic Jack on me. That works, too.”
I considered retribution for a moment. We’d needed his help, and instead of telling the truth, he’d used my brother’s pain for his own benefit .
“Who else knows?” I asked.
“Just me.”
I exhaled slowly. I could sic Jack on him. Could do worse.
But these days, revenge and justice didn’t carry the same weight they used to. My brother had his position on the team and his scholarship back—if and when he was ready. Joshua Jensen lay six feet under, worm food, something I didn’t lose any sleep over. Destroying Dave—what would it do, except reopen old wounds that were finally healing?
“I called your brother already. Apologized to him. He swore at me and hung up.”
I smiled faintly. “Good.”
“Aviva,” Dave said. “I truly, truly am sorry. I’m sorry for everything you went through, and if I can ever make it up to you?—”
“You can,” I said. “The next time you see someone take advantage of their power, you’ll act on it. You hear me?”
He nodded. “No matter what.”
“What are you two talking about?” Jack asked as he approached us, eyeing Dave with distrust.
“I’ll tell you later, baby,” I said, standing on tiptoe to kiss him. “But we need to get to class.”
With that, I put Dave Lawson behind me, in the past, taking Jack’s hand and pulling him toward the present.
There was a strange woman sitting in Professor Johnathan’s seat when we arrived.
I gaped.
“Um… ”
“Hi, I’m Dr. Maria Peters,” she introduced herself. “I’ll be replacing Dylan Johnathan for the remainder of the semester.”
I turned to Jack. “What did you do?”
Jack smirked. “Pulled some strings.”
I hissed at him as we sat. “Tell me now.”
He sighed. “Turns out that Joshua wasn’t the only authority figure at Reina abusing his power to take advantage of his students. Dylan was caught with Vixen, and the administration fired him immediately.”
I narrowed my eyes suspiciously. “And how was he caught?”
Jack placed a hand on my face. “He fucked with you. Made you uncomfortable. Probably intended to do worse. You’re not the only one who can dole out justice, little fury.”
Our new professor cleared her throat. “From what I’ve learned, you all have presentations to give today.” She consulted a paper with students names on it. “Ms. Gold, would you like to go first?”
I glared at Jack. “We’ll talk more about this later.”
“Like we’ll talk about whatever Dave was telling you?” he asked.
Sighing, I rose to give my presentation. I talked first about sexual narcissism, and then, with a look at Jack, moved onto how sexual deviance was seen and treated generally.
“When someone uses their power to control and manipulate someone else sexually, it’s considered deviant behavior. There are a variety of treatments, although not everyone agrees that it’s pathological?—”
Jack raised an eyebrow.
I winked at him.
“—there is a school of thought that it can be cured, and the sexual deviant will no longer be interested in sexual control and taking someone else’s power to buff up their own. In fact when there’s behavior that’s considered inappropriate by society?—”
“Cured?” Jack interrupted.
“Cured,” I said.
He shook his head, rising to his feet. “No curing this, princess.”
“Mr. Feldman!” interrupted the new professor. “Let her finish.”
He ignored her.
“I’ll show you behavior that’s ‘inappropriate’” he warned. Suddenly, he was crossing the room and throwing me over his shoulder.
“Jack! I’m not done!” I protested.
“You are now,” he said, and with that, he carried me out of the room to the sound of the classes shocked laughter.
As he carried me down the hall, I started giggling.
“You did that on purpose,” he accused.
“Eh, I can be a little manipulative sometimes,” I admitted.
He slapped me on the ass—hard. “It’s okay. I like it.”
I’d expected Jack to take me home to our new apartment. Marcus hadn’t bought us a condo after all—Jack had pointed out we’d be moving soon once he was drafted, so it made more sense to rent for now.
“And when we do, I’ll buy us our damn place,” Jack had said.
But that was the future. Our future .
In our present, Jack was carrying me through the arena into the locker room.
The empty locker room.
He locked the door.
“Um,” I said.
Setting me down, he cupped my face with his right hand, kissing me.
Pulling away, he said, “Whenever I’m in here, I think of you. Standing up to me, calling me out on my shit. The first time I felt your tight throat—” he winked, “Or got a taste of that apples and honey pussy of yours. Even when I thought I hated you, it haunted me. Now, the memory of treating you so badly haunts me.”
I nuzzled into his hand, not speaking.
“I want to make new memories of us in here, so when I’m getting ready for a game, I can see me worshipping you instead of torturing you. Let me worship you, princess.”
“Yes,” I said.
He closed his eyes. “You have no idea how good the word ‘yes’ sounds coming from your lips.”
He kneeled down, sliding off my sneakers and unbuttoning my jeans before pulling them down, followed by my underwear.
Then his lips were on my pussy, and he was kissing—soft, gentle kisses that felt so good, I melted against the wall next to his cubby. He licked, sucked, played, winding me tighter and tighter.
“Love this pussy,” he said, looking up at me, his mouth covered in my wetness. “Love you.”
And then he was back at it, working me, playing with me, guiding me slowly and tenderly into one sweet climax after another .
“Enough!” I cried out.
“One more, little fury,” he said. “For me.”
His mouth was on me again. I didn’t say no to him. Couldn’t. Not when it felt so good, not when he was trying to heal our past with our present like this, with his tongue drawing circles around my too-sensitive clit, licking his love into me.
I came again, sagging and sliding down the wall.
Jack rose, catching me, lifting me into his arms and balancing me with one arm while he unzipped his own jeans with the other.
He pushed into me, slow, steady thrust after slow, steady thrust, hitting me in the perfect spot as he watched me.
“I love you,” he said.
“I love you back,” I told him, and he was kissing me again, his lips as gentle with my mouth as they’d been with my pussy. I tasted myself on him, and sharing that intimacy, that love, broke something open inside of me.
“Fuck me harder,” I whispered into his ear, biting him.
He caught my hair in his fist and pulled. “Yeah, princess? You want it rough?”
He’d asked me that, too, the first time. But this time, it wasn’t taunting, it was giving.
“As rough as you can give it to me,” I told him.
“Grab the wall behind you, don’t you dare fucking move your hands,” he growled, a switch flipped.
And then he was powering into me, again and again, hard and fast, bouncing me endlessly on his cock.
“That feel good, princess? Does my thick cock feel good in that tight little cunt?”
“So good,” I moaned.
“I’m going to get so deep inside you, you’ll feel me for days. Fill your pussy up so when I carry you to our home, I’m spilling out of your cunt. Hell, maybe this time I will make you lick it up off the ground.”
With a cry, I came again, clenching around his cock.
Something in him snapped and he drove into me so hard, it hurt. I welcomed the pain. Welcomed the madness. Because even though Jack fucked me violently, like he hated me, he stared at me like I was something precious and priceless, something deserving of worship, like I was a gift he’d never expected but wasn’t giving back.
“Loveyousofuckingmuch,” he growled, the words coming together as he bottomed out inside of me, filling me up with his come like he’d promised.
Finally, he relaxed, pulling out of me and lowering me to the floor. He stared as his come spilled out of my pussy, down my legs, onto the floor.
“Fuck, that’s always so hot,” he groaned, scooping up some come off my leg and feeding it to me.
“You’re so hot,” I teased breathlessly.
“Am I?” his eyes were lazy. “Get on your knees and use your mouth to clean me off, princess. Show me how hot you think I am, so I can fuck you all over again.”
And so I got on my knees, taking him in my mouth, licking off the taste of both of us. He grew hard, filling my mouth, filling me, and I reveled in it, in the submission and the lack of control, letting it consume me as he pulled me off his cock and put me on my hands and knees before shoving back inside me and showing me how much he loved me, loved me with his violence and his tenderness, his full, unbreakable focus, and mostly, with his neverending, relentless, undying obsession.
And I showed him.
Right .
Fucking.
Back.
The next morning, I woke up to an empty bed.
Walking out into the kitchen, I saw a shirtless Jack—surrounded by bottles upon bottles of juice. There was orange juice: pulp, pulpless, some pulp, freshly squeezed, even the blood orange kind. And not just orange juice. I walked around, touching each bottle, reading the labels: mango juice and coconut water, guava and cranberry, a million different versions of apple mixed with something else, regular lemonade and pink lemonade. There were kinds that he must have had to special order from other countries. There was even Fanta.
My eyes wide, I walked around the kitchen island, tracing each bottle, taking it all in.
He came up behind me.
“Why did you do this?” I asked. “Why juice?”
Wrapping his arms around my waist, he put his lips to my ear. “Because you never took the time for yourself to learn what kind of juice you like, and I want that for you. I promised you we’d figure out your favorite, and that’s what I’m doing.”
I turned my head to look at him.
“Are you going to fulfill all your promises to me? Because this is a little extra, even for you.”
“Every single promise that keeps you safe, happy, and mine,” he said, and that was a promise, too.
I forgot about the juice, turning to kiss him, because his mouth was my favorite taste of all. And I made sure he forgot about the juice, too.
Turned out, freshly squeezed orange juice was my favorite—and Jack made sure I had it every morning, for the rest of our lives.
Just like he’d promised.