8. Rage
Chapter 8
Rage
Celia and I dance around one another for the better part of an hour. I don’t know what passed between her and the other women in the restroom, but the two regulars—a fiery redhead who goes by the code name Fox and a preppy blonde we dubbed Angel the minute her photo landed on our desk—keep their eyes on Celia the entire time.
It’s annoying.
Sure, Celia has caught the eye of many of our male clientele after getting on her knees for me, but they know to keep their distance. Women, though? They don’t like to play by the rules on account of girl code or what-the-fuck-ever they call the weird bonding thing they do. In the short six minute and forty two second blip when Celia was out of sight, they bonded over something.
I want to know what it is.
I want to know everything involving my woman.
So when she lingers near Fox’s little threesome and starts to get friendly, I cut my conversation with the new mayor short and join them. Sliding up behind Celia and wrapping my arms around her waist, I tug her back against my chest, enjoying her warmth. She stiffens immediately, her breath catching as she stares straight ahead and ignores me as best she can.
That shit annoys me even more.
My smile is too sharp at the edges as I nod toward Fox and her followers, two men who haven’t been here nearly as long as she has. Fox has this routine of stringing people along until the new crop comes in; then she pits the old and the new against each other to see who really wants to stick around when there’s competition for her attention.
Oftentimes, she loses out on lovers before she’s even broken them in. These two men will likely be the same. I don’t care to learn their names.
“I see you’ve been making friends,” I murmur, brushing my lips against Celia’s cheek. She flinches away from me, and my blood boils. “Introduce me, Beauty . ”
She huffs, gripping my forearms as tight as she can. Her nails dig into my flesh, and a wave of satisfaction radiates through my chest. Those little divots will last for hours. Days , maybe, if I piss her off enough. I wonder if she’d make me bleed.
Her voice is tight. “They know who you are.”
I hum low in my throat. “You’re being rude.”
“ You’re an asshole.”
I lift my palm to her neck and wrap my fingers around her throat, squeezing gently. She swallows, and a flash of heat rolls through me at the memory of her swallowing my cum down her pretty little throat. I should have asked her to open her mouth and show it to me first.
Next time.
I draw a ragged breath and lower my lips to her ear. “Play nice, krosotka , or your friends will see how perfectly your ass fits in my hand. I bet it gets red after only one spanking.” I lick my lips at the mental image. There are so many things I want to do to this girl. “Should we find out?”
Fox gives Celia a look, the two of them having a silent conversation I can’t fucking interpret. It annoys me. I grit my teeth and try to keep my cool. Despite how often our clientele rotates out, Fox has been a steady presence since the club’s inception. The boss will be royally pissed if I fuck with our best donors.
Still, she better keep her fucking ideas to herself.
Celia can make her own damn decisions without some bitch poisoning them first.
Tilting her head back, Celia glares up at me. “Fox,” she begins, “this is Rage. He’s been stalking me for weeks.”
One of Fox’s men clears his throat and looks away.
I grin down at my little spitfire. “Don’t be shy, Beauty. Tell them about how you come in my mouth every morning.” I lace my fingers together across her neck, remembering the taste of her. It gets my dick hard.
Her teeth left their mark, though. Pinpricks of pain settle across my shaft. I suffer in silence as my dick gets harder at the spark of defiance in my girl’s eyes. She’s hurting too, nursing a slight limp that I know Ruin and I put there. Probably banged up her knees earlier.
But that’s not the pain I see reflecting back at me—it’s something deeper, locked away inside her chest. Her warm brown eyes narrow as I stare into her face and search for the key. Will she melt if I kiss her? If I tell her how every man in the room is jealous of me right now? Will she finally let go of that pride she clutches way too damned tightly and let me in?
What Rebel said earlier tonight is only halfway true. If things were different between us— better —I wouldn’t want to cause her any pain. But if she’s too goddamn stubborn to accept my pleasure, if pain is all I’m able to provide, if it’s the one thing she’ll relent in our endless game of tug of war… I’ll take it.
Her pain will become my promise.
Celia holds my stare. “The only thing he’s good for is his mouth.”
Fire burns through my veins. She’s trying to hurt me back, and it’s working. I hiss through my teeth, “Guess we’re a perfect match, then. Your mouth is?—”
Mine.
I switch from using the word perfect at the last second. “—good enough.”
Her nostrils flare and satisfaction curls in my chest. That’s right, give it to me. Everything you’re feeling. Eyes on me. I want to watch you unravel and taste the bitterness on your tongue. I barely hold back the rumble in my chest as I drag her away from the group.
Enough socializing.
“What are you doing? Let me go!” Celia trips over her feet, so I quickly toss her over my shoulder, smacking her perfect ass once it’s high in the air. The sound ricochets across the room, drawing attention again. There’s something about Celia and me that makes our collision messy—it’s loud and painful, all long limbs and sharp teeth—bleeding out from the two of us and infecting the room. People get handsy on the dance floor. Mouths meet. Skirts lift. It’s a chaotic frizzle of energy that makes me want to smack her ass again to hear that pop of sound, the delicious gasp on her lips.
But the difference between what’s going on everywhere else in the room and what’s going on with the woman I’ve chosen is simple: they all give their enthusiastic consent to be touched, fucked, desired.
Celia hasn’t given me that permission, not explicitly. It’s pretty clear that aside from my vigorous clit-licking, she doesn’t want anything to do with me—and it makes absolutely no fucking sense.
“We’re going home.” I carry her across the ballroom to the foyer. The grand staircase is stupidly elaborate—something Celia’s brother Mikhail insisted on when we built the place, actually—flaring out at both the bottom and the top with a curve that mirrors a woman’s waistline. A lush burgundy carpet drapes down the center, widening along with the stairs at the base. It belongs in a mansion, not an underground swingers club, but Mikhail paid for the building, so he got the final say in the blueprints.
All I remember about the reasoning for the staircase is some bullshit about allowing a woman her moment . Whatever the fuck that means.
The one I’m with would probably shove me over the railing in one of her moments.
I grab Celia’s supple ass as I take her up the stairs to the second floor. Guests aren’t allowed up here, which is perfect because it means that it’s quiet. The bass from main floor doesn’t permeate the upper floor or its walls, so the only sounds are my footfalls and Celia’s yelps as she tries to steady herself across my back. I get elbowed in the spine more than once, but I grit my teeth and carry on.
If I let her go, she’ll bolt.
“This isn’t how tonight was supposed to go.” My chest heaves as I slam my palm on the scanner to open the private suite in the west wing. My suite. Ours. Fuck.
“I’m sorry, does sexual assault offend you?” The venom in Celia’s voice slips into my veins, toxic and unwelcome. “You do a pretty good job of hiding it.”
“I’m not hiding anything, Celia.” Once we’re inside the steel outer door, I charge for my bedroom, the air around us pulsing. My skin’s hot. My body’s tight. I can’t take a full breath without smelling her pussy. I’m not sure if it’s because my face is near her thighs or I’m that goddamn horny, but fuck.
She makes me want to tear out of my skin and bury myself in hers.
I toss her onto the bed and can’t bring myself to look at her. Staring at the wall over the headboard, I clench my jaw so tightly that I feel it behind my eyes. “You’re sleeping here in my bed. I don’t want a single fucking complaint or your ass will be darker than your knees.” It’s a threat that feels like a twisted, gnarled thing inside my chest. I don’t like it, but I don’t know how else to get through to this woman.
If I held her face in my hands and kissed her, begged her to stay the night, she’d spit in my face.
She reacts like I expect, kicking her leg out at me.
I grab her ankle before she connects and glare at the bottom of her shoe. Red soles, black straps, bright buckles. I bought these for her a week ago but never actually gave them to her. “Where did you get these?” She tries to retrieve her foot, but I hold on tighter. “Where did you get these?” I ask again, growing impatient.
Did Rebel give them to her? Take credit for my gift? I wouldn’t put it past him—the man loves to steal whatever’s shiny enough to catch his interest and isn’t bolted down—but I’d been planning on surprising her. New shoes. New dress. Dinner out on the water. A smile that’s more breathtaking than the setting sun.
A real fucking kiss, given willingly, gratefully , a soft sigh on her lips as I pour myself into her.
That plan’s already gone to shit and I haven’t even made the fucking reservation yet.
“Who cares where they’re from!” She jabs her heel into my thigh while I’m glaring at the wall and imagining my brother’s cocky fucking smirk staring back at me. “Get the fuck off of me! I’m not sleeping with you!”
I release her ankle like it’s an iron-hot brand, hissing through my teeth. “ Fine, then don’t sleep.” Slamming the bathroom door in her face is a weak victory that rings as hollow as it sounds. I wince in the bright light and turn on the faucet to drown out her screeching. She’s obviously tried to open the door to the den—but it locked the moment it shut behind us. We’re trapped in here together, for better or worse, until I choose to unlock the door.
Or one of my idiot brothers meddles again.
Or she kills me in my sleep and figures out how to undo the locks.
I’ll have to sleep with one eye open tonight.
“Are you kidding me? Is it Fort Knox in here?” She bangs on the door, then lets out a sharp cry. Yeah, that shit’s gonna hurt no matter how tiny your fists are.
I could tell her to stop. She’s going to hurt herself if she rams against the door.
But I don’t.
I listen to her heavy breathing, the way she paces the room like a cat in a cage, grumbling the entire time. She picks things up. Puts them back down. Opens the closet door and rummages through the racks. Tears open drawers and slams them back shut.
I wasn’t kidding earlier—I have nothing to hide.
The dull drag of metal on metal catches my attention. She huffs, clicks her heels toward the door, and slams something heavy against it. Wood splinters and cracks, and she laughs in triumph.
My fucking dumbbells.
Snarling, I tear open the bathroom door and bare down on her. She lifts the dumbbell again, a ten pound weight that shouldn’t do much damage, and rams it back into the center of the door. A tiny hole materializes, letting a sliver of light in from outside.
“What are you doing? ” I growl, snatching the weight from her hands and tossing it behind me. It thuds like a boulder, but I don’t give a shit about the floor.
Her wild grin takes my breath away.
It breaks as soon as she realizes I’m crowding her in, giving her zero chance of escape. Her hazelnut eyes widen as I back her against the splintered wood and slam my fist beside her head. The wood groans beneath my throbbing knuckles.
“You can’t escape me. You can’t escape this. ” Exhaling hotly across her face, I grab her throat and kiss her hard on the lips. Her body goes rigid, the instinct to fight coursing through her veins. I growl against her mouth, slamming my fist into the door, and feed her my anger.
I’m so goddamn furious with her all the time.
“Why can’t you stay?” I lower the hand gripping her neck to her chest, feeling her heart beat wildly inside her ribcage. A heart that’s mine. I stop myself from saying what I really want to know?—
Why can’t she want to stay with me?
“It’s one night. One night. With me.” A shudder rolls through me and I kiss her again, moving my lips over hers even though she’s frozen solid.
This is worse than when she’s mad at me. It’s nothing at all. A blank expanse of body heat without any emotion attached. But I know she’s in there, and it kills me to have her so close but utterly vacant.
I dig deeper, sliding my tongue between her lips, groaning at how she lets me in. I bury myself inside her warmth, searching for any piece of her she’ll allow me to find. When I come up empty, a shudder courses through me.
If I go any deeper and tear out what I want—her pleasure, her pain, her fear—she’ll hate me for eternity for taking it by force.
But I’m starting to believe that’s the only way I’ll ever truly have her.
Finally, she lifts her hand and touches me, placing it on my chest. But she doesn’t push me away—she slides her palm up to my shoulder, across the back of my neck, and into my hair. Grabbing a fistful and pulling , she rips my head back and glowers up at me, lips pulled back, teeth bared. “Because it’s not one night! Nothing with you is one night! I learned that the last time I was in your secret fucking club!”
Heat sears across my scalp, but I take it. I’ll take anything I can get from this woman.
Even if it’s not the things I’d dared to hope for.
Love feels impossibly out of reach.
“Give me tonight.” It won’t be enough, but it will give me time to think. To plan. I’ve been anticipating that Celia would give in to me eventually, but it’s becoming increasingly clear that her aversion to me is bordering on permanent. It’s something I’m doing wrong with pursuing her—like there’s a secret thread holding all the answers that I have yet to unveil. Pull the right thread, and she’ll unravel in my hands like the most beautiful flower, blossoming for me .
I just have to find the right one…before my brothers do.
While she processes my request—as if she has a choice in where she sleeps tonight—I take my fill of her body. Her chest rises and falls with every breath in her lungs, the flush across her cheeks trailing down her neck. It lingers near the topmost edge of the deep V cutting between her breasts, but the milky skin of them peeks out on either side, untouched by the sun. Her complexion is warm despite the coming winter, meaning that she either tans topless at the spa, or she never bothered tanning to begin with and she’s naturally honey-toned.
I’ve never seen any bikini lines across her hips or thighs.
The urge to touch roars in my ears, but I clench my fist beside her head and take a deep breath. The hand on her chest, however, stays right where it is.
Her heartbeat keeps me steady and solid while I wait for her reply.
“One night and you’ll let me go? I won’t be trapped here?”
I measure my words carefully. “One night in my bed, tonight , with me, and I’ll take you home in the morning.” I can’t promise anything after.
She bites her bottom lip, and my cock twitches. I stare at her mouth for a long moment, swallowing hard. I want to kiss her again. I want to make her mine. Throw her onto the bed and climb on top, taste every inch of her skin, and make her scream my name as she comes on my fingers, my tongue, my cock, all of it, all night, all at once . Can I fill all of her holes at the same time?
Mmm. I know I can.
“One night,” Celia murmurs, flicking her gaze away from mine. “Then I go home in the morning, and you walk away.”
My voice rumbles deep in my chest. I don’t miss the way her body shivers or her nipples harden. Fuck. “A full eight hours minimum, krosotka. ”
“You can’t fuck me.”
I lick my lips. She’s going to make this difficult. “Define fuck. ”
Her face flames. “I don’t want your dick anywhere near me!”
I laugh before I can stop myself. “A little hard to manage, given how it’s fucking attached.”
She glares and pulls my hair again, arcing my neck back. A wave of pleasure licks down my spine, making my balls ache. “I won’t put my dick inside you, or between your tits, or between your thighs, or anywhere else.” There’s a lot of places I could slip inside or between to get off, or get her off. I uncurl my fist and lift my hand from her chest to hold them both out in front of me. “But my dick will touch you, because it’s fucking massive.” To emphasize my point, I grind cock into her hip, enjoying the little gasping sound she makes. “And you’re welcome to touch it with any part of your body, any time.”
Her upper lip curls in disgust, but it rings false against the backdrop of her eyes, blown wide open for me.
I didn’t make her come at all today, and it shows. Her body misses me.
“I won’t,” she snaps, “so keep it to your fucking self!”
Ah, my little spitfire.
Im-fucking-possible.
I lift my hand to her chin and tilt her head back as much as the door will allow. “Kiss me,” I murmur, leaning in until our noses brush, “and you’ve got a deal.” Her hand lingers in my hair but she doesn’t pull me back. Then her tongue darts out to wet her lips, flicking over mine in the process, and fuck , my cock tries to tear through the zipper, throbbing painfully. It will be sore for a few days, maybe even bruised, but if she lets me put it inside her, or against her soft skin, or pillowed between her ass cheeks or her goddamn armpit at this point, I’ll fucking do it.
And I’ll come for days.
Celia’s hand trembles as she touches my cheek.
She closes the distance between our lips.
I swallow her soft sigh like it’s my final breath, holding it deep inside my chest so long that it burns. A single word ricochets around my skull like a bullet in my brain.
Mine.