Don’t You Pucking Dare (The Blackridge Reapers #2)

Chapter 11

The final note of Vivaldi's Winter trembles in the air, a confession I didn't mean to make. Music has always been my escape, my way of releasing everything I can't put into words. Lately, though, even my cello can't quiet the chaos in my blood.

As I close the curtains, that familiar chill crawls up my spine. The same electric awareness from the maze when his hands found me in the dark. "Duchess," he'd called me, his voice rough velvet against my skin. I've never been one for pet names, but the way he said it...

I've asked around campus, trying to find him. Tall, masked, big hands. Everyone tells me to be careful, to stay inside after dark. They don't understand that I have a darkness of my own. Having no reputation is great, but it means that I’m seen as some band nerd. These people have no idea that my life experiences expand far past music. My childhood was traumatic, and maybe it’s a blessing that a fresh start means people assume the best of me.

I lean back and exhale. My cello used to be enough— the perfect outlet for every emotion, every desire. I glance at my desk.

Something's wrong.

My hairbrush sits a fraction of an inch off its mark— the kind of detail only a perfectionist would notice. I could blame it on my cello's vibrations, but the excuse dies when I see my desk.

My carefully organized papers are slightly askew, like someone rifled through them and tried to put them back. This shit again? I open my phone to text Kiah and see Levi’s message.

Levi: Answer my call tonight

Levi: Stop leaving me hanging

I ignore him and text Kiah.

Lola: Been in our room today?

Kiah: Not since morning. Working on this thesis, then meeting Jack. Why?

Lola: Someone's been here. Things moved.

That's when I see it. My father's letter, carelessly stuffed back into its envelope. The one piece of him I have, the one thing I've never shown anyone— not even my mom. His words are all I have of him, cruel as they are.

My fingers trace the creased edges, knowing someone else's hands have touched these pages, read these words. They've seen my private shame, the truth about Rick Kemper that I've kept hidden for so long.

The letter trembles in my hands as I smooth it out, preparing to read it again. As if his words might have changed, now that a stranger knows our secret.

Lola,

Consider this a warning disguised as a letter. Your existence is a complication I never wanted, but one I've chosen to manage from afar. Don't mistake my financial support for affection— I'm merely containing a liability.

Your mother's romantic notions about our past are just that—notions. There was no love story, no attempt at family. Just a transaction that resulted in you.

I've watched you grow from a distance. Not out of paternal interest, but necessity. You need to understand that there's a world beyond your walls. A darker world where I exist, one you're better off not knowing.

Don't look for me. The moment you start asking questions is the moment my protection ends. And believe me, you need my protection more than you need a father.

—R.K.

My mom used to tell me different stories— about how he tried, at first. How he held me when I was born, how he'd watch me sleep. But after he left, she crumbled. When his money stopped, she gave up completely. My last memory of her speaking kindly of him was, "He was good once."

I have no photos, no memories, nothing but this letter and a name. Rick Kemper.

I should be terrified that someone's been in my room again. Instead, the lingering sense of violation reminds me of him. The man from the maze, with his cruel mouth and gentle hands. The way he called me "Duchess" like he owned me. How he mentioned my father as if it would mean something to me.

I get ready for bed. My pajamas from this morning are on the ground. I brush my hair and teeth and then slip under the covers, but sleep feels impossible. The words my father wrote to me always made me feel lesser like I am no one important. I’m half of him and he’s selfish and gives zero fucks that I exist. Which I think is crazy. I close my eyes and let myself remember how it felt to lose control, to let someone else take over my body. The darkness holds memories of the guy from the garden–– his touch, his voice, the way he made me forget everything. Unlike anything I’ve ever experienced with other guys.

Even now, alone in my bed, I can almost feel his hands on me. The ghost of his touch makes me ache. I want to know his name, want something real to hold onto besides this haunting need.

Kiah bursts through the door, making me jump. "You okay? Your text freaked me out."

"Yeah," I manage, trying to slow my racing pulse from her barging in here. "You didn't have to come back."

She flops onto her bed, all bangles and bright patterns against her boho blanket. "When my roomie thinks someone's been creeping around our room? Yeah, I did."

I watch her settle in, guilt gnawing at my stomach. Not just for what she almost walked in on, but for the questions burning in my throat. "Can I ask you something weird?"

"Weirder than some stalker breaking into our room?" She props herself up on an elbow, dark eyes curious.

"The Reapers." The name feels dangerous on my tongue. "What do you really know about them?"

"Besides that we went to their party and they wear masks?" Her expression shifts, something careful entering her voice. "What do you want to know?"

I pull my knees to my chest, suddenly cold. "They're not just a fraternity, are they? I mean, what kind of frat has a mansion off campus and guys in masks?"

"My cousin dated one of them," she says slowly. "Ex-Reaper, if you believe there is such a thing." She leans forward, voice dropping. "The fraternity stuff? That's their cover— it's all smoke and mirrors. But it’s a secret society."

"Secret society?"

Kiah wraps her blanket tighter, like armor. "They're more like... judges. Jury. Executioners."

Ice slides down my spine. "What do you mean, executioners?"

"The stories say they handle justice their own way. Outside the law." She watches my face carefully. "Why are you asking about them, Lola? Did something happen at the party?"

The masked stranger's touch burns in my memory. His words echo. Tell your father I said hello.

"Just curious," I say, but my hands shake as I smooth my blanket. What kind of darkness has been waiting around for my dumb curiosity?

"They don't think of it as murder," Kiah says, her voice dropping. "More like... taking out the trash. And once you're in their inner circle, they take care of you. But cross them?" She shakes her head. "People disappear."

I sink deeper into my pillows, my father's letter burning in my mind. A secret society of masked men who play judge, jury, and executioner. Who can grant wishes or destroy lives.

"You're not actually interested in this, are you?" Kiah asks, worry creeping into her voice. "Because this isn't some story where the dangerous guy sweeps you off your feet. The Reapers are real. And they're lethal."

Lethal?

Right.

She stares at her phone, leaving me alone with my thoughts. And with the feeling that someone's still watching.

My phone buzzes, and I’m expecting it to be Levi.

It’s not.

An email from an address I don't recognize stops my heart.

Re: Your Father's Location - Ready to know the truth, Duchess?

My hands shake as I read the word: Duchess. This is him, the guy from the garden.

Sweet Duchess,

Want to know where Daddy's been hiding?

If you do, send me a video of you finger fucking yourself like you were in the garden that night.

Give me the full view, and I'll send you another clue.

Oh, and Duchess? Make it good. I want to hear you. I have your journal, and these dark little melodies tell me you've got quite the imagination.

You have twenty minutes.

Tick tock.

Bile rises in my throat. This man was inside of my room, and what the fuck does he know about my father? I know nothing, so I’m not even tempted by this information. He wants me to degrade myself so he can get off on it? It was different when he put my own fingers inside of me but doing it on my own while recording it is something else entirely. For his sick entertainment? No, thank you.

But he has my journal. Pages of my soul poured onto staff paper. Things I've never shown anyone. Lyrics I’ve written. Words I would never speak.

My fingers hover over the keys as I consider what to type back. A smartass retort will work.

Aw… Look at you, believing that you can blackmail me because you think I have daddy issues? Well, fuck off. Give me back my journal and I’ll consider us even.

Send.

I lean back, proud of myself. I’m not going to be bullied by whoever the fuck this guy thinks he is.

I get an email reply within seconds.

Wrong answer, Duchess.

Suddenly Kiah jumps off her bed, scaring the shit out of me. My hand clutches my chest.

"I have to go finish what I started. You’re okay, right?" Kiah asks in a hurry as I catch my breath.

"Yes, I’m okay. Be careful, please. You’re spending so much time over there."

"Your innocent ears wouldn’t want to know what we’ve been doing." She winks at me with a wicked smile and leaves the room.

I shake my head because I’m not innocent. I’m not even a virgin, but apparently, everyone thinks I’m a saint.

My fingers tap on the keyboard as I read the email again.

Wrong answer?

That makes me laugh.

"Something funny?" a deep dark voice that causes me to jump across the room sounds from the closet. I’m standing on Kiah’s bed as the closet doors open. My heart drops into my stomach.

Oh fuck. A deep shiver crawls quickly across my skin as I take in those eyes. I think he tied one of my black shirts around his face. I can only see his eyes, and it’s like my worst nightmare. I don’t know who the fuck this guy is, and he’s inside of my room.

"What the fuck!" I scream, glancing around at Kiah’s shelf above her bed, reaching for anything that I could strangle this mother fucker with.

He’s already grabbing the back of my legs when I try to reach for something on her shelf. Instead, I grip the shelf so he can’t pull me down. I reach for a picture frame on the shelf and hit him with it while trying to kick him the fuck off me.

The picture frame didn’t do shit to him, and it gives him the millisecond he needs to pull me onto my ass. I fall with my back on the bed, screaming.

"Help!" I scream as he pulls my legs around his waist and forces his weight onto me. He pins my hands above my head.

I think his dick is hard. This sick fuck!

He covers my mouth his other hand and growls into my face, "Shut the fuck up."

"Get the fuck off of me!" I scream helplessly muffled, and the smile across his face reaches his eyes. He’s fucking wicked. His hand on my mouth clamps down harder. "You sick fuck!"

He shakes his head, pushing me deeper into Kiah’s bed. His weight is unbearable. God, he’s huge. I’m completely pinned and helpless. It doesn’t calm me, instead, I start to panic because I can’t move, I have no idea what this asshole looks like, or what he wants with me.

"I wish I knew what you were saying," he says, his eyes glancing down at his hand covering my mouth.

I wiggle my body under him, trying to push him off me with my legs. He removes his hand from my mouth as I catch my breath, "You sick fuck, I said! Now get the fuck off me or I’m screaming!"

"You don’t make the rules, Duchess. I do, unfortunately." He drags his fingertips on my face, causing a sensation I do not welcome. He grips my knee that I’m using to try to get him off. "If you don’t fucking stop, I can’t promise I can control myself."

"Don’t you fucking dare, or I will scream!" I yell.

He laughs. Actually laughs as his hand covers my mouth forcefully. I stare at the eyes that haunt me as I gasp for air. I can’t fucking breathe.

He seethes, "The only thing you’ll be screaming… is my name. And Duchess, don’t fucking dare me."

The air between us stiffens. And I’m scared.

"Now you’re going to be a good girl and listen to me." He releases me, walking back to the closet. And I’m thankful he has his back turned because a tear slips out of my eye. I quickly wipe it away and take a deep breath. I pull my knees into my chest. I won’t let this asshole see me crying.

"Take off your pants," he demands.

I gasp, speechless. "No! No fucking way."

He turns around. "Do it or I’ll do it for you. You pick."

"You can’t be fucking serious?" I snap.

I can tell his jaw clenches by the intensity of his eyes. "I’m dead fucking serious, Duchess. Take off your pants."

I unbutton them reluctantly, deciding that I’m not going to cry. From the looks of it, that’s what a sick fuck like him would want.

"I’m not a virgin––"

"Don’t fucking tempt me, Duchess. Take them off."

I stand, pulling them down.

He sits at my desk, flicking his head to my bed. "Get on your bed."

I leave my pants on Kiah’s side, noticing the broken shelf and her shit everywhere. I hop onto my bed as he tilts his head.

"You still have your panties on. Take them off now."

I suck in a shaky breath and pull them off. I toss them near my pants, but he catches them with his hand and shoves them in his pocket.

"Now you’re going to finger fuck yourself like I asked, and you’re going listen this time like a good girl."

I squeeze my legs together. "Do I still get my journal back?"

He shrugs. "Depends if you listen."

"That’s not fair."

"Life’s not fair, baby. Lean back and open your legs."

I still, unable to move. Instead of demanding me, he walks over. My heart is racing so fast, and I actually might cry now that he’s this close and I’m beyond exposed. He reaches for me, but I pull away. Instead of getting mad, he caresses my face. A part of me wants to rip that fucking shirt off his face so I can know what he looks like, but I’m scared of what my punishment would be if I did it.

"I’m not touching you, Duchess. Relax."

That confirmation does make me relax… just a little. He grabs my shoulders and helps me to lay back. Then he pulls my legs down, staring at my thighs. He lifts my shirt, exposing my pussy. He opens my legs gently, meeting my eyes a few times. I’m watching him closely, terrified. He grabs my hand and takes my two fingers, aiming for my clit.

"Relax. You’re so fucking tense."

"Because this isn’t okay," I mutter, starting to feel good. It’s my fingers, but it’s his hand adding the pressure, making it feel better than it should.

"How is this not okay, Duchess? I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since the garden, and then you send me that rude fucking email. What else am I supposed to do?"

I stare at his eyes. "Take off the mask."

"No." He releases my hand, retreating. "Keep going."

Fuck, there he goes. I scared him off.

I watch his back, studying his body so that when tomorrow comes, I know exactly who he is. His arms are long, his hips are slim in comparison to his shoulders, and from the party, I know he has wavy brown hair. Right now it’s covered by my black shirt tied tightly around his head.

He takes a seat on my computer desk chair and leans back, unbuttoning his pants.

I sit up. "What’re you doing?"

"Making it equal. Lay down and touch yourself before I change my mind."

I inhale as I lean back and watch as he unzips his black jeans. He pulls it down a bit, revealing his black boxers underneath. He lifts his shirt, revealing abs and tattoos on his ribs. Holy hell. My mouth goes dry as he pulls out his dick. His really hot big dick and strokes it.

"See what you do to me, Duchess? Don’t expect me to stay away."

I watch as his large hand pumps his length, and the view is ridiculously fucking hot. A masked man dressed in black who broke into my room is now masturbating at the sight of me. I have no idea who this John Smith is, but it’s sexy as fuck.

I start rubbing circles on my clit, finding the spot that’s going to help me relax.

"That’s it, baby," he praises. "Fuck, you’re perfect. Such a good fucking girl."

My pussy is climbing after those words leave his mouth. I wonder what his lips look like. Those eyes are enough for me to know I’m wanted, but his dick is pure confirmation I turn him on. I stare at his dick, wondering what he would do if I walked over and sat on it. The image of that makes my hips grind my own fucking fingers. My pussy feels better than it should right now.

"Just like that, Duchess. Keep fucking going."

And I come undone. But it’s not a good orgasm. My body just shakes, but mentally I’m not in it.

"Again," he demands.

"What?" I gasp, shaking my head. "I just orgasmed."

He stops stroking himself. "Bullshit. Again."

"I swear to God, I just orgasmed. It just––"

"Again, Duchess."

"I don’t know if I can go again."

He walks over, leaning over the bed. I feel his hard dick against my leg, and my vagina is pulsating at the closeness.

"Try," he demands.

"I can’t help that it wasn’t a good one. It happens sometimes," I mutter, wondering if he’s two seconds from slipping inside of me.

He stands and says, "Lift your shirt up."

"What? Are you––"

"Duchess, I’m not fucking you. Not yet. Just lift up your shirt."

I lift my shirt as he starts fucking his hand. It’s a sight to see. I’ve had sex before, but I’ve never had a man jerk off in front of me. The size of his dick is intimidating.

"Slide your ass down here."

I scoot down so that my body is under him. The image of this will forever be stained in my memory.

He’s working himself roughly as he leans over me. Tattoos and hard muscles tower over me. Instead of looking at my tits or pussy, he stares into my eyes as warmth pools all over my body. I want to look down at his cock spilling out, but the look in his eyes holds me still. I can’t stop staring back.

When he looks down at his mess, he glances back at me. "I’ll give you the journal this weekend."

"No, I need it right now."

"Then tomorrow."

I watch as he grabs my underwear from his pocket and cleans the semen from my body with it. He swipes his finger on my waist where it dripped down and stares at me.

"Open your mouth."

My heart plummets as I stare back. I slowly open my mouth as he wipes his cum on my tongue. He tastes like salt and sugar.

He grabs my chin and says, "I’ll be back tomorrow."

"No!" I say frantically, still tasting him on my tongue. He places my underwear down on my desk as he tilts his head at me. "Meet me at the library or somewhere on campus. Please."

He glares at me. "Curious to see my face, Duchess?"

"Maybe," I answer. Letting him believe that is easier than admitting I don’t want this to happen again.

"I’ll be here with your journal tomorrow." Before he walks out, he turns to me and says, "You’re not allowed to orgasm without me. You belong to me now."

Shit.