Chapter 20 Sawyer
Chapter twenty
Sawyer
What he witnessed?
Ty couldn’t have seen anything at the orchard. Noah and I embraced in the barn for less than ten seconds, completely under the cover of darkness.
Bella was there, yes, but she’s no snitch. And wouldn’t she have seen Ty from her perch above? Surely she would have mentioned it.
My thoughts are jumbled, too fast and too slow, hazy from the weed.
We trudge up the last few stairs, my steps getting heavier the closer we get to my room. Outside of 1D, I stop and wait.
Ty pulls my key from his pocket and inserts it into the door.
On a whisper, I say, “If I asked you to leave right now, would you?”
The lock catches, and he pushes the door open with a menacing smile. “Why don’t you ask me and see for yourself?”
Tears spring to my eyes. Of course he wouldn’t. I know that. Just like he knows I won’t ask him to go.
It’s sick, this game we’re playing.
My chest constricts as I push past him into my dorm.
The room is dark and silent, so when light suddenly floods the space, I startle, bringing a hand to my chest.
Why the hell did he turn the light on?
Every other night this week, we’ve operated in the dark, getting by with only the glow from the small lamp near my desk.
Ty sets his backpack on the floor and pulls out a toothbrush, then a razor.
Anger sparks in my veins. “What do you think you’re doing?”
He looks up, brows raised. “What does it look like I’m doing?”
It looks like he’s unpacking. Like he came prepared. Like he expects to stay the night. Again.
“I don’t want you here all night.”
“That’s too bad, petit diable. As your husband—”
“You’re not my husband.” I plant my hands on my hips. “And if I had to choose between every man and woman I’ve ever been with, you’d be dead last on the list of people I’d actually want to marry.”
He freezes, his entire body rigid and radiating a coiled tension that sizzles hotter with each passing second. On a ragged whisper, he asks, “What did you just say?”
I suppress an eyeroll. “That you’re the last person I’d ever want to marry.”
“Before that. About… about every man and every woman you’ve ever been with. Men? And Women? Plural?”
A laugh bubbles up my throat, but I choke it back. That’s what he’s taking issue with?
This man is seriously looking at me with absolute shock and betrayal on his face.
“Do you really think I’ve only ever slept with one person?”
His eyes darken. His scowl deepens.
Maybe it’s the cannabis. Maybe it’s my own frustration lingering after I pushed Noah away. Maybe it’s the utter exhaustion shrouding me after this godforsaken week. Regardless, something in me shifts.
I’m playing with fire, and apparently I want to fucking burn.
I saunter close enough that I have to tip my chin back to look him in the eye.
“Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think, Ty.”
With his jaw clenched, he glares at me with an intensity that should scare me.
But I’m not scared of him. In this moment, I’m not scared of anything.
I’m fearless and reckless and so fucking done with feeling helpless.
“Maybe you don’t know anything about what I like. Who I like. What I find attractive,” I taunt.
“I saw you with him,” Tytus grits out. “I saw you with another man. There’s video proof.”
I flip my hair over my shoulder. “It’s not one or the other, Ty. I like fucking men and women. Sometimes I like fucking them both at the same time.”
His eyes bulge in a way that nearly makes me cackle.
Before the sound can escape, I slap my hand over my mouth. He honestly thought I waited around for him? That I’ve never been with anyone besides Mercer? I seriously can’t with him right now.
“I’m not some sweet, innocent virgin who saved herself for you. Get that idea through your head. I’ve found plenty of ways—with plenty of people—to distract myself over the last three years.”
Fury rolls off him in waves.
Still, he doesn’t scare me.
I’m so beyond caring about his reaction. I’m invincible thanks to the marijuana in my bloodstream and the sheer exhaustion of this week.
He stalks toward me, forcing me back. I don’t fight it. It doesn’t matter where I land.
None of it matters.
Nothing matters anymore.
When the backs of my legs hit the bed frame, I throw my arms back, catching myself.
Teeth bared, he gets right up in my face. “Take it back.”
From this close, I take in the soft tendrils of hair that have fallen in his face. The sharp, natural arch of his eyebrows and the perfect cupid’s bow of his upper lip.
He’s beautiful on the outside.
On the inside? He’s so fucking damaged that I’ll never look at him the way I used to again.
I shake my head and offer him a saccharine smile.
“Take it back,” he repeats through gritted teeth. He leans forward and places his hands on either side of the mattress, caging me in.
“Take what back?” A yawn escapes me as I rest on my forearms and prop up my upper body.
“Lie, mon ange. Take it back and tell me lies, before the darkness pulls me under.”
I gape. Is he serious?
There’s no way my reality should have that kind of power over him.
“But everything I just said is true,” I tell him, keeping my tone light.
He shakes his head violently, slamming his eyes closed. “No. It’s not true. It can’t be. I refuse to believe it. Anything other than the fantasy I’ve dreamed of for all these years is enough to send me fucking spiraling, so take it fucking back.”
I scoff, disgust rolling through me. Is this some weird patriarchal programming coming out to play, or did he genuinely believe I was saving myself for him?
“You want me to take it back and pretend?”
“Yes. Lie. Pretend. Whatever you want to fucking call it, just do it.”
He folds forward, forcing me to drop back, and brings his lips to my cleavage. Then my chest. He trails his nose along my collarbone and up my neck and plants a soft kiss below my ear.
“Tell me you waited,” he whispers. “Tell me it’s only me.”
With a hard shove, I tell him, “No.”
He rears back, his eyes wild, his chest heaving. “Sawyer, I swear to god; just say it.”
I lift my chin. “No.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s not true.”
Nostrils flaring, he crosses his arms and assesses me.
I sit up and roll my eyes.
We’re clearly at an impasse. I’m exhausted, and I just want to be done for the night.
“Go sit on the couch. Let’s get this over with,” I tell him.
Tension crackles between us, the charged magnetism we share fueling our stare-down with every passing second.
A cruel smile spreads across his face. “You think I came here tonight just to let you grind your needy little pussy all over me until you come?”
I scowl back at him, suddenly brimming with pent-up need and impatience.
“That’s not the game we’re playing tonight, petit diable,” he says, moving in close again. “Tonight, I have something else in mind. Lie back and get comfortable. I want to watch.”
My heart catches in my throat. “Watch what?”
“Watch how you please yourself.”
What the fuck?
He backs up, and without looking away from me, he grasps the back of my desk chair and drags it over to the side of the bed.
“Go on. Be a good little wife. Take off your clothes and make yourself come while your husband watches.”
Sinking back against my sheets, I consider defying him for all of two seconds. But I’m high. And now that he’s put the idea in my head, I’m horny.
The prospect of touching myself in front of him—of showing him exactly what I like, of teaching him for next time—unlocks a carnal desire in me that I’m surprisingly willing to indulge.
I love to be chased.
I also love to put on a show.
Without preamble, I sit up, take off my shirt and bra, shimmy out of my leggings, and lie back on the bed.
I settle in, focusing on my own breath.
Or trying to, at least.
The metronomic inhales of Ty’s breathing fill the space between us. I can’t see him, but his presence and his attention light up the sparks of my desire like fireflies in the peak of summer.
My skin is searing, the lust rushing through my veins warming me from the inside out.
His eyes on me create a hazy headspace that’s better than any drug-induced high.
He’s watching me.
I’m going to touch myself, and he’s going to take it all in.
Mindlessly, I caress my throat, tracing down my collarbones and dragging my nails over the swells of my breasts.
“Fuckin’ A,” Ty murmurs, the phrase thick and growly.
Eyes still closed, I don’t bother hiding my smile.
Pressing my breasts together, I tweak my nipples.
Once.
Twice.
Then harder the third time. Hard enough to make my hips buck involuntarily. Hard enough to inspire a low, wanton moan. Hard enough to make my hearing go in and out.
I play with my piercings, moving them back and forth and tugging on the gold barbells until my cunt has its own pulse and I’m thrashing against the sheets.
Smoothing my hands down the soft skin of my stomach, I travel lower.
When my fingers brush over my pubic hair, I crack my eyes open to check on Ty.
He’s staring at my thighs, mouth agape. His breathing is hard enough I can see every heavy inhalation and trembling exhalation.
It’s heady, being watched. Knowing I’m the reason his pupils are blown out and he looks like he’s on the verge of losing control.
I part my legs wider and bat my lashes. “Is this what you wanted to see, hubby?”
A low growl escapes his lips. He shifts forward, moving as close as he can without actually leaving the chair.
“You’re so pretty,” he says in a hushed, reverent whisper.
A blush blooms on my cheeks and chest, the warmth of it swirling with the growing lust that’s already making me feel like I’m on the cusp.
Boldly, I use both hands to spread the lips of my pussy. I rub up and down each side, applying pressure but denying myself by not touching my clit.
I rub and buck, moan and pant. I work myself into a frenzy until I’m on the edge, warmth and wetness percolating through my core.
“I’m close,” I breathe.
I want him to see it happen.
I want him to inch closer.
If I’m really, truly honest, I want him to touch me.
“Ty—” I pant as I press my fingers against my clit. I’m so slick with arousal I can’t even find a rhythm. All I can do is rub and circle and chase the pressure building between my thighs.
“So close,” I mutter again, the invitation for him to join me on the tip of my tongue.
He could sink two fingers into my cunt and send me into the stratosphere.
If he lavished my nipples while I rubbed my clit like this, I would fall harder and longer and deeper than ever before.
“Please” is all I manage to articulate, my desperation making it impossible to voice my need.
Him.
He’s what I want.
Now. Then. Forevermore.
“Make that pussy cry for me, mon ange.” His tone is low and dangerous. “I want to watch you pulse and quake and soak those fucking sheets.”
My body bends to his will, performing like he asked.
I cry out, pleasure and pain and sweet, sticky relief washing over me.
My fingers falter as waves of satisfaction roll through me. I’m flying and falling at the same time, a limitless lightness shining like a beacon of hope in every cell.
I feel good.
All the bad goes quiet.
Everything will be okay. It’ll all work out.
I’m floating, weightless, relishing the joy brought on by my orgasm when Ty opens his mouth and snaps me out of my reverie.
“That’s one,” he grunts, his words so low I barely hear them. “Now do it again.”