Chapter Twenty #2
A gorgeous jock with ebony skin and dreadlocks is finishing mixing up a cocktail for the brunette hanging on his arm when I gesture for the shaker.
He passes it over with the pink gin, but I shake out of my jacket, laying it over a stool and head straight for the fridge instead.
Two eggs, a tub of cottage cheese, whipped cream, and an expired pack of prawns later, I dump my finds on the table and start assembling the vilest concoction imaginable.
“Care to explain?” he wrinkles his nose at the smell.
I have to admit, it’s gag-worthy, and it’s perfect.
I shake my head, keeping my eye out for a shine of blonde hair amongst the crowd.
I can sense her nearby. She never strays far from Rhys.
A small crowd gathers, their voices leaking through Rhys’ mic through holding their noses.
“Is she going to drink that?”
“What is she doing?”
“I’m gonna throw up.”
I scrape everything into the shaker, add a pour of tequila—because I’m classy—and lock the lid.
Rhys remains by my side, watching on and making no move to stop me.
Blinking up, I spot her leaning against the staircase, not so suitably curious about the gathered crowd.
I have to tilt my head down to contain my grin.
Satisfied it’s as smooth as it’s going to get, I pour the pale, lumpy mixture into two cups and hand one to Addy. It smells as bad as it looks.
The crowd lurches back to create a path as we cut through, my gaze locked on my target.
To her credit, I suppose, Klara holds her ground.
Arms crossed with a rally of cheerleaders at her back, all glaring at my hair with equal distain.
They didn’t think I’d be here, never mind looking like I own the room.
Addy catches my eye, winks, and darts up the stairs without a word.
I clear my throat, the rancid tang of stale beer and sweat coating the back of my tongue, and the cheerleaders behind her immediately back off, their faces twisting at the smell.
I close the distance between Klara and me until our noses are almost touching, and even without hearing it, I can feel the hush ripple through the house.
“Apply generously and leave for fifteen minutes for a luxurious shine,” I grit through my teeth as I tip the contents of my cup over her head, watching the thick liquid cascade down her face in slow rivulets, while above us Addy attacks from the rear with her own.
When the last gloopy drop has slid from the cup, I crush the flimsy plastic in my hand and let it fall onto her glittering gold heels.
Klara gags and chokes beneath the gloop, her make-up running in equally thick streams.
I pivot sharply, flicking my cotton-candy hair over my shoulder, and stride through the circle of applause to find Rhys.
A jock is at his side, leaning in to murmur something I can’t hear through the mic.
Rhys’s expression darkens with every word, his gaze sharp and unreadable.
Replying with a clipped order, the jock rushes out of the backdoor.
Rhys waits for me to reach him, carefully lifting my wrists and dragging me towards the basin.
He flicks on the water and pumps soap into his own hands to wash mine.
“I feel like I’m missing something.” He tentatively scrubs any gloopy residue left between my fingers, turning my hands back and forth in his before washing them off.
His own knuckles are red and swollen, thin slices tearing across his hands but he pays them no mind.
I lift one shoulder in a shrug, unwilling to admit that I’ve entered myself into some bitchy rivalry on his behalf. I won’t give him the satisfaction.
“You’re missing a lot of things, Rhys.” Sharp, blue eyes slide to me and he doesn’t say anymore.
Grabbing a towel, he pats me dry and hooks my arm into his.
His grip is tight, as if I’m a wild animal he is trying to wrangle.
Pushing through the backdoor, where the jock jogged out, I catch the tail-end of a speedy clean up.
The jock ushers naked people from an adult-size bounce house, while another breaks up an orgy in an equally-nudist boxing ring.
Rhys turns me right, using his body to block my view.
At the end of the porch, a junior is swiftly scooting empty cups into a trash bag around the hot tub.
He keeps his eyes low, not addressing Rhys and sneaking away as we approach.
A minute later and we’re alone, the slam of the back door echoing in Rhys’ mic.
The kitchen blinds are pulled down just after.
Rhys doesn’t say anything at first. I watch him unclip the mic and attach it to a thin chain hanging around his neck.
Shimmying out of his shirt, he pulls a cigarette from his jeans pocket and lights it before shedding those too.
Between lighting the cherry, he slips out of his shoes and jeans, and leans against the railing in just his boxers.
“If you’re expecting me to-” I instinctively wrap my arms around myself, but Rhys waves me off.
“Seeing you wearing my number is…” he inhales on his cigarette and exhales a cloud of smoke through his nose, “intoxicating.” Balancing the stick between his lips, he crooks his index finger in my direction.
Despite hating the smell, I inch closer and Rhys’ hand falls to my belt.
Deftly, he unhooks the buckle, letting it crash to the floor and then points at my boots.
I play along, thoroughly enjoying the way his breath quickens when I obey him so easily.
My submission must be something he’s been waiting for.
Standing bare foot, I wait for my next instruction.
Rhys swivels his finger in the air and I turn around.
“I think you like being a good girl for me,” he mumbles, sinking his hands into my hair. I don’t respond, surprised when his fingers find my scalp and start to softly massage. “I think you like being the good girl for the villain that everyone fears.”
Rhys kneads and rubs, dragging his fingertips over my scalp, lingering until I shiver.
Not from the cold, but from the unexpected pleasure of simply being touched.
Of being cared for. His thumbs sweep over my temples, gentle and reverent, making it difficult to stand still in the winter’s air.
The low hum that slips from my throat betrays me, and I feel his chest expand with satisfaction against my back.
Guiding my newly-pink hair on top of my head, he secures it with something to give him full access to my neck.
His hands slide over my throat, lingering for a moment before continuing over my shoulders.
Brushing over the neckline of the jersey, my nipples harden against my will and my breath stutters.
Rhys takes one more pull on his cigarette before flicking the ash lazily over the railing, the ember glowing faintly in the dark.
“Get in the tub, Babygirl.” He eases me forward by the waist, holding my weight as I step into the hot tub in his jersey and the black lace underwear Addy insisted I wore underneath.
He’s right behind me, mirroring my actions as he glides into the water and when I attempt to move away, he drags me down into his lap.
I tense slightly but his hands are on me again, massaging my shoulders this time.
Bubbles lap around me, the heat seeping into my skin.
Of all the things I expected to feel tonight, this wasn’t it.
Pain was at the top of the list, probably possessive throat holding and having my face slammed into a wall whilst Rhys attempted to take me from behind.
I’d fully planned on waiting until the last moment before snapping his dick off, but he’s decided to come at me from left field.
Easing the knots from my shoulder blades, attempting to convince me that I’m discovering a side of him no one else gets to see. A power move, I’m sure.
Movement appears at our side and I flinch, catching the delayed beat of music through the closing back door.
The junior that helped with clearing up kneels to balance a tray of drinks on the edge of the tub and whisks away again, keeping his eyes diverted at all times.
Rhys only moves once he’s disappeared back inside.
He keeps me pressed against him, leaning forward to hand me another prosecco and retrieve himself one of the whiskeys.
“Drink,” Rhys orders. “And relax. We’re going to be here for a while.”
“Doing what?” I raise a brow over my shoulder. I jolt for a second, not spotting his chain or my mic, until I hear the faint static of my hair rustling with the movement and realise just what he’s secured my ponytail with.
He reaches around to lift the glass in my hand and tip it against my lips as the water swirls around us.
I hold his gaze, unblinking as I drink. Rhys sips his whiskey too, smirking behind his glass.
For a second, the night feels suspended, the party noise a dull echo in the background.
My pulse thrums in my ears, not from fear but from the dizzying rush of being seen, chosen, and dared.
“You are nothing like what I expected,” he says almost too quietly to catch.
I hold back a sarcastic comment along the lines of, well yeah – you expected me to be blind and helpless.
There’s no point bringing up the past now, not when I’m too interested in what’s happening in the present.
Tonight is a one-time deal, might as well let my inhibitions go.
Finally giving in to temptation, I twist, swiveling until I’m straddling his lap. Rhys lets out a sound of pure approval, his arms spreading to lean against the wood-lined tub. Setting my glass down, I let my fingers wander across the elaborate tattoos etched into his chest and shoulders.
They remind me of Rodin’s Gates of Hell, an intricate masterpiece of angels and demons, men and skeletons locked in a desperate climb.
My touch follows the curve of an angel with white-feathered wings lifting a crying woman upward, then drifts to a demon crouched over the severed head of his victim.
Every figure is unique, yet all are drained of color, their stories told only through line and shadow.
Before my fingers reach the ink at his neck, he catches my hand and presses it firmly to the center of his chest, the steady beat of his heart drumming against my palm.
His skin is hot beneath my touch, slick with the steam curling from the water, and when he leans in, his tongue traces a slow, deliberate line along my jaw from chin to ear.
My breath hitches as his intoxicating scent floods my senses, the smoke from his earlier cigarette clinging to him, threaded through with something darker, sharper, and undeniably Rhys.
The heat of the water merges with the heat of his touch until it feels as though every nerve in my body is on high alert, every part of me pulled taut like a string about to snap.
“Since when have you been anything except a scheming asshole?” I ask, not really expecting an answer, my voice coming out rougher than I intended.
My mouth takes on a life of its own, brushing against his temple.
“I figured you would have your way with me and kick me out.” Rhys’ lips graze my earlobe, creating a dance of movements that clearly avoids our mouths touching, until he pauses.
“Is that what you came here for?” His voice is infuriatingly calm, each word vibrating against my skin.
“Maybe.” I swallow, hating how unsteady I sound. My hands dip beneath the water, trailing over his abdomen. “I figured we could burn through this attraction and get back to our lives.” Rhys chuckles, his hand sliding to my thigh in an attempt to anchor me more securely on his lap.
“We have a lot more in common than I thought. It may have started that way, but when I saw you in my jersey, looking like a pink-wrapped package just for me, I changed my mind.” He tilts his head back slightly, meeting my gaze with a smirk that is softer than his usual dangerous vibe.
“I’ll go back to being the asshole you hate tomorrow. Just give me tonight.”
Something inside me twists hard, my stomach coiling as the heat seeps all the way to my core. I clench my thighs out of habit, and Rhys’ cock pulses right back. He’s growing harder, pressing firmly against my center. The warning bells in my skull clash with the thrill of surrender.
“Okay. I’ll give you tonight.”
Rhys’ thumb strokes slow circles against my waist, the touch maddeningly tender compared to the way my nails are digging into his skin.
I need to calm down. I can’t be the one who is out of control here.
Wetting my lips, which was instantly a bad idea as it brings Rhys’ attention back to them, I exhale deliberately.
“You’re wrong by the way. I don’t like being the good girl for the villain everyone fears.
” Rhys’ brow arches, interest sparking in his blue eyes, the lip ring at the corner of his mouth curving.
He leans forward, finally crossing the boundary we’ve been dancing around and brushing his lips over mine.
“Oh no? What do you enjoy then?”
I smile, pulling back and taking great satisfaction in the way his mouth follows me.
The way his body leans over mine and an arm snakes around my back as if I might push off and disappear any moment.
Toying with my tongue between my teeth, I bathe in his full attention before offering my confession and challenge all at once.
“I like being the villain’s weakness.”