Chapter Thirty Six
By the time we pull into campus the sun has sunk low, painting the dorm building in streaks of orange and gold, salt still clinging to my skin.
My hair is tangled beyond belief, and Clayton beside me looks completely exhausted.
The sea air will do that to you. Thankfully, there’s barely anyone around to note our return.
Not that I’m embarrassed to be seen with Clay, but that I want something for myself.
Something that isn’t publicized all over social media with an unsavory hashtag.
But I should know better than to expect a little privacy.
Turning into the parking lot, I pull up beside a black Porsche parked crooked across two spaces, already rolling my eyes.
Rhys is leaning against the brick wall, his jaw tight in the light of his phone as he scrolls endlessly.
Clayton bristles but I place a hand on his thigh and shake my head.
I’m not ending this perfect day on an argument, finding myself swiftly back in the middle of their cockfight.
Apparently, Rhys didn’t get the memo. He’s on me the moment I slide out from the driver’s seat.
“Where the fuck have you been?” Rhys spits, his voice slicing through the buzz of contentment still humming in my chest. I take my time to shoulder my backpack, close my door and lock the car once Clay has also vacated.
“We went out,” I shrug, attempting to move past him.
It’s not that I don’t enjoy Rhys’ delusion of keeping me strung up as his personal puppet, at his beck and call for whenever his boredom strikes, but he needs to learn this lesson the hard way.
A lesson that, apparently, only I can teach.
If he wants my attention, there are better ways to get it.
Growling, Rhys’ hand curls around my arm and Clay moves in, placing me exactly where I didn’t want to be. Right in the middle of them.
“Clay, don’t—” I start, bracing to physically pry them apart when he catches my chin between his fingers and tilts my head upwards.
The breath saws out of my parted lips as he swoops in, kissing me slow and deep as if intent on burning himself into my memory.
I melt, letting myself drown in the taste of him, despite Rhys’ hand clamping down on my arm, determined on leaving a mark.
Pulling back, Clay smirks as I sway slightly, his thumb brushing over my cheek. “I’ll see you later,” he promises and slinks away. I watch him go, my mind short-circuiting. What the hell just happened?
The silence that follows is suffocating, the air thick with Rhys’s fury, and when I finally look at him his lips are curled, his chest heaving like he might tear the world apart just to make a point.
“Get in the car,” he growls, jerking his head toward the Porsche. I start to refuse, but Rhys drags me there anyway, popping his passenger door. Shoving me into the seat, the door is slammed and he’s behind the wheel in the next moment.
“Rhys, it’s been a long day. I just want to shower and collapse.”
“You can do both of those things at my house.” The tires skid, speeding us back out the way I just came.
We pass Clayton walking along the sidewalk but he can’t see me through the blackened windows.
There’s not much he could do anyway. The beast has been unlocked in Rhys and there’s only one way to lure it back into its cage. Complete submission.
Arriving in record time, Rhys manhandles me into his frat house, up the stairs and tosses me onto his bed. He paces back and forth, making a valiant effort to ease his rage.
“So you’re dating him now?” he hisses, his fists clenching and opening. I force my voice to stay level, not betraying the sarcasm that wants to jump to my defense.
“We went for a day out.” Rhys stops to glare at me, his eye twitching.
“Was there laughter and touching and kissing and food?” I roll my tongue between my teeth, considering these points.
“Okay fine, I suppose I’m dating him now.
” I admit. Rhys’ blue eyes darken, a predatory exhale leaving his nostrils.
I chew on my lip, wrapping my arms around myself.
After such a peaceful, liberating day, losing Rhys is the last thing I wanted to do.
Selfish, I know, but just for one more day, I wanted to live within the blurred lines of being wanted by two gorgeous, overpowering men.
Sighing, I ask the question I don’t want the answer to. “What does that mean for us?”
As per usual, Rhys does what I least expect. His grin snaps back into place, the only warning before he lunges. His fingers tighten around my throat, his thumb pressing against my pulse. I barely have time to gasp, the length of his body crushing mine back into his mattress.
“Well, you clearly aren’t fucking him, or you wouldn’t respond to me so beautifully. Let me remind you who you really belong to.” Tilting my jaw upwards, exposing my throat to him like an offering, the heat of his mouth descends, brutally marking for all to see.
“Rhys,” I groan. His smile curves against my skin.
“Say my name, Babygirl. Say it loud and proud.” His crotch grinds against my center, already hardening and rubbing my jeans in the right kind of way.
It’s ridiculous how quickly Rhys affects me, his lean muscles and confident swagger straight out of a porno I’d play on repeat.
Each roll of his hips draws a strangled sound from my throat.
I reach up to remove my receivers, but Rhys clamps down on my wrists and pins them either side of my head.
"Don't," he warns, flashing me a narrowed glare.
"I want to see how wet I can make you with just my filthy mouth.
" I close my eyes, a bolt of pleasure zipping straight to my clit.
Mission already accomplished. As if he enjoys watching me squirm beneath the weight of his stare, Rhys memorizes my face, the way it pinches when he grinds against me again.
Giving into him goes against my nature, the part of me that despises bullies humming with curiosity now that I'm pinned beneath one.
When he finally leans in, his kiss is not gentle.
It's harsh, slipping the imaginary leash around my neck and pulling hard.
The only solace I have is that I chained him first. Rhys' mouth crashes over mine with a hunger that pushes air from my lungs, driven by the need to claim and ruin.
His hands round my ass and pull me flush against him, inked fingers splayed across my jean pockets.
I twist uncomfortably, agitated by the denim.
"Take them off," I groan between Rhys biting down on my lower lip hard enough to hurt and then licking it better.
"If that's what you want," Rhys reaches for my waistband. "Then no." Hiking them up higher on my hips, I almost cry with frustrated relief. The rugged seam gives me a hint of the release I'm chasing but my hips are bucking in Rhys' direction.
His laugh is wicked, the smug bastard that he is coming out in full force. I try to twist away, ashamed by my reactions but Rhys grabs my chin and forces me to stare straight ahead.
“Let me look at you,” he rasps, dragging his thumb over my bottom lip. “All restless and needy. I could watch you squirm all night.”
The words sear through me, hotter than the friction of his hips.
I want to deny it, to throw something sharp back at him, but my brain is nothing but fog and static as he drags his nose along my cheek, inhaling me like I’m his oxygen.
His hand slips between us, skating over my breasts to cup me through my jeans.
“You like it when I press here, don’t you?” The heel of his palm applies pressure to my clit and I mewl. Actually mewl for this crazed, possessive man. “You like it when I keep you right on the edge, quivering for more. And best of all, you hate that I’m the one who does this to you.”
It’s like he’s in my head, voicing my very thoughts.
“I—Rhys—” My protest chokes into a gasp when his thigh slides between mine, forcing them wider. His hand has full access now, rubbing in firm, slow circles. He’s driving me crazy and I’m not even undressed yet.
“Here’s how this is going to go, Babygirl.
You’re going to get on your knees and take my cock in that pretty mouth of yours.
If you do a good job, I’ll rip your jeans off and take you hard and fast until you’re crying with pleasure.
” His blue eyes are consuming my vision, sparkling with lust as he speaks.
I’m hanging on every word. “Are you going to do a good job for me?”
Swallowing, I nod. Rhys’ smile is demon worthy.
He flips us, angling me off the mattress and onto the floor.
Before I can reach for his sweatpants, he tugs my sweater and t-shirt over my head.
I’m adjusting the tatted mess that is my hair when he releases the clip of my bra, baring my top half to him.
My nipples pucker at Rhys’ undivided attention more than the cool air.
“Make it rough. Suck, bite, scratch. Make it hurt,” he orders, pulling his cock free.
It bobs against his stomach, the Jacob’s ladder piercings catching the light.
I lick my lips on instinct. I don’t hesitate, urged on by this need to be satisfied one way or another, taking a solid grip of his shaft and guiding it into my mouth before Rhys has fully shed his sweatpants.
Despite the metal gliding over my tongue, he’s so smooth. We groan in unison, my throat adjusting his size and the pierced stud at the tip of his plump head, then I deliver on his request. I lay my tongue flat, taking him as far as I can, and bite down between his piercings.
“Fuck yes,” Rhys groans, filling the room with his approval.
At first, I’m cautious, choosing my timing and placements carefully.
Encouraged by his hands either side of my face, I suck until my cheeks hollow out and I’m fairly certain Rhys’ soul leaves his body.
He hardens impossibly further, his hands becoming lost in my hair, pushing me to take him deeper than I thought possible.
Tears spring from my eyes, my throat constricting.
He releases me long enough to take back and thrusts back in, blinded by his desire.
“You’re mine,” he grunts in deluded ramblings.
“Not Clayton’s. No one else’s. Mine. Fuck, you drive me insane, Harper.
” I don’t often hear him mutter my name and I smirk around his shaft, twisting my tongue around his head, toying with the stud.
All the while, my nails scratch angry patterns over Rhys’ thighs and my hips roll to gain friction from my jeans. I’m a frenzied mess, frantic and needy.
“That’s enough,” Rhys tugs my head free.
I sit back on my heels but he doesn’t give me a moment to catch my breath.
Joining me on the floor, Rhys throws me onto my hands and knees, tugging at my waistband with eager desperation.
They make it to my thighs before he gives up, thrusting two fingers straight inside me.
I scream out in shock, jolting when they pump twice and pull out just as fast.
“So fucking wet. So fucking beautiful,” he moans, lining up his cock with my center.
A spark of panic bursts through me until I feel the telltale sensation of latex.
I don’t have time to be impressed by his speed in suiting up, as Rhys simultaneously pushes his dick into my pussy and his two fingers into my mouth.
“Can you taste how much your body wants me? How it’s begging me to carve my mark into your cunt? ”
The taste of my desire explodes within my mouth.
He uses those fingers to hold me in place, not giving any room between us as his powerful jerks reach higher and deeper inside of me.
The room blurs around the edges, the entire world ceasing to exist as I spiral closer to the climax that tears me apart.
Rhys is everything I both fear and yearn for, brutal in the way he moves. Yet somehow, every movement is methodically precise, like he knows exactly how to make me forget myself. His hands map my ribs and his mouth claims my skin, not leaving an inch of space untouched.
I scream louder than I care to admit, cum more times than I can count, until we collapse in a sweaty heap on the floor, breathless and exhausted. I’m fully prepared to fall asleep right then and there, but for the second time this evening, Rhys surprises me.
His arms curl around my body, lifting and easing me beneath his covers.
He slides in behind, the evidence of what we’ve done making a mess on his sheets, but he doesn’t care.
Instead, the ghost of a kiss touches my hair just as I doze off, unsure if I actually got the answer to my question – what does this mean for us?
All I do know is that my interest in Clayton threatened whatever this is, a passion we can’t explain or resist. Rhys Waversea doesn’t do threatened, and he defiantly doesn’t do losing.