Chapter 23
GARRET DRIVES like a madman through the streets of Kenyan, his grip tight on the wheel, the low growl of the sports car vibrating through my bones. He doesn’t speak. Not once.
When we reach the house, the doors swing up, and he’s rounding the car before I even unbuckle. His hands find me, lifting me effortlessly as if my hesitation doesn’t exist.
Azriel assured him Amy would make it back to the dorms. I wasn’t worried. Azriel, despite being a son of Kenyan, has a heart. He wouldn’t hurt Amy. But I don’t trust him with her heart.
Garret makes a sound of frustration at my sluggish pace and picks me up, carrying me through the threshold and straight to his bedroom. I don’t have time to think. I barely have time to breathe. He sets me down on the bed, stepping back only long enough to pull his shirt over his head.
My mouth goes dry.
He’s perfect. The hard planes of his muscles flex beneath inked skin, each tattoo an untold story. Thorns curl over his heart, inked deep. Dark and possessive.
His gaze locks onto mine .“Tell me,” he rasps, voice rough with want. “Is this okay?”
He’s asking for permission. Tears sting my eyes.
His expression tightens when he sees them. “Don’t cry, Rose. I’ll stop.”
I shake my head, pressing my lips together to keep my emotions in check. “No, please. Don’t,” I whisper. “I’m just… happy.”
His brows furrow slightly, as if he’s trying to decipher whether he’s hearing me correctly. “Are you sure?”
I nod, breath hitching.
His jaw flexes, shadows darkening his features. “I’m not gentle, Rose. It’s why I’ve tried to stay away. I’ve tried to keep my distance, but once you say yes…” His voice drops, guttural. Dangerous. “I’m going to fuck you. I’m going to fuck every man from your memory.”
Shame burns through me at his words. The memories—the past I can never erase.
“I know how you got your tattoo.”
My breath falters. The pieces click together. That’s why he changed.
His hands slide up my thighs, his thumb pressing against my clit, sending a shockwave of pleasure through my body. His tongue darts out between his lips, wetting them as he watches me.
“I’m sorry I judged you,” he murmurs. “But I don’t regret shaving your pretty pussy.”
A strangled gasp escapes me as I press my hand over his, pushing harder against the pressure of his thumb.
“Fuck, Rose,” he grits, the muscle in his jaw contracting.
Heat pulses between my legs, an unbearable ache. My body betrays me, hips rolling in a slow grind against his hand. He watches me come apart for him.
His fingers find the band of my leggings and tug. He slides them over my hips, down my thighs, stripping me bare, tossing them behind him. His eyes flick to my panties—silk, thin lace, already wet.
His nostrils flare, dark hunger twisting across his face. “I can smell you,” he breathes, voice thick.
“Then let me feel you.”
His lips part slightly, eyes flicking up to my sweater. His fingers find the hem, and I let him pull it over my head. My bra follows.
He moves slow, calculated. Holding himself back. I know he wants to tear my panties away, to claim me completely—but I make him wait. Because this moment isn’t just sex.
It’s ours.
“I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life, Rose,” he murmurs, stripping the last barrier between us. His cock stands proud, thick and heavy, silver barbells piercing from tip to shaft. He strokes himself, watching me watch him.
He’s beautiful.
“But you…will never be one of them,” he says.
His words shatter me. Because I know what it feels like to be a mistake. I’ve spent my whole life feeling like one.
But as he kneels between my thighs, inhaling me like I’m the only thing he’s ever wanted—I believe him.
“Fuck,” he whispers, voice wrecked. “You smell so good.” His head dips, the flat of his tongue dragging over the lace, over the heat of me.
Pleasure explodes through my body like a wrecking ball. My nipples tighten, aching. My legs tremble as my breath stutters out in a desperate moan.
“Garret…” I gasp. “Please… more.”
He smirks wickedly, straight black hair falling over his brow, his pitch-dark eyes, the white part visible glinting up at me like the devil himself. Then, he flicks his tongue. A strangled sound rips from my throat. He doesn’t stop.
He grips my hips, holding me in place as I writhe beneath him. My hands fist the sheets, my body arching into him as pleasure tightens in my core. I want him to rip the lace but I break.
My climax crashes through me, a scream tearing from my lips as my vision blurs. My body convulses, tremors rolling down my legs as wet heat floods me.
Garret groans. He rips my panties off. Clamps his mouth over me. Drinks me in.
I’m still gasping when he rises, fisting his cock, pressing the tip against my slick entrance. My heart stutters at the delicious pressure, my body aching for more.
Our eyes lock.
I don’t look away. I don’t blink.
He pushes inside me. A strangled cry escapes me, my thighs trembling. One of his hands flattens against the mattress by my head; the other grips my leg, holding it over his hip.
He moves. Slow. Deep. Hard. Raw.
His gaze never leaves mine. Consuming.
His jaw clenches. “I didn’t use a condom,” he rasps.
I know. I can feel everything.
“I’m clean,” he adds, voice tight, rough. “But I’m coming inside you, Rose. Do you understand?”
I nod, breathless. “I’m on birth control.”
A wicked smile curls his lips. “Okay.” He flips me onto my stomach, pulling my hips up, slamming into me from behind.
A shocked moan escapes me as his fingers tangle in my hair, pulling my head back. His teeth scrape over my shoulder, his tongue soothing the bite.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he groans. His hands roam—skimming over my breasts, teasing my nipples as his thrusts slow, deep, measured. He rubs his nose over my cheek, breathing me in. “This pussy,” he growls, thrusting harder. “Is fucking perfect.”
I cry out, gripping the sheets, lost in the rhythm of him. His lips find mine, devouring me as he fucks me—owns me. His thrusts turn frantic. His body tightens.
“Fuck—Rose, I’m gonna come.”
His words slur against my lips, his voice desperate, wrecked. His movements become erratic, his fingers digging into my hips, his cock pulsing—hot, thick, endless. My body clenches, milking him.
He keeps moving. Keeps fucking me. Keeps worshipping me.
His arms wrap around me as he rolls us, my back pressed to his chest as he fucks me slow, lazy, deep—like he never wants to leave.
Billie Eillish’s Lovely plays through the house speakers as he kisses my neck, whispering words against my skin. “You’re perfect, Rose.” His breath skims my ear, fire erupting in its wake. His hand presses over my heart. “I promise,” he whispers. “I’ll never let anyone hurt you.”
I turn my head, catching his lips. And for the first time…
I believe him.