Chapter Twenty-Seven
“Fuckin’theatrics,” Freddie mutters, tossing his beaten demon-faced mask onto my unmade bed. “Don’t get why it’s all got to be so formal.”
I scowl and yank at the tiny voice-changing microphone sewn into my hood. The cord’s somehow gotten tangled up on itself. Again. “Bitch and moan some more, why don’t you?”
“A little room for improv, that’s all I’m asking. Most fun part of the whole thing is herding those pussies in circles on our way to the cliffs, and the girl I had this time didn’t even flinch. Hell, I got the feeling that she fuckin’ knew where we were going. They usually get dizzy, you know. I had one who threw up once, but I think he was just drunk.”
“You’re just jealous that you don’t get to dangle some poor bastard over the cliffside.”
“Of course I am.” He flops back onto my mattress, hands folded behind his head, and shoots me a lazy grin. “Plus, your delivery of those lines has gotten flat as hell. I could add some real oomph to it.”
“And tell me this.” With the mic finally freed, I yank the hood off and cast it aside in disgust. “Would that oomph include hurling some innocent kid into the sea, rather than just threatening it?”
“Maybe on occasion. Just to keep everyone on their toes.”
“You’re fucking insane.”
“That’s what they tell me.” He props himself up on one elbow. “Say, d’you think people are pussing out more by the year? How many are actually going to make it to initiation? I mean, these newbies were having a rough time of it. I feel bad for them.”
“No you don’t.”
“No I don’t,” he agrees. “Hopefully, some of them’ll turn up in the tunnels next week and try to wriggle out once your dad gives his spiel. Fresh prey, yum.”
“Sometimes I think you enjoy this a little too much. These aren’t the people we want to be killing, remember?”
“I dunno. That girl last year, Laura Knollwood? She had it coming.”
That’s debatable—and debate isn’t what I’m in the mood for just now. I’m not in the mood for anything other than a good night’s sleep, which is exactly what I’m not going to get. After all the time it took herding the newbies back to the edge of the woods, waiting for the stupid Greek parties to die down, and sneaking back to the GODs house one by one, the skies are already warming from jet-black to the deep gray of predawn.
“Fuck off for a bit, would you?” I mutter as I stash my cloak. “I’m trying not to kill myself just yet, but you and your yammering sorely tempt me.”
“Gotta keep on chugging, man. Do it for the cause.”
“Shut up.”
“Maybe I will. Someday.”
Despite his words, he hops to his feet and heads out the door, whistling something irritatingly catchy. I kick the door shut behind him, slump onto my bed, and crush the heels of my hands against my eyes, heaving a sigh.
Two more years. That’s what I have to keep telling myself. Just two more fucking years.
It’s got to be, what, five in the morning by now? Less than twelve hours until I have to be back on my feet, prepping for the official GODs recruitment party. Since frat initiation happens on the same night as the preliminary society meeting, we don’t get much of a chance to celebrate—which means sleepless nights back-to-back.
Jesus Christ, I hate fucking rush week.
I roll onto my stomach and drag a pillow under my chin. I’m awful at sleeping in the daylight—might as well try to catch an hour or two before the sun rises properly.
My belt’s digging into me, and I’m hungry as hell, but all of that can wait. Just a quick nap, that’s all. Then I’ll be up and about, deep in the trenches of yet another day on this fucking purgatory of an island.
I’m woken by the last thing in the world that I could possibly want: a text from Marissa Alexander.
I blink fuzzily at her name on my screen, willing it to disappear. Maybe I’m still dreaming—except my dreams were filled with another golden-haired girl, a vision of dancing, rosewater, and heavenly soft lips. Not this bimbo bitch.
But as my eyes focus, I only get it confirmed.
Marissa: Tell your little cunt of a girlfriend that I send my regards.
Oh, fucking great. What the hell is this supposed to be?
Me: Told you not to text this number
I should block her. I would block her, but the content of her message troubles me despite myself. What the fuck does she want with Lia?
Marissa: Saw you thrusting on that poor freshie Thurs. nite. Dunno which of u I pity more.
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
The twig snapping in the forest. Of all the people who could have seen us, it had to be the bitch who thinks she has some sort of claim over me. Now she’s never going to leave either of us alone. Growling with frustration, I chuck my phone aside and roll out of bed.
Sun’s up. It’s later than it should be. Guess I got more sleep than I meant to, though it’s still far from enough, judging by the dull throb of a headache in my temples. At least I know for a fact that we’re well stocked on coffee now.
My shower’s even quicker than usual. The cold water shocks a little more alertness into me, but does nothing for the headache. As soon as I’m out and dressed, I snatch up my phone again and open a blank text window.
Dixon gave me her number a couple of days ago. Once I had a name for him, he pulled it up without an issue—never mind the fact that students’ personal information is heavily encrypted by the school’s top-of-the-line security system.
Me: Lia. It’s Ryker. GODs party tonight, 8pm. See you there?
I stare at the screen for longer than I should after sending the message, willing her to reply. Nothing. Maybe she’s still asleep—I envy her for that. Not like she had any reason for a late night.
Whatever. Why should I care? I’m not going to get worked up over something stupid as a girl attending a party. If she comes, she comes. If not, whatever. The invitation stands.
On that note, I ought to do something about Marissa.
Re-opening my text thread with her sours my stomach, especially when I discover that she’s had the fucking gall to send a heart emoji after her next message. My fingertips stab a response into the keyboard.
Me: If I see you at the frat house tonight, you’re gonna be in deep fucking trouble.
Of course she responds instantly, even though Lia won’t. Spite’s the strongest motivator there is, I guess.
Marissa: Don’t threaten me with a good time ;)
Jesus fucking?—
I shove the phone into my pocket and force a deep breath through my gritted teeth.
Enough of this shit. I need a goddamn coffee.
My phone dings. I”m standing at the kitchen counter, pouring my third cup.
Lia: What should I wear?
As little as possible, of course—but maybe that’s too harsh of a way to phrase it. Don’t want my words to backfire and scare her off.
“Morning.”
I don’t look up at the sound of Freddie’s voice, just give a low grunt of greeting.
“You fuckin’ constipated or something? I haven’t seen a look like that on your face since freshman year when you were trying to figure out that assignment on vector spaces.”
“Vector spaces are bullshit.”
“Is the thing in your phone also bullshit?”
I tuck it in my pocket. Leaving her on read for the time being, but she’s not the kind of petty girl who will get hung up on that shit. She’s probably got friends who can give fashion advice a thousand times more helpful than someone like me, anyway. “I’ll tell you what it is?—”
“No, no, let me guess.” Freddie waggles his eyebrows. “None of my business?”
“Spot on.”
“As always.” He saunters past me and grabs a mug of his own. “You excited for tonight? We all know how much you love parties.”
Yeah, okay. Good one.
Despite his sarcasm, though, he’s not exactly wrong.
“Maybe I am a little excited.”
“Right, right. And I’m the Queen of England.”
“You’re bitchy enough for it.”
His only response is a wide grin and a jaunty shrug.
I don’t press the matter. Don’t want him to know just how much I really do care about tonight.
Vulnerability is weakness.
I have to remember that.
Now more than ever.
An hour into the party, there’s no sign of Lia.
No sign of Marissa either, though that’s hardly a relief. I almost want her to be here, just to give me an excuse to put her in her place. I’m not going to fight a girl, but… she could use a few harsh words.
I’ve been watching every person who enters the room from my black leather throne, shooting down anyone who tries to distract me with a vicious glare. Maybe a drink or three would make this stupid waiting game more bearable, but I refuse to take one. My mounting headache is almost welcome at this point—it’s somewhere to focus the frustration, at least, so that I don’t take it out on anyone who isn’t asking for it.
Lia hasn’t texted me again, either. It doesn’t make any fucking sense. Everything about this girl is so confusing. I’ve never been fucking stood up before. Is that what this is? Because if so, I’m starting to get a sense of why Freddie’s inclined to go on murder sprees whenever one of his dates runs away screaming.
I won’t message her again. That would look desperate, and desperation isn’t a quality that I possess. If she doesn’t want to come, so be it. See if I care?—
There she is.
A quick static shock runs down my spine. She’s standing at the edge of the dance floor, arms crossed tightly, head tilted back as she scans the crowd. A black crop top hugs her chest, exposing a generous expanse of skin above the waistline of her dark jeans. Not the same jeans from last time I saw her, most likely, but that makes no difference—I can still remember the friction of them thrusting greedily against my own.
I stride towards her, letting the crowd naturally part around me. She seems oblivious, uncharacteristically so—it’s only when I’m a couple of steps away that her eyes finally find mine.
She flushes immediately, and I can see from the quick twitch of her lips that her breathing has escalated. She’s remembering it, too. I know she is. The way she shuddered in the clutches of her orgasm, swept up in swells of pleasure, giving herself up to me completely. I gave her something on Thursday night that she’d never known before—and now, with my gaze probing the small heaves of her chest and the ever-so-slight rubbing of her thighs, I can see that she wants it again.
Almost as badly as I want to give it to her.
I close the last of the distance between us, drawing near enough for even a soft murmur to be audible under the music.
“You’re late.”
“I am,” she tells me, tilting her chin up, “because I was pregaming.”
She pronounces the word like it’s from a foreign language. I’ll bet anything that she learned it about an hour ago.
“Didn’t think you were the type.”
“My friend had a bottle of vodka. It tasted like peppermint.”
Even her tipsy indignation is somehow endearing. A distant part of my mind warns me to be careful, to take things slowly while she’s like this, but I’m as drunk on her presence as she is on that disgusting-sounding booze. Fuck—what is it about this girl? Why can’t I seem to get enough of her?
“And just how much peppermint did you enjoy before you came here?”
“Enough.”
“Enough for what?”
“Enough—for this.”
She snatches my wrist and drags me towards the dance floor. Her strength isn’t what I’d expect from someone of her stature. I could still resist it if I wanted to, but I don’t; instead, I let her tug me along until we’re in the middle of the crowd, surrounded on all sides by feverish motion.
“Come on,” she urges, leaning close to me. She braces her hands against my chest, fingers sprawled wide, and gazes up at me with eyes like liquid topaz. Not lustful, but somehow pure. Yearning. “Come on, Ryker… dance with me again. Please?”
Oh, I will. For her, I absolutely will.
I clasp her waist as she spins around. Despite her inebriation, she doesn’t stagger in the slightest. She leans forward and shifts her hips back, extending a wordless invitation that my cock responds to with aching enthusiasm.
A couple of wolf whistles ring through the crowd as my hands go to her waist, bringing her closer. To these people, this is out of the norm. I don’t usually make it a point to go out onto the dance floor—ever. Not even when I approached Lia the first time did I plan to dance. I preferred watching, but with Lia… I want more.
As soon as she makes contact with me, she gyrates in slow, teasing circles, glancing over her shoulder a couple of times with her lashes half-lowered, silently urging me even closer.
Fucking hell.
My fingers tighten around her midriff, fingernails sinking into soft skin. Though I can’t hear anything over the music, I could swear that a little purr of pleasure stirs her body. I pull her even closer?—
She slips away, whirling to face me, a mischievous smirk tilting her lips.
This fucking girl is playing with me.
And it’s hot as hell.
“Get back here,” I growl, reaching for her again.
She does, leaning close in a series of tiny sways, until her hands are on my shoulders and our hips brush together. When she rubs against me, I have to hold my breath to keep from moaning. Jesus Christ. The fire from the nightclub is back, but different now, a controlled smolder rather than a raging flame.
I’ve never needed her more.
Crashing my lips upon hers, I devour her with ferocious hunger. I don’t care that we’re on the dance floor, and all eyes are on us. I plan to make sure that everyone knows she’s mine.
Lowering my head, my lips trail across her jaw until finally brushing her ear. “Come with me. Upstairs. Now.”
“Yes,” she gasps, “please.”
Snatching her hand, she clings to my side as I storm past the ogling crowd. There are going to be whispers all over campus by tomorrow morning, but I don’t give a shit. They ought to know, every last one of them. Ought to know that she’s untouchable—that I have the right to her, and no one else.
The moment we make it past the crowd, I move my grip to her tight, toned bicep before we start up the broad staircase, but she proves that she doesn’t need my support—taking the steps two at a time, in fact, light as a deer on her feet. And when we reach the top, she gives me another one of those little smirks—as if proving a point.
“You don’t even know what you’re doing, do you?” I growl as I pull us towards my room.
“I’m learning,” she insists. “I know more than you think…”
She doesn’t get the chance to finish her sentence—not that I want to know what she meant by that—because the second that we’re inside beneath the dim lights, I’m slamming the door shut, keeping her to myself. I pin her against the door, hands above her head holding her in place.
Her long hair highlights her face as her eyes gaze up at me with the same desire she has filled me with since the day I met her. “So fucking beautiful.”
Her mouth finds mine willingly, hot and soft—rougher than before, but also more eager, letting her tongue explore my lower lip. As I torment and tease her with light bites that have her body curving into up as soft gasps escape her throat.
“Oh god—” she moans softly, completely giving in to the pleasure I create within her.
Letting my hands slide down the length of her body I grip the backs of her thighs, hoisting her up against the door. Her eyes lusted over as she pants and moans at the friction I cause between her thighs. A desperation to have more of what she has already gotten.
“Please,” she gasps. “Ryker. Whatever it is, I want it. I want to do it… please.”
Fuck. This is everything I’ve been thinking about since the moment I met Lia Morgan. And as intoxicating as it is to finally have her here, to have her submitting to me—knowing that I’ll be the first to claim her perfect untouched body… I can’t.
The taste of peppermint on her breath reminds me that this isn’t how she normally acts. And though I’ve never had an issue fucking drunk girls in the past, I can’t do that with her.
Peppermint—
“Goddamn it,” I mutter against her lips.
“What… what’s wrong?”
I pull my head back, still careful to support her arms and legs, I take in the beautiful, flushed and dewy-eyed woman in front of me, her half-parted lips are more of a demand than an invitation… but I can’t.
“You’ve been drinking,” I remind her.
“Yeah, a bit. So what?”
I know there’s no use trying to explain it. She’ll only argue, and it’ll take everything I have not to let her persuade me.
That doesn’t mean we have to stop here, though.
Holding tight to her, I carry her towards my bed. Soft laughter escapes her the moment I toss her onto the bed, her body bouncing slightly as she catches herself with ease, propping herself up on one elbow as she watches me with fever-bright, tiger-hungry eyes.
“Show me how it feels to be with you,” she breathes. “Please.”
I can’t give her what she wants. I will—God knows I fucking will—but not yet.
I can, however, give her what she doesn’t know she needs.
I kick off my shoes and climb onto the bed to straddle her, keeping my body suspended a careful few inches above hers. She shifts onto her back and locks eyes with me through the haze of her long, dark lashes.
“You have to show me what to do,” she murmurs.
“I can’t.”
“You have to…”
“No. You don’t need to do anything right now…” I lean down to nip at her ear, winning myself a breathy gasp. “But I can make you feel good, if you want.”
“Like last time?”
“Exactly like last time.”
“Please… please.”
Leaning down, I brush my mouth across hers. The soft plush of her swollen lips is something I’ll never get enough of. Right now isn’t about me. It’s about her.
Slowly, I move. My body slides down hers, my hands gripping the top of her pants, fingers undoing the button and zipper while my lips brush gentle kisses across the bare flesh of her stomach. She moans—a soft delicate sound of pleasure escaping her lips with the slightest bit of touch from my fingers.
As much as I want to dive in and taste her, I also want to savor her.
Her pants and shoes come off with ease, tossed to the floor without a second thought. Her legs willingly open for me, her body practically begging for my touch. Letting my fingers slide up the bare skin of her legs, I inch my face towards her black cotton panties that conceal her core.
Her chest rises and falls with anticipation as she gazes down at me, lips parted and eyes wide.
“What are you doing?” she asks, hesitation in her voice as a smile crests the corner of my lips. I probably should tell her, give her a heads up. But the idea that no other man has tasted her and I’ll be the first is something that I want to surprise her with.
“Shh— just relax.”
She’s tense for a moment. Until my lips fall against the front of her black cotton panties and a gasp leaves her lips that rings through my ears like a song I want to replay over and over again. Hooking them, I pull them to the side. My tongue swiping out to run across her the soft delicate slit of her untouched pussy. A gasp escapes her, her back arching as I run my tongue against her again.
She tastes sweet, the scent of roses intoxicating as I lose myself to the pleasure I create within her. Her hips writhing beneath me as I hold her in place, before devouring her to an extent that as her soft cries echoing around me.
Over and over again, my tongue swirls around her clit before diving deep inside her.
“Oh my god!”
Her cries mean nothing though. I can’t stop—I won’t stop.
With every swipe of my tongue I bring her closer and closer to the edge. Until her legs begin to shake and she screams out, head tilted back, mouth wide open as her core tightens around my finger and cum begins to coat it, spraying out with an intensity I’ve never seen in a woman.
A true squirter—I fucking love it.
Lia slumps back against my mattress, breaths still coming hard, eyes now fully closed. One shaking hand combs sweat-darkened hair from her forehead.
“’M gonna sleep here,” she mumbles, “if that’s all good…”
Shit. Like hell it is—but she’s snuggling into my rumbled blanket, warm and content, and I can’t bring myself to rouse her.
Fine. If she wants my bed for the night, she can have it. Not like I’m tired after all of that, anyway.
I get to my feet, taking care not to disturb her—though my caution isn’t exactly warranted. She’s out like a light.
When I reach the doorway, I linger for just a moment, watching the steady rise and fall of her chest. My thumb brushes over my knuckles, still sticky with her cum.
Next time, I’m taking her all the way.
I lock the door behind me. Can’t have her drunkenly wandering out. She’s safe in there, a dove asleep in her cage, and I’m going to keep her that way.