Chapter 38
THIRTY-EIGHT
HANNAH
“You can’t be serious.”
“Try me.” His words land on my neck, a tremble ripping through me.
The hum of the crowd goes silent as the spotlight hits the stage.
“What’re you doing?” When I try to push Rye’s hand away, the cold metal of the scissors dips into my thigh, heat rising in my chest. He’s not trying to ruin this, I know that now. I trust him.
So then what is he trying to do?
Music begins, bass thumping against the pool house glass window. Marisol takes her first step onto the transparent runway, a bouquet of white roses in her hand.
“Sorry, Kitten, something doesn’t sit right knowing all these people get to see what’s mine.”
I can't keep track of any imperfections people might see on my models. I thought I’d watch the crowd’s response, but I’m more focused on where Rye’s hands are.
A shiver rolls through me as cold metal lands against the delicate lace of my outfit. He teases me with the dull edge, pressing it against my clit. My mouth falls open with a gasp, the coldness blending with the heat swirling inside me.
“What you’re wearing is beautiful,” he says. “But, I’m getting the most out of it. Not them."
I’m quick enough to tug the scissors out of his hand and press the blades against his chest. “Ruin this outfit and I’ll be the next one to commit a homicide.”
“That's dark, Kitten." Rye smirks, his eyes falling to where the blades meet his chest. “Careful. Blades are my thing. You sure you know what you’re doing?”
“Think I’m too dainty to wield a blade?” He keeps his eyes on the scissors as I drag the blades down his chest. I stop when it lands right above his belt. Then, I place the fabric of his silk shirt between the blades.
He still doesn’t move, and it feels like a ticking time bomb. “Don’t mess with what’s mine unless you mean it.”
“Oh, you know I mean it.” The scissors slice through the fabric, all the way up to his collar. The fabric falls to the side, revealing that glimmering, muscular chest. My bottom lip disappears behind my teeth, a moment of silence overtaking us as the bass thumps on.
"That's enough," he growls.
The bomb detonates.
Rye’s hand goes to my wrist, spinning me around as the blades come to my throat.
His fingers part my lips, my tits against the cold glass.
I try to focus on the fashion show with the heat of his bare chest pressed to my back.
Marisol’s taking the stage now, all eyes on her skirt and halter made out of red leather harnesses.
“See that, Kitten?” My eyes blur when he strokes my slick clit, a soft moan escaping me.
“They’re here for you.” His fingers leave me before I hear his pants fall to the floor behind me.
The soft tip of his cock pushes between my legs.
“But you’re still mine.” My legs part further for him, and it’s easy for him to enter me.
My eyes roll back in my head when he does, a feeling of sweet bliss overtaking me.
“You’ll be out there soon, and when you do, I want you to wear me. ”
"Rye," I moan, my breath fogging the glass.
I brace my hand against it as he bottoms out inside me, forcing a deep inhale in my lungs.
"God, you feel so good!” He pulls out again, pounding into me.
Then again. He dominates my body like he wants to prove how much I belong to him.
“You feel fucking incredible! Don't you fucking stop! "
I don’t care what’s happening on stage as he brings the tip of the scissors to my lips. His pace picks up, making me tremble for him, making me feel like nothing else matters. The clothes could burn. Chloe could fall off that stage. I don't give a fuck, I could die happy just like this.
“Kitten, I need you to be quiet,” he groans, not at all helping. “Don’t ruin your moment.”
Stars appear in my eyes as Ember takes the stage next.
The piece before the finale. An intricate lace corset with voluminous vintage sleeves attached.
Once she reaches the end, Mac and Gray appear next in lace boxers, skulls stitched into them.
I don’t know what Rye offered them to join the runway, but the fit is exquisite.
This should feel wrong, watching my friends showcase my pieces while my boyfriend buries himself deep inside me. But I don’t care. This feels too good to care.
“Holy fuck,” I sigh. Folding my lips, I try to keep it down as I watch them float the casket in front of the stage, steadying it.
“It’s okay, Hannah.” Rye’s words come to my ear, a fire building inside me.
He moves his hips in that deadly rhythm that makes me lose all grasp of life.
All sense of reality. “Let it go. You got this. You can let go.” He grips my waist as I fall against the glass, my walls clamping around his throbbing cock.
“Oh god,” I gasp, as he takes my all, that frantic pace bringing me right to the edge. “Oh fucking god!” My cheek falls against the glass as I shatter against him. “Fuck!” A loud cry escapes me as the world around me brightens.
He pulls my hair, and I don’t even care that he messes it up. He rubs his cock against my clit in a way that makes my knees feel like jelly. In a way that makes my orgasm feel like it lasts a thousand hours.
The world shakes as Gray and Mac open the casket, causing another audible gasp from the crowd. Krystal rises out, just as her brother releases himself into my panties.
The crowd bursts into applause as earth and space collide. I can't imagine tiring of the way I make Rye lose control. Not even on my big night.
“Get it together, Hannah.” Rye’s voice lands in my ear. “It’s time to take your place.” Then my eyes widen as the world rushes back.
Rye pulls up my panties before the warmth of his release presses into my skin. It’s my cue, but I’m frozen, my cheeks burning before he turns me to face him. Then he kisses me, a wave of nirvana spreading through me.
“Go on,” he whispers against my lips. “Steal the show.”
I don’t know how I look, but there’s no time. He pulls back the curtain, and I step out.
The applause is louder. Some of the crowd even rise to their feet.
I can feel him every step of the way between my legs. Is it weird that it makes me walk with more pride?
The crowd's hoots and hollers make me lift my chin high as I relish in their applause. When I get to the front of the runway, I turn and clap for my models. I couldn't pull this off without them.
I fucking did it.
The applause I’m getting right now doesn’t compare to what I thought I had as queen or with my posse. It doesn’t give me the same feeling as running a committee, or outsmarting Marisol. No, this is better. Much better.
Everyone’s watching.
Good. Let them.
Placing a hand out, I take Krystal’s in mine, helping her out of the coffin. Then I do the thing that feels as right as designing this show.
“Thank you all for your support.” Once I speak, the crowd hushes, their applause quieting. “It means the world, but now it’s time to support another up-and-coming iconic woman.” I raise Krystal’s hand into the air.
“Han?” Krystal leans into me with a whisper. “What’s going on?”
“Trust me,” I whisper back before addressing the crowd again.
“If I had a real crown, this is where I’d put it on the head of the one who deserves to carry my torch.
Krystal Rowen deserves the respect her family name gives and the respect of our student body.
She deserves the camaraderie of the Saint Bons population, and I trust you’ll give her nothing less. ”
Krystal looks stunned before a smile spreads across her plum-painted lips. “Are you sure about this?”
“I heard you want to be queen. It'll be my honour if you take the reins, and reign."
She nods as I let go of her hand and start another round of applause. She drinks it in like a queen. Graceful. Poised. But she has a spark to her that I don’t. A grittiness. A grunginess. One that I’ve learned I’m drawn to.
As the crowd settles, I retake her hand and walk towards the back of the stage, applause following.
The posse squeals in delight as we move behind the velvet curtains, awaiting their new queen. “That was incredible!” Chloe beams. “No one could take their eyes off you.”
“Us,” Marisol interrupts.
They circle Krystal and me as Ember joins, moving between them.
“You killed that shit, Hannah,” Ember says, those greenish eyes beaming. “Even I had fun walking your show. Something about wearing this really makes me want to own it.” Ember looks like an afropunk Elvira, her red curls piled high on her head. Mac will have fun with that.
“Wait, wait, wait,” Marisol pushes Ember to the side and ignores the look I give her when she does. “That was only for show, right? Or did you really give your crown to Krystal?”
“I'm a senior next year, and I need to set my sights on my future." Marisol twists her nose, and I know she’s pissed it’s not her. “Krystal will be good for SBU."
“You know it, sis,” Krystal says, a smile coming to her face. “Can I call you that? Y'know, since you’re fucking my brother?”
“Hannah.” On cue, his voice comes from behind our group.
“Ooooh,” Chloe teases. “Your man wants you.”
“I thought the Crowns were off-limits,” Marisol folds her arms, playing her final card.
I smirk, parting the way to him. “For you.” Looking over my shoulder, I give Krystal a warning. “Keep your eye out for this one.”
The DJ raises the music now that the grand show is over. Bodies stream inside, chatter filling the space as they prep for the Crimson party.
When I find Rye, he holds a large bouquet of black roses in his hand and holds it out to me. “Tell me. How did it feel to relish in your accomplishments with me between your legs?”
I smirk, saying the words I know he wants. That I want. “Yours.”
“Good girl.”
“Hannah Alfonso, is it?” A voice comes from behind me, Rye’s eyes narrowing. When I turn around, a man in a shimmering crimson shirt and mesh pants walks towards us. He has a thick business card in his hand. “Your show. I’ve not seen anything like this before.”
Holy shit. I know this face. But I keep my cool. “Charles Antello. I didn’t know you received an invite.”
“I received a special one.” Glancing behind me, I know exactly who sent it.
Ryung set me up. Again. “When I heard there would be no press, I thought I’d check it out.
And I’m happy I did.” He flips his card to me.
“We should talk.” I take it, blinking. Is this really happening? “By the way, who did your set design?”
“That would be me,” Rye states.
“Then take my card too,” he says. “We could work together.”
Ryung steps forward, taking his card with two fingers. He takes the card out of my hand, too. Then he reaches into his front pocket, shirt still cut open and finds his lighter.
My eyes widen as he holds the flame to the cards and… I swear I might kill him.
“We don’t work for anyone,” he says, before I can stop him. The cards burn to his finger before he drops the burnt pieces to the floor. “Thank you for coming.” With his hand on my back, he leads me towards the mansion.
“I’d ask if you knew who that was,” I say. “But you’re the one who invited him.”
“I did,” he says. “I wanted the world to know what they’re missing out on. You don’t need to work for anyone. My girl doesn’t do that. You’ve already built Paradise, and what you did for Krystal? They’ll eat from your hand. Just like you made Coach.”
My eyes shoot up to him, looking for anger or disappointment. I don’t find it. “You deserve your spot on the team." My hands come around his neck as I lean up on my toes. "You’ve made it clear what you’ll do to make sure I know I can trust you. I wanted to do the same.” I wince. “Are you mad?”
“Oh, Kitten,” he chuckles, a finger coming to my skin. “It just means you know that Paradise is ours.”
My lips meet his, an ease washing over me. “I thought I’d burn with you in this town, Rowen.” My words land between us, his forehead coming to mine.
He smiles against it. “No, we burn together. And we burn bright."