42. Ava
CHAPTER 42
AVA
I wake up slow, consciousness gradually creeping back in, registering sensation before awareness. Soft morning light, the brush of stubble against my inner thighs, heat and wetness at the apex. A tongue lashes into me, sending waves of pleasure and shock skittering through my body, every nerve ending alight. For a second, I think I’m dreaming, but it’s too damn vivid. My fingers tangle in thick hair as my body trembles and tightens, building to an overwhelming rush. I gasp, too breathless to scream, riding out every pulse of ecstasy as release crashes over me. My hips buck, back arching and toes curling.
I open my eyes to see Wes’ looking back at me from his position in the cradle of my thighs. I let out a soft, startled sound, somewhere between a moan and a whimper, the conflicting emotions churning inside me too wild to control. His mouth is still on me, tongue coaxing me through the last little aftershocks of orgasm. My body’s a live wire under his touch, still humming and vibrating from the wake-up call he just delivered.
He presses a kiss to my mound and pulls back, a satisfied grin stretching his glistening lips. "Morning, sweetheart," he croons, gray eyes glinting with mischief and victory.
I jolt upright, a thousand different thoughts colliding in my mind. "What was that?!" I croak, hit with a rush of confusion and anger and something else I can’t quite name.
Wes’ roguish grin widens as he holds eye contact, savoring the moment and my reaction. "Breakfast of champions," he remarks, licking his lips.
“Ugh,” I groan, tossing a pillow at him and scrambling to get out of bed. I’m still a little shaky, fumbling to collect myself while I search for the borrowed boxers I was wearing last night to cover up– the ones that he evidently decided to strip off me while I was still sleeping.
I can’t make sense of the way I’m feeling. I know I should feel violated or humiliated for being woken up like that, but let’s be real, there are far worse ways to start the day. Maybe that’s the worst part of all– that I’m not nearly as mad as I should be for the way he took advantage of me when I was fast asleep.
Amusement colors Wes’ features while he watches me scramble, ab muscles tightening as he curls up to sit on the edge of the bed. He reaches down to grab something off the floor, plucking up the shorts I’m searching for. He tosses them in my direction and I catch them midair, cutting him a glare as I stoop to pull them on.
He leans back against the headboard, folding his arms behind his head looking like he owns the damn world. "Same time and place tonight?" he teases, patting the spot on the bed beside him.
I shoot him another glare, then spin around and dash for the door, leaving him chuckling to himself as I make my escape.
The hallway feels too cold after the warmth of Wes' bed. My mind’s racing, tripping over its attempts to sort through the jumble of emotions twisting inside me.
Coffee. I need coffee.
The smell of it grows stronger as I near the kitchen, stuttering a step when I turn the corner and find Raf leaning against the counter.
My breath catches when our eyes meet and I hesitate for a second, hit with a rush of emotion. There are too many to even name, but anger surges the hottest, my feet carrying me into the kitchen to face my tormentor.
"Are we even now?" I demand, blowing past Raf and marching straight over to the coffee pot. My voice comes out stronger than I feel, a burst of false confidence in the face of his indifference. Another performance to survive his wrath.
He slowly turns to look at me, his face a blank mask of indifference. “Not even close,” he bites out.
The words cut deeper than I’d ever admit. After last night, I didn’t think he could hurt me anymore, but I guess I was wrong.
Raf’s not the kind of guy who’s content with just breaking your heart. He’s not satisfied until he tears it from your chest, carves it to pieces, and watches you bleed out.
Reaching up to grab a mug from the cabinet, I do my best to school my features, trying to hide how much he affects me. "Fine," I mutter, filling it with coffee. "Then just stay out of my way."
He makes a scoffing sound in this throat. “Since when do you think you can give me orders?”
“Since I stopped giving a shit,” I snap, the words flying out like a defense mechanism. I spin around, clutching my mug in both hands and holding his stare. “You can't hurt me anymore, Raf. Because I just don’t care.”
The muscle in his jaw feathers as he stares back at me, and I can’t tell what’s in those dark eyes. I’m not even sure what I want to see. I wish what I said was actually true– that I didn’t care– but it feels like everything’s unraveling around me and I’m just clinging on for dear life, desperately trying to pretend that my world’s not imploding.
I lift my chin and square my shoulders, putting on another performance to rival last night’s as I act like I’m completely unbothered by him. My heart’s in my throat, but my expression is completely impassive as I stride past Raf and exit the kitchen, leaving him to stew over new ways to torture me.
I shouldn’t have expected anything else. Monsters never apologize for what they are.