Chapter 14 Luther #2
She doesn’t say a word for the rest of the hour, no matter how many times I take her down.
Over and over and over again, just to make the lesson stick.
By the time Carrick blows the whistle to signal class is over, she’s shaking with exhaustion.
But no matter how many times she goes down, she refuses to stay down, which infuriates me as much as it inflames the simmering lust that’s only grown more difficult to ignore after feeling her body struggle beneath me.
At the sound of the whistle, she collapses against the mat as I loom over her, tracing the line of sweat that drips down her neck until it disappears into her cleavage where her nipples harden as her skin cools.
Under different circumstances, she’d be naked and dripping with me, begging for mercy as I own her body from the inside out.
But life doesn’t work like that.
Not for me.
Not at Dreadhurst.
This will have to do.
Our eyes connect when she finally opens hers, and I don’t bother to hide my smirk at her disheveled state.
Her gaze hardens, but she doesn’t look away.
That spark of defiance I’ve tried to extinguish over the last hour flares back to life, and I have to turn away, leaving her bruised and broken on the mat, before my dick makes another appearance.
Fucking Fate, I can’t wait to do it all over again next week. She hobbles off to the locker rooms as Carrick blathers on about something I couldn’t care less about. When he finally fucks off, Calanthe slinks up to me with a smug grin, bottom lip caught between her teeth as she eye-fucks me.
The Legacy of Lust is wearing… something. I don’t know what the fuck it is, only that it barely covers her tits and the shorts are so far up her ass crack I’m surprised they haven’t completely disappeared. She’s stunning—as most succubi are.
She’s also a completely self-obsessed narcissist. Her pink-tinged power wafts through the air, teasing my senses with promises of more, but nothing she could say, do, or wear would ever compel me to touch her.
“Can’t believe Carrick is making you work with her,” she makes a sound of disgust from the back of her throat that makes me physically recoil.
“How’d she’d even end up at Dreadhurst in the first place?
It’s not like she’s one of us.” That’s about the only thing I don’t hate about Nyx.
“Did your fathers mention anything?” she hedges, but not even her perfect pink pout moves me to indulge her curiosity so I only shrug in response.
“That’s a shame, I’m sure it’ll all come out eventually.
Speaking of coming out… you should stick around.
Me and the girls left her a little surprise in the showers.
It’s time we formally welcomed her, don’t you think?
” She bites her lip before turning and swaying her hips, accentuating her pert, round ass.
I can’t tell if it’s my conscience rearing its ugly head, or if I’m nauseous from not having eaten in two hours. I should probably make sure Calanthe hasn’t killed the girl or something. The lust demon can be fucking vicious when she wants to be, which is often.
I hesitate leaving now that my temper has cooled somewhat, forcing down the twinge of guilt at having taken out my damage on her.
I pick up shit around the gym that those asshole kids couldn’t be bothered to do themselves, and I don’t have to wait long before the metallic ping of the gym door opening breaks the silence, echoing in the cavernous, empty room.
Nyx’s head peeks out as she peers around the corner, scanning the gym, purposefully ignoring me.
Her wet hair is plastered to her head, water dripping down her bare shoulders to pool on the floor.
Now that I know she’s alive, I can leave. That’s what I tell myself, at least, as I walk towards her—close enough to smell whatever soap that still clings to her skin. She sighs, resting her head against the door before looking up at me.
“This is going to hurt me more than it hurts you, but… I need a favor.” I look at her expectantly, crossing my arms as I wait for her to continue. “Can I borrow your shirt?”
Well, this is a first. Usually girls are begging me to take off their clothes, not mine. “You want my shirt,” I repeat.
“Or a jacket or something. I’ll give it back.”
“Why.”
“Someone stole all my shit while I was in the shower. And all the towels mysteriously disappeared.” She edges from the door enough for me to see that she’s holding a semi-translucent shower curtain wrapped around her torso like a lifeline.
She mistakes my frown at my errant erection for refusal and hastily adds, “and you’re like, ten feet tall.
” While gesturing to my body. Her cheeks darkening in embarrassment, the flush creeping down her neck and chest to join the cool water dripping down her pebbled skin.
“I’ll give you my shirt.”
“Oh thank fuc—”
“If you put it on right here.”
The look of shock on her face alone is worth it. “What?”
“Put it on right here,” I repeat before reaching behind me and peeling the shirt off my back, “and you can have it.” I extend my hand but she’s frozen, lips parted in shock.
“Are you serious?”
“You see me laughing?”
She growls. This little thing actually growls at me. “What kind of fucked up quid pro quo shit is this?”
I shrug, unrepentant, trying to suppress the chuckle in danger of escaping my chest. Thankfully she’s too pissed to look below my waist. “Tit for tat.”
Her eyes narrow then, all signs of embarrassment replaced by that same fire I’d loathed and longed for not half an hour ago. “Now he’s got fucking jokes,” she seethes before squaring her shoulders. “I’m not getting naked in front of you.”
“Okay.”
When she closes her eyes in exasperation, I take a moment to devour her body with my eyes. “You’re a dick, you know that?”
This time my lip twitches before I can stop myself. “You want it or not?”
She opens her eyes, glaring at me. “Not.”
“Have a nice walk,” I say, tossing my shirt over my shoulder and crossing my arms again, watching her struggle to wrench her eyes from my chest. With a groan of frustration, she turns around and walks back through the door, unintentionally giving me a fantastic view of her ass through the thin plastic before the door slowly shuts.
Long after the metallic echo fades from the gym, memories of the last hour replay through my head.
Her ass against my dick when she took me by surprise.
The way my hands collared her wrists. Her body underneath mine, pressed into the mat as I straddled her legs.
How she mocked me.
How she defied me.
How she refused to stay down.
I need to hit something. Anything, to rid myself of the growing discomfort in my chest. Maybe Thane has something in his stash that would numb whatever the fuck I’m feeling right now.
The thought finally propels me to move, grabbing my bag and slamming the gym door open so hard it pings off the concrete exterior.
My pace increases until I’m running across campus, other students scurrying out of my way. I ignore their blurred faces as the blue hues of twilight saturate the sky, cooling the air in my lungs as I try to burn off the restless energy that’s building in my chest.
I arrive at the dorms sooner than I’d hoped, but not even taking the stairs three at a time quells the writhing emotions that are slowly suffocating me.
B the time I unlock our door, I’m barely breathing heavy.
Thane and Roth are in front of the fireplace, the former bent over the latter, moving the tattoo gun back and forth over his arm.
Roth rests his head against the back of the chair, a glass of his favorite scotch hanging precariously from his other hand.
Thane looks up and nods then turns back to the piece he’s re-touching, and Roth opens one eye, raising his glass in greeting.
Save for the buzz of the tattoo gun and the crackling fire, the living room is otherwise silent.
The moment the door closes behind me, it’s like a weight has been lifted off my chest and I can finally breathe.
“You good?” Thane asks, his voice raw from whatever he’s been smoking.
“Fine,” I lie, which makes Roth to open his other eye to peer at me. Fucker won’t let me have any secrets—but he’s one of three people in this world who actually care whether I have any, so I let it go.
“We have things to discuss. Join us after you get changed,” he orders. I grunt and pass by them as I walk to my room to drop my bag. Thane’s head suddenly snaps up, his ice-blue eye flashing dangerously with the presence of his demon.
“What’s that smell?” he asks, inhaling deeply. Roth copies him, and his already piercing gaze turns predatory.
“The new girl. Carrick’s making me work with her.”
“Why?” Roth demands.
“He’s a lazy fuck. Why else does he do anything?
” I shrug dismissively, trying to conceal my own reaction to having her scent all over me—which is slowly driving me mad as it seeps into my skin.
Thane’s blue eye fades as his demon retreats, and Roth and I relax infinitesimally as he shakes his head to clear it from his mind.
“Shall I speak with him?” Roth asks before taking another drink.
“Nah.” He raises his eyebrow quizzically, but I ignore the silent question.
“You want next?” Thane offers, holding up the tattoo gun.