Chapter 12 #2
I bite back a groan. The thought of leaving my room and having to deal with people and their questions is enough to make me want to crawl into my bed and hide for a month, but I can’t just skip class indefinitely.
I’m doing okay in most of my classes, but I don’t have a ton of wiggle room, and my family will never leave me alone if my grades slip. Not even the total destruction of my life and my relationship blowing up in my face would be reason enough for my family to give me a break.
“I don’t know,” I tell him. “I should, but I guess I’ll see how I feel in the morning.”
“Do you want to meet up for breakfast?” he asks. “Our first classes are in the same building. We could walk over together.”
“Your class starts an hour after mine does,” I point out.
“That’s fine. I have some reading I need to catch up on,” he says dismissively. “And maybe walking around with someone who’s even more gossip-worthy will shield you from the worst of their shit.”
“That would be great, thanks,” I say, my voice as tight as my throat suddenly is.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to come over tonight?” he asks again.
I know I should say yes and accept his offer, but my stubborn side doesn’t like being someone’s second choice. Knowing that he’d rather be with Xave right now would just taint my mood, and we’d both end up having a shitty night.
“I’m sure. I’ll be okay,” I lie.
“I’ll come by your room at eight tomorrow. Will that be enough time for you to get to class?”
“Yeah, that’ll be fine.”
“Okay, I’ll see you then.” He pauses, but I can tell he has more to say, so I keep quiet. “And call or text if you need anything.”
“I will. Thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Bye.”
He ends the call, and I put my phone back on my desk.
“Fuck,” I mutter. I’m hit with so many emotions at once it feels like I got sucker-punched, and I’m left dazed as I try to sort through them all.
The most prominent is an overwhelming feeling of despair, but under it are undercurrents of loneliness, hurt, and anger.
And mixed in there is the familiar restlessness that tends to take over when I’m dealing with shit.
The same restlessness that makes me do impulsive things and is why I’m a champ at self-sabotage.
Blowing out a breath, I wiggle my mouse to wake up my laptop and try to focus on the article I was attempting to read before Damon’s call.
The words on the page all sort of blur together the longer I stare at them, and even though I’ve read the same paragraph a dozen times already, I haven’t absorbed a single word and have no idea what it says.
My attention is pulled away from the article when my phone vibrates with another notification, and I automatically tip the screen toward me to check to see who texted.
I’m expecting it to be one of my frat brothers or another one of my ‘friends’ looking for gossip, but my heart skips a beat when I see it’s from my mystery texter.
Adrenaline and excitement surge through me as I open our text thread.
Unknown: Do you remember our deal?
More adrenaline and excitement gather deep inside me, and I type out my reply.
I don’t know why texting with him is so exhilarating, or why I keep doing it. Every instinct I have is telling me this is a mistake and I should stop giving him even more ammunition he could use against me, but I can’t. And more than that, I don’t want to.
West: deal?
Unknown: that I can do whatever I want to you if I can get into your room without you knowing
West: I remember
Unknown: do you still agree? Or do you want to take it back?
Something about the wording of his text makes my hackles rise, and my defenses kick in. Is he calling me a chicken?
West: why would I want to take it back?
Unknown: no reason. Just giving you the option
West: I don’t need the option because it’s never going to be an issue
Unknown: okay. Then I want you to do something for me
West: what?
Unknown: turn around
The hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and a shiver runs up my spine as an intense feeling of being watched falls over me.
Slowly, I turn and look behind me.
I have no idea what I’m expecting, but the tall figure standing in the open doorway of my closet, his hands resting on the top of the frame in a stance that’s both casual and predatory, isn’t it.
My heart immediately leaps into my throat, and a wave of fear washes over me as I stare at his unmoving form.
He’s wearing a pair of dark gray sweatpants and a black hoodie with the hood pulled up, but it’s the black, skintight mask with the single long cutout for his eyes that makes my heart gallop in my chest.
We stay like that for almost thirty seconds, frozen and staring at each other, then he drops his arms and steps out from under the door frame.
“How?” I whisper, still staring at him like he’s a ghost.
“How did I get in?” he asks in a low, slightly raspy voice that does things to my insides.
I nod, not trusting that I can form words right now.
“I have my ways.” He takes another step closer, and his relaxed stance is almost as hot—and terrifying—as his presence in my room.
I swallow hard as more of that weird excitement rushes through me, and my dick goes half hard.
What the actual fuck is wrong with me?
The only times it’s okay to not panic when a masked man breaks into your bedroom are in porn or a romance novel. In reality, it’s never a good thing. But even knowing that I should be screaming bloody murder right now, I can’t find it in me to be afraid of him.
If he has the ability to break into my room like this, then he could have done it at any time. He’s also had plenty of opportunities to hurt me if that’s what he wanted, and the fact that he waited to break in until I literally challenged him to do it with my childish taunts is weirdly reassuring.
I’m under no delusions that he’s not a bad guy, but that doesn’t mean he’s a villain.
“And we have a deal,” he says and takes another step toward me.
More of that excitement fills me, and arousal builds low in my body as he steps even closer.
“So you have a choice,” he continues in that low voice that’s way too hot. “You can be good. Or I can make you be good.”
Something about his words and his no-nonsense delivery hits me right in the chest, and my dick goes from half-mast to fully hard in about three seconds.
I’m wearing sweatpants, so there’s no hiding the fact that my dick is tenting them. He can see how into this I am.
“Well?” He takes another step closer.
He’s only a few feet away now, but between the dark shadows his hood casts over his face and the dim lighting in my room, I can’t see what color his eyes are, or anything distinct about them beyond their basic shape.
I open my mouth like I’m going to answer him, but can’t find the words, so I just end up making what are probably some really stupid fish faces as I try to get my brain to work again.
A low chuckle rumbles out from under his hood, and he takes another unhurried step toward me.
He’s only a few feet away now, and I have to tip my head back to look up at him.
Something deep in my stomach clenches, and the shiver that runs up my spine has nothing to do with fear as he looms over me.
I’m not a small guy, but I’m not a giant either. I’ve always been a little above average in height, and I work out a lot, so even though I don’t play sports anymore, I’ve maintained my athlete’s body.
But right now, sitting in my chair and looking up at him, I feel small and vulnerable, and what’s even crazier is that I don’t just like it, I fucking love it.
“Cat got your tongue?” he asks, a teasing lilt in his voice.
My breath catches when he reaches out with one hand, and I stop breathing altogether when he grips my chin with two fingers and holds me in place.
His skin is warm and a bit rough against mine, and the firmness of his touch sends waves of calm and desire through me that make it hard to think straight.
He holds me in place for a moment, then he gently presses his thumb against the center of my bottom lip. Wordlessly, he slowly slides his thumb back and forth a few times, then pushes it between my lips.
I instantly open for him, and without any prompting, I gently suck his thumb into my mouth.
A low groan filters out from under his hood, and I curl my tongue around his digit as a soft moan bubbles up in my chest. He lets out another of those rumbles, and I gently suck on his digit like the desperate, needy cockslut I apparently am.
Then he rubs the pad of his thumb against my tongue, and the inside of my mouth tingles lightly as my eyes almost roll back from how good it feels.
He teases me for a few moments, then gently pulls his finger out of my mouth.
“On your feet.” His voice is calm and even, but there’s a quiet command in it that I can’t ignore, and I obey without thinking.
He lets out another pleased-sounding rumble. “You like being good for me?”
My cheeks heat with what is most definitely a blush, but I nod. He can tell I’m into this. There’s no point denying it.
“Yeah, you do,” he says, his voice a low purr. “And now it’s time for your reward.”
“Reward?” I croak, my voice broken and wispy, like I haven’t tried to speak in months.
He nods, and between his shadowy eyes and the mask covering his features, the effect is terrifying.
“What is it?” I ask when he doesn’t say anything more.
“Your reward for being good is that you get to suck my cock.”
My mouth waters, and I’m hit with a sense of longing that’s so intense I have to remind myself to keep breathing.
“And because I’m feeling generous, you get to decide where.”
“Where?” I ask like a moron.
“Here, or on your bed.”
I immediately glance at my bed, then look behind me at my desk. We don’t have a lot of room here, and if I’m going to suck a dick for the first time, then I want to have enough space to do it right and enjoy it.
“My bed,” I say, trying not to think about how insane it is that I’m contemplating logistics and not telling him to get the fuck out of my room.
He lifts one arm in a move that clearly says ‘after you’ and takes a half step to the side so I can walk past him.
My knees are shaking so badly I’m half convinced I’ll end up face-planting before I can cross the twenty or so feet to my bed, and I’m hyperaware of his presence as he falls into step behind me.
I’m a mental and physical wreck when I finally get to my bed, and my dumb ass just stops when I get to it. I don’t turn or do anything; I just stand there with my knees against my mattress and him behind me.
My incompetence doesn’t seem to bother him because his muscular arm wraps around my middle, and he anchors me against his warm body as he pulls me tight against him and presses his hard dick into my ass.
“Gotcha,” he says in a low voice, his lips next to my ear.
I stiffen as I’m hit with a memory that’s so strong it makes the world blink in and out of focus.
I know that voice. I’ve heard it before.