13. Ripley
CHAPTER 13
RIPLEY
HERO – DAVID KUSHNER
Picking at the dry flakes of paint on my hand, I cast a final look at my wet canvas. It’s a pathetic effort. My mind is unfocused, agitated. With each swoop of the paintbrush, I get more and more frustrated
“Stupid fucking thing!” I hurl it across the art room.
Storming out of the room, the door slams shut behind me. I’m dead set on stomping back to my bedroom and scrubbing myself in the shower to remove the ghost of Lennox’s touch. His hands. Lips. Roughened stubble. Hard length grinding into me.
But no amount of angrily showering multiple times a day has diminished the pure ecstasy that him pinning me down and forcibly inflicting his rage on me created. It’s all I’ve been able to think about.
The anger. Mutual hatred. Battling for control. Power. The right to punish. Even admitting it in my head is fucking unbearable, but I was getting off to a literal monster paying me even an ounce of attention.
I’m a piece of shit.
Holly would be ashamed.
“Ripley? You good?”
The sound of Raine’s gentle, melancholic violin halts. I’m tempted to rush past the half-open door to the adjacent music room, but I know he already heard me. He’d only follow. I asked him to practise in there today, needing some headspace.
“Yeah,” I shout back.
“What’s going on?”
Stopping in the doorway, I study his slim but well-honed frame. He’s dressed in light-washed, grey jeans today with a loose, V-neck, black shirt that shows off his razor-like clavicles.
His soft blonde hair is smoothed back like usual, round glasses in place. He looks as tempting and mysterious as ever, but as I spot the empty plastic bag peeking from his jeans pocket, my inner contempt intensifies.
“Rip?”
I clear my throat. “Nothing. I’m fine.”
His head cocks. “Are you staring at me?”
“No, jackass.”
“Well, don’t just stand there. It creeps me out.”
“I’m done. I need some air.”
Raine pulls the violin from beneath his chin. “Wait up.”
“You’re busy,” I protest.
He shrugs, searching for his violin case. “Sure. My schedule is crammed. How will I ever spare a moment?”
Fighting a smile, I step into the room to help him. He’d never surrender his baby to me; that violin is practically his left arm. But I quickly locate the velvet-lined case then touch his wrist, guiding him to it.
“Why exactly are you still following me around?”
Raine lovingly packs his violin away. “This place is boring and lonely as fuck. I’m the only one taking music classes, so the teacher doesn’t even turn up, meaning it’s always deserted.”
“You just want company? Is that it?” I laugh.
“I’ve had worse company than you.”
“Oh, thanks. You do compliment me.”
Clicking the case shut, he unfolds his guide stick next. “You told me off for flirting last week. This is me keeping myself in check.”
If I’d known that fooling around with Raine would lead to him stalking me like a lovesick puppy, I wouldn’t have given in to temptation. Well, maybe. Hell, who am I kidding? I was done for the moment I saw those warm, butterscotch eyes.
We haven’t kissed since, though. Part of me is terrified the attraction I felt was just the mania talking. I needed an outlet. A quick fix. Raine was there to provide that.
But a bigger part of me is scared that the feelings I have for him are real and can’t be excused as some semi-psychotic fluke. That would be bad. Deadly, in fact.
“You hungry?” he asks.
“Nope.”
“Cool. I’d rather avoid the cafeteria.”
Come to think of it, I haven’t seen his two bodyguards lurking around like usual. Lennox has made himself scarce since our tangle in the mud, and Xander is still being invisible. But I know his eyes are always on me.
“Trouble in paradise?”
“Something like that,” he mumbles.
“I’m shocked. You’re friends with such good men.”
“Don’t start, Rip.” His voice is oddly defensive. “Shit is complicated.”
I blow out a frustrated breath. “Don’t I know it.”
Clasping his violin case, he stretches out his guide stick to begin tapping a path to the exit. I automatically take his elbow, helping steer the way. He’s a little unsteady, but for a drug addict, I’d say he’s high-functioning.
I’m not sure when we fell into such a familiar routine. Somehow, trying to keep my distance has had the opposite effect. Raine refuses to let me go.
Out in the corridor, classes are breaking for lunch. It’s chaos. Patients make a beeline for food or therapy, wrapped up in their own little worlds. I have to manoeuvre Raine through the crowd so he doesn’t get clattered.
“It’s like they’re pretending they can’t even see the stick,” I complain. “I’m gonna fucking deck one of these idiots in a minute.”
“Chill out, guava girl.”
“You could get hurt!”
Raine’s chuckle is smooth like honeyed whiskey. “It wasn’t so long ago that you were the one threatening to hurt me.”
“I haven’t taken it off the table.”
The sound of his gravelly laughter is a soothing balm to the soul. Nothing is over-complicated with Raine, despite the disaster zone that surrounds us.
When we’re alone, we don’t discuss the drugs I’ve sold him. Xander and Lennox. Harrowdean... None of it. Instead, it’s just my paint palette and his soft, crooning violin strokes keeping me company.
Silence and companionship. A mutual understanding for the art of escapism. I hadn’t realised how lonely my own coping mechanisms had become.
When someone shoves my shoulder and doesn’t bother to apologise, my patience snaps.
“Let’s get out of here.”
“You wanna catch a flight to Paris?” Raine suggests sultrily. “Or perhaps Venice? Little romantic getaway?”
“Sure, darling. Let me just pack my suitcase and call the driver, shall I?”
“Don’t forget the bottle of champagne.” He sighs in a wistful manner. “I remember those days. My manager used to bring me a glass of Dom Perignon after every show I performed.”
I almost trip over my own feet. “Your manager?”
“You thought I just played violin for my own benefit?”
Mouth closing, I feel like an idiot. It never occurred to me that his talent went beyond mere passion. Being incarcerated in a place like this doesn’t exactly line up with some luxurious celebrity lifestyle.
“I played professionally for several years. Four world tours. Things exploded after I recovered from losing my vision. Everyone wants to see the blind violinist play, right?”
“I guess. How did you end up here then?”
Raine rakes his teeth over his bottom lip. “Not a pretty story. I’m an open book, but let’s talk somewhere else.”
“Come on. I know a place.”
Tightening my grip on his arm, I guide him through the reception and out into the quad. There are a few people filtering around, taking wrapped sandwiches and juice boxes outside to enjoy the rare blast of winter sun.
We walk towards the gym—a large, cinderblock building in the uppermost corner of the institute. Most don’t bother to look behind it, though.
There are several abandoned buildings across Harrowdean with day-to-day operations now taking place in the manor itself. Tucked far behind the gym, a thick tangle of bushes almost entirely covers a second, smaller building.
This one is part of the original architecture with ornate, shuttered windows, moss-covered pillars and cracked entrance steps. We have to wrestle through the brambles to see any of that though, slicing our hands on sharp thorns.
Raine curses several times as he struggles to navigate the path, attempting not to trip. I do my best to hold the worst of the roughage out of his way. Eventually, we emerge through the building’s sarcophagus.
“Watch your step,” I advise. “There are five.”
Raine nods gratefully. “Are you taking me to a quiet corner to kill me? I can’t hear anyone out here.”
“Well, I don’t want any witnesses.”
“Aw, shit. I wish you’d told me. I could’ve gotten high one last time.”
“You’ve had enough.”
He sniffs. “Not for my own funeral, I haven’t.”
There’s a rusted combination lock on the door, preventing any unruly patients from escaping inside to fuck or shoot up in privacy. Though I doubt anyone could ever find this place without knowing where it is.
After quickly inputting the combination, the lock slides off in my hand.
“Is there anything you don’t know about Harrowdean?” Raine asks.
“Doubt it. I make it my business to know everyone else’s business.”
“Sounds exhausting.”
Surprised, I chuckle. “Yeah, it is.”
Stepping inside the building, the scents of mould and disuse wash over us. Nobody comes here. Not even the guards. Harrowdean’s dark dealings take place elsewhere, but I’ve kept this bolthole on my radar for those days when privacy is needed.
“Smells delightful.” Raine scrunches up his nose.
“The original institute was built in 1843. I found some dusty, old documents in the library last summer. It was an asylum for decades, then a rich kids’ boarding school.”
“Smells like this place hasn’t been used since 1843. What the hell is here?”
“You’ll see.”
Feet creaking over rotten floorboards and smashed tiles, we creep through the shadows. On the right side of the building, vintage changing rooms lie behind rusty shower curtains and clinking brass hooks.
The left side of the building contains a cavernous room marked by signage pointing towards what once was a huge swimming pool. Now it’s merely an empty, mouldy basin filled with discarded trash.
Anything the previous owners deemed worthless ended up in this concrete pit. Broken bed frames. Smashed chairs. Old, rotting books.
The first time I stumbled across this place, it was like discovering Atlantis. I felt more at home surrounded by destruction and decay than anywhere else.
Raine sniffs the air. “Chlorine?”
“You’d struggle to take a dip in this pool.”
“Yeah, it’s faint. How big was the pool?”
I steer him around a pile of collapsed bookshelves. “It’s full size. No idea how long it’s been empty for.”
The ceiling is high and domed, peppered with small windows that have long since caved in or been smashed by extreme weather. Part of the roof is gone too. The wind whistles in, carrying a hint of winter sun into the murkiness.
On the other side of the empty swimming pool sit a couple of ripped, sagging armchairs I found while poking around. Sometimes, I escape here with my sketchbook and charcoals, needing the silence.
“Three steps in front of you,” I direct him.
Poking the armchair with his guide stick, Raine strokes a hand over the ancient fabric. “Gotcha.”
We both take seats facing the desolate pool house after Raine places his violin case and guide stick on the ground.
“What do you want to know?”
I twist in my armchair to face him. “How does a professional violinist end up somewhere like this?”
He snorts. “By being a total fuck-up?”
“Can’t he get you out? Your… uh, manager?”
Mouth twisting into a grimace, his fingers tap out a staccato rhythm on the armrest. “He’s the reason I’m here. The asshole sold it to me as a sweet deal.”
“I mean… this is pretty sweet.”
Raine’s head moves on a swivel, his glasses-covered eyes casting around the swimming pool like he can actually see the opulence.
“Smells sweet to me.”
“Don’t complain about my choice of location for our first date.”
“This is our first date?” He grins, waggling his eyebrows.
Smooth, Ripley.
“Back to the topic at hand.” I shake my head, glad he can’t see my embarrassment. “Why did your dickhead manager lock you up in a psych ward?”
He smothers his grin, straightening his posture. “Several trips through rehab failed. I kept messing up my shows, and my reputation was trashed. Calvin intervened. He sits on his ass and lives off my tidy salary now.”
“Intervened… by getting you interred?”
“I mean, he acted like Priory Lane was some award-winning, state of the art shit. Far better than the hellish rehabs I’d spent years failing at. Stupid me thought this was my chance to get clean.”
A beam of weak sunlight illuminates his face. The golden boy. Nimble fingers and perfect smiles. He’s the full package, but beneath the act, Raine’s just as broken as the rest of us. Perhaps even more so.
“When was your first trip to rehab?”
He smacks his lips together. “Fifteen, I think.”
“Jesus. Really?”
“I grew up with addicts for parents. It wasn’t hard to get curious about what they were snorting and shooting on a daily basis. The fear of drugs that most kids have was never instilled in me.”
“They still alive? Your parents?”
“Apparently.” Raine smooths back a loose strand of hair. “Haven’t seen them since I lost my vision. They bailed real fast when I couldn’t work and bring in money for them to snort anymore.”
“Fucking hell.”
“Yeah, they were shit. Tried to come crawling back when my music became popular. I told them I never wanted to see them again.”
Working up the courage to dig deeper, I try to keep my voice light. Even though he said he’s an open book, it still feels rude to ask. I’ve wanted to know what happened to him since the moment we met.
“You were eighteen when you lost your vision, right? What happened?”
He nods. “Dirty needles.”
“You used to shoot up?”
“Yeah, until I developed Endophthalmitis. Left the infection untreated for too long. By the time I got to the hospital, the doctors could only do damage control. My retinas were destroyed by scarring.”
My heart squeezes, picturing a younger, terrified version of him curled up in a hospital bed. Alone and exploited. Paying the price of shitty parenting and a lifetime of bad decisions. He deserved so much better.
“Christ, Raine.”
Curling lashes frame his caramel-hued eyes. I don’t know how he can imbue his gaze with such emotion when he lives in perpetual blackness, but it’s there. Fear embroiled in curiosity. A hint of challenge coiled around his pinprick pupils.
“If I’d never picked up a needle, I would still have my vision.” He folds the glasses then places them on his violin case. “I wouldn’t be trapped here. My life… it could’ve been so different.”
“I’m sorry,” I reply with empathy.
“It’s not so bad, I guess.” Raine smirks in his typically confident way. “I’m in an abandoned pool house with a beautiful girl. My life could definitely be worse.”
“You still have no idea what I look like.”
He wiggles his fingers. “I got a good feel.”
I snort in amusement. “Uh-huh.”
“Besides, I’ve already told you what I find attractive. And it has nothing to do with the way you look.”
A hot blush races across my cheeks. Compliments don’t usually mean a damn thing to me. But from him, it feels genuine. He sees beyond what everyone else does. There’s no bullshit or games.
“Now I feel like an even bigger asshole for dealing to you,” I groan.
“Yeah. You’re the worst.”
“Raine!”
Belting out a laugh, he shakes his head. “It’s not a big deal. Just a business transaction, right? Nothing more.”
“Is that what I am?” I retort. “A business transaction?”
“You’re a damn sight more than that. But we can separate business and pleasure.”
Can we?
“I don’t know when I’ve ever been more than a business transaction.” Even to my own ears, my voice is pained. “Not even my uncle saw me as more than that when my parents died.”
Raine fixes his attention on me. It’s a different kind of active listening to when others pay attention. His chin is tucked down, left ear tilted in my direction as he thoughtfully strokes the blonde scruff on his face.
“You said they left… but I didn’t know you were orphaned. I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine.” I brush him off. “Shit happens.”
“How old were you?”
“Dad died just before I turned eight. Then my mum passed almost a year later.”
I sound weirdly detached, even to my own ears. Anyone would think that I don’t mourn my parents, though that couldn’t be further from the truth. But if I allow myself to think of Mum’s tight, floral-scented hugs or Dad’s terrible jokes, I couldn’t bear to live.
We were normal. Picturesque, even. A modest, working-class family living in the British countryside. Mum worked in a nursery, and my dad owned a butcher shop in the local village. Our lives were quiet but perfect.
But isn’t that always the case?
Tragedy strikes without impunity or mercy. It takes whatever victims it desires, regardless of who deserves it. If we could collectively line up every bad person in the world to assign them to lives full of evil instead, don’t you think we’d all do it?
I’d sacrifice a million souls if it bought my parents’ lives. Hell, I probably belong in that queue of sinners now myself. Lining up to be fed to the devil’s jaws to buy another innocent life back. My parents wouldn’t recognise me now if they were alive.
“Your uncle adopted you?” Raine drags me back to the present.
“Yeah, my mum’s younger brother. They weren’t very close though, so he kinda got lumped with me as my last living relative. I moved to London and was basically raised by his housekeeper.”
“He’s rich, then?” he guesses.
“Investment banker. Unmarried, no kids.”
Seeming thoughtful, Raine nods as he catalogues this new information. I haven’t shared this much with anyone since I met Holly. She was the only one I trusted enough to share my life with. I don’t know why I’m doing it now.
“I started painting at a young age. I was lonely and needed an outlet, I guess. Set up a business to sell my art, and after a few years, I bought my own flat. I moved out the first chance I got.”
“That must’ve been hard,” Raine muses. “Going out on your own like that.”
I shrug, forgetting he can’t see the gesture. “Like you, I grew up fast. Just in a different way.”
“How so?” His head tilts.
It’s not lost on me that we come from opposite worlds. I had wealth and comfort, while Raine struggled in poverty, turning over every penny he earned to fund his parents’ addiction. Two polar opposites.
But we still turned out the same. Trapped in the same broken system. Equally forgotten by society and discarded by those who are supposed to love us. Left to pick up the pieces and find our own makeshift families.
“Uncle Jonathan didn’t like having a bipolar niece. Bad for his reputation. It was easier to get far away from him and fend for myself than deal with his disgust when I had a bad episode.”
Cursing, Raine shakes his head. “What an asshole. You didn’t choose to have this illness.”
I pick at my nail bed. “He didn’t see it that way. The burden he got stuck with suddenly became a far bigger job to look after than he banked on.”
“You still talk to him?”
“Nah. Only once since I started my three years. I was desperate when I called him. He got me out of Priory Lane and transferred here instead.”
“Birthdays? Christmas?” Raine pushes expectantly.
“That would require too much effort.”
He looks pissed off on my behalf, but honestly, I don’t feel anything anymore. Not even disappointment. I already lost my parents, and when I realised that Jonathan wouldn’t replace them, I lowered my expectations.
Being alone is far easier that way.
I rely on myself, no one else.
“Rip,” Raine whispers. “Come here.”
“Hmm?”
Crooking his finger, he gestures for me to approach. As vulnerable as I should feel after revealing all that, a broken part of me wants his comfort. I want to feel arms around me. Warmth. Familiarity. It’s been so long since anyone gave an actual shit about me.
Walking over to his armchair, I tentatively crawl onto his lap. Raine grips my hips, pulling me closer so I have to spread my legs either side of his waist to straddle him. My arms wind around his neck, bringing us flush together.
His freshly squeezed orange and sea salt scent infiltrates my nostrils. I greedily breathe it in. Everything about him is vibrant, fresh, alive. For someone who struggles to perceive the world and numbs himself to escape it, he burns so goddamn bright.
I rest my head on his firm chest, the sound of his steady heartbeat pounding in my ear. Budum. Budum. Budum. The sound is an anchor, holding me in the moment. I’m savouring the feel of being held so fucking tight, tears prickle my eyes.
“You act like nothing ever hurts you,” he murmurs, tenderly brushing my cheek with his knuckles. “Being abandoned is easier to handle that way, right? When no one cares in the first place?”
Thick, bitter emotion clogs my throat. “I…”
“Don’t pretend like it isn’t true. I see you, Ripley Bennet. You’re a fierce, terrifying spitfire, but beneath this untouchable act you’ve got going on, I know deep down there’s someone who cares far too much.”
“Only about those worthy of being cared about.”
“So do I make the cut?” His chest vibrates beneath my ear.
“I’m scared, Raine,” I admit in a tiny whisper. “I’m scared of caring about you. I’m scared of what that will mean. I’m scared of losing another person who matters to me.”
“You wanna know what I’m scared of?”
I fist my fingers in the longer lengths of hair at the back of his head. “Yes.”
“When I’m with you—listening to the flick of your paintbrush, mumbling to yourself, the way your breathing speeds up when you apply that last drop of paint—I feel so fucking alive.”
His voice is so soft, it feels like a butterfly is dancing across my skin. I don’t know whether to swat at the damn thing or cup it in my palms, keeping it safe and secure from a world determined to crush its wings.
“I’ve never found that feeling from a person before. That’s what scares the shit out of me. But hell if I’m gonna let that fear take this chance away from me.”
“Raine—”
“Don’t tell me not to get attached, Rip, because it’s already too late. I want to peel back these bullshit defences you’ve wrapped yourself in and get close enough to matter to you. I want that honour.”
“Trust me, it isn’t an honour. I’m nobody.”
He moves me to sit upright, smoothing a hand over my loose curls. “You’re somebody to me.”
I lift my head, staring into his mesmerizing, sightless eyes. Letting the liquefied honey seep over me, thick and glutenous, until I’m trapped in a depthless pool and unable to tread water for a moment longer.
I’m drowning in Raine.
His confusingly fascinating contradictions.
His mutual search for meaning.
“I… feel alive around you too,” I make myself admit. “More than I have in a long time. But I’m not ready for a commitment.”
The corner of his mouth quirks, that goddamn confident smirk forever serving to drive me insane.
“I’m not asking for one. But does that mean we can’t chase this feeling?”
“Of course not,” I reply on a breath.
“Then run with it, Rip. I don’t need a label.”
Clumsily bringing his forehead to mine, his lips fumble. After he catches the corner of my mouth, I tilt my head enough to seal our lips together. Raine threads a hand in my hair to hold me still.
We kiss slowly, gently, meaningfully. A silent exchange. A promise. Both agreeing to drop the act around each other and run headfirst into the inevitable disaster that lies ahead of us.
He’s chasing the high that no pill or needle could ever give him. I shouldn’t want to be someone’s drug, or even their escape, but I need this too. I want to be cared for. I want to fucking belong for once.
His tongue swipes against mine, velvet soft and exploratory. It’s nothing like the violent lash of Lennox’s kiss, attempting to punish me. I swiftly shove that psycho from my mind before I can contemplate the ethics of kissing Raine too.
Stroking the back of his head, I tease the strands of spun silk. The kiss intensifies. Growing deeper and more passionate, our teeth clash and lips smack together. He even tastes like sunshine.
The golden boy, but with a dark, fractured soul. Seeing past his playful pretence feels like a big deal. I shouldn’t take it for granted.
Sliding a hand up my spine, he teases a path around my waist to find the swell of my left breast. Squeezing it over my oversized tee, his thumb strokes the hardened pebble pushing against my bra.
I press my chest into his hands, a whine crawling up my throat. Everything aches. I want him to relieve the need that’s built within me with each whispered touch between us over several weeks.
“Rip,” he says throatily.
“Yes?” I moan into his lips.
“I need you so fucking badly, it’s driving me insane. I’m not asking for exclusivity or whatever, but I don’t just want to be one of your regrets.”
Peeling his hands off me, I quickly stand. He looks panicked for a moment as my weight disappears from his lap, but the rustle of me sliding my sweats over my hips seems to reach him.
“I’d never regret you, Raine.”
Uncaring of our surroundings, I push my panties down and let them join the puddle of fabric on the ground. Cold air kisses my thighs. I rush to retake my place in Raine’s lap where denim brushes against my bare pussy.
Searching out my naked ass, he grabs a handful. “That’s so hot.”
Retaking his lips, I grind against him. Each brush of his jeans on my core is a painful tease, the rough fabric feeling amazing against my throbbing clit. I’m practically trembling with my desire to feel him.
“I need you too,” I whisper. “I haven’t needed anyone for a long time.”
Circling my hips, his lips peck mine in a fervent beat. “It’s okay to be vulnerable around me. You’re safe.”
One hand splayed across my pelvis, his hand dips between my legs to reach for my pussy. I arch my back, sighing against his lips when he finds my sensitive bundle of nerves. His thumb bears down on my clit in small, teasing circles.
I move my hips in time to his rotations. Each flick of his thumb is a tiny firework display deep inside my core, setting alight nerves that beg for more. Reaching for his wrist, I take control, encouraging him to ease a finger inside me.
“So impatient,” he mumbles.
“Yes.”
With his finger sliding inside me, that impatience only grows. All of the anger and infuriation that prevented me from being able to paint earlier comes rushing back. I’m so sick of feeling like I’m losing control.
I reach beneath my careful perch on his lap to find his waistband. His jeans button pops open, allowing me to push the flaps of fabric down and expose his tight, black boxer shorts. His stomach is hard and flat, marked by a hint of abs.
Curling his finger, Raine smiles at the needy moan I release. My urgency to feel him around me causes me to fumble with his boxers, desperate to release the steel sheath trapped inside. He lifts his ass high so I can nudge them down low enough.
Finally, his long, hard cock is revealed. It’s generous in my hand, studded with thick veins that beg to be licked. Wrapping a hand around his shaft, I work it over, familiarising myself with his proportions.
“Fuck, Rip,” Raine hisses.
“Be quiet.”
He fights back a grin. “You’ve got it, boss.”
I’m soaked just imagining his long length pressing inside me. I want to feel every inch with nothing between us. Thank God for contraceptive implants.
Raine slides a second digit into my slit as I spread the bead of pre-come over his cock’s velvet head. Our surroundings don’t hold me back. We’re alone here with no cameras, guards or prying eyes. Nothing but the lost. The broken. The abandoned. We fit right in.
Placing a steadying hand on Raine’s shoulder, I can’t wait any longer. I clasp his wrist to ease his fingers from between my legs then position his cock at my entrance.
Every muscle is shaking in anticipation of the sweet, euphoric relief I’m chasing. Fortunately, Raine doesn’t offer a single complaint at my dominance.
Pinned beneath me, he lets me hold him in place as I slowly, torturously sink down on his length. We both groan at the same time, the feeling of being joined washing over us.
I wouldn’t normally have the presence of mind to care in these situations, but knowing he can’t even see me as we share this moment, I feel a burst of fear.
“This okay?” I check.
“Fuck yes, beautiful girl.” His throat rumbles with a growl. “You feel incredible wrapped around me.”
Vindicated, I lift my hips and rise on his lap. The next downward thrust takes him deep into my cunt, my pleasure increasing with each steely inch. Raine returns his hands to my hips, tracking each move as I rise and fall at a successive pace.
Riding him feels so good. Knowing that he’s surrendering himself to me, giving me the gift of his control and pleasure, intensifies the hunger already consuming me. The trust is staggering. More than any meaningless hook-up.
Hand slotting beneath my t-shirt, he cruises a path over my stomach and to my bra line. Raine tugs the cup aside to free my breast, his fingers finding my nipple and gently rolling it. The brief pinch sends electricity sparking up my spinal cord.
“You feel alive now?” I laugh breathlessly.
Raine squeezes my breast playfully. “Do you?”
A sudden upward thrust of his hips causes him to surge into me at a deep angle. I mewl loudly, gripping his shoulders so tight, I’m sure he’ll have fingertip-sized bruises tomorrow.
“God, yes,” I admit.
“That feeling right there is what I’m chasing.”
And I get it. Lord, do I get it. This place is designed to strip you down, remove your free will and leave you with nothing but rules and regimen. It’s where souls are sent to die. But this right here is fucking nirvana.
He begins to move in time with me, surging upwards to seek out that aching spot. Each time he nudges it, my vision fuzzes over, unable to withstand the relentless waves of pleasure he’s battering into me.
A morbid part of me wonders how intense this must feel to him with all his remaining senses dialled to ten. Each stroke must be overwhelming. Fuzz-covered jaw clenched, I can see that he’s fighting to hold on.
Burying my face in his orange-scented neck, I work myself on him, hunting for the release I know will finally quiet my mind. Even if only temporarily. My lips pucker against his smooth skin, and I can’t resist biting down to leave a mark.
No one would dare touch what’s mine. Not in this place. And right now, I don’t give a fuck who knows it. I want to trap his sunshine inside my chest and allow it to thaw my soul. Even if it sucks the life out of him.
That’s what love is, right?
A mutual agreement to destroy each other.
I’ll give him the gift of feeling alive in return.
Moving upward, Raine’s fingertips dance over my clavicles before rising to clasp my jaw. It’s a tight, bruising clamp that allows him to pull my mouth back to his. I surrender to the hot swipe of his tongue.
Suddenly, a loud clatter causes us to break apart. Raine bands a protective arm around me, still sheathed deep inside.
“What is that?” he urges.
I frantically look around the room, sucking in a relieved breath to see it’s just a crow, entering through a broken window to find a perch.
“Rip?”
“Bird,” I moan. “Don’t stop.”
“I wouldn’t dare.”
When he sucks my bottom lip into his mouth and bites down, the burst of pain throws me straight back into my upward climb. I’m getting closer to the edge. That tight, taut feeling inside me is getting stronger.
“Come on, babe,” he coaxes into my ear, causing chills to stipple my skin. “I want to feel you come for me.”
“Raine,” I whimper.
“Let go. I promise I’ll catch you.”
Eyes squeezed shut, I follow that coiled thread. Deeper. Darker. It’s a poised spring in my centre, waiting for the chance to snap. Mouth still locked on mine, Raine’s thumb resumes its assault on my clit.
I’m done for.
I feel myself clamp tight around him. I’m exploding, thrown into the abyss and swallowed whole by ecstasy. He groans as he joins me in falling apart, his cock jerking inside me with each hot burst of his release.
Still moving on him, I drag out every second. I’m greedy. I don’t want this moment to end. The raw satisfaction of warmth spreading between us is too damn good.
My limbs slowly turn to liquid. With a final sigh, I slump onto his chest. Raine braces me against him, stroking up and down my t-shirt clad back. His face buries in my hair, inhaling sharply.
Snuggled into him, we don’t speak for a long time. Words would only burst our safe, temporary bubble. Even surrounded by junk, we’re at peace. We can pretend like the rest of the institute doesn’t exist.
I can’t bring myself to consider the consequences of what we’ve done. The path to ruin I’ve set us upon. This man is best friends with the assholes I’ve vowed to destroy. And here I am, screwing him. A lot.
I’m fucked.
Utterly, utterly fucked.
My scalp prickles. Subtly looking around the room, I search for a pair of eyes. Nothing. But I know he’s here, just like every other day I’ve felt him skulking. Xander’s mastered the art of the silent prowl.
I’m surprised it took him this long to find us. He’s never far away. While he doesn’t feel the need to speak to me right now, he’s made his presence known over the past couple of weeks. I want to ignore him, but I hate the thought of him seeing me exposed like this.
“Come on.” I nudge Raine. “We need to go.”
He groans in protest. “Don’t wanna.”
“Move it.”
Before I can clamber off him and deal with our mess, Raine tries to grab my arm. He narrowly misses and swears, seizing a handful of my t-shirt instead.
“Rip.” The note of vulnerability in his voice is unmistakable. “I don’t care if we’re friends or whatever you want to call it, but don’t shut me out like everyone else.”
“You don’t need me, Raine.”
“I do. You make me feel less alone.”
Any signs of his swagger and confidence are non-existent. Deep down, Raine is petrified of being left alone in his own head. He’ll pop, snort or cling to anything that offers a reprieve from the loneliness.
But I can’t be his life raft.
Not when I’m drowning too.