Chapter 21
Vale
My vision blackens, swirling…
Flashing.
Something bad is coming…
Pleasure crashes over me, clashing with the simultaneous horror. The taste of iron coats my tongue, and I can no longer tell if it’s real or the past creeping forward, slowly consuming me in a blaze of fire and blood.
“I’m sorry, Vale… I’ll make it feel good…close your eyes…”
Distorted echoes of childish pleas intermingle with present-day Aston’s throaty moans; my past and present colliding, fighting for dominance.
If I wasn’t so lost to the endorphins rushing through my system, lighting up my nerve-endings—if I wasn’t so consumed by the sight of my cum jetting out across his face, pooling in his waiting tongue—I have no doubt I’d be choking the life out of him right now.
Sure about that?
I snarl at the unwanted voice in my head, and squeeze my dick, wringing it out. Watching outside myself as I rub it all over his face, scooping up what missed his mouth, and feeding it to him.
“Show me.”
Tilting his head back, he cradles his tongue around my creamy release, presenting it to me.
“Good,” I say tightly. “Now swallow.” Even to my own ears, my voice sounds…wrong. Distant.
Aston does as I say, gulping with an audible click. He suckles at my head—my slit—and all along my still-hard shaft. Lashes fan over his flushed cheekbones, and my throat feels impossibly clenched suddenly.
Grinding my teeth, I fight a shudder. And when I realize my touch on his hair has eased up, I abruptly yank away from him, shoving myself off him, and turning my back on him to put some much needed distance between us.
Aston coughs gently, mumbling something I can’t make out.
With jerky, rushed movements, I get dressed, ignoring the way my fingers buzz and my heart pounds in my ears. Tension hangs thickly in the air in a way you’d think impossible after having such a mind-blowing orgasm.
Behind me, I hear Aston get up, and of course he lingers, oblivious as fucking ever to the stark change in atmosphere.
What is he waiting for, a thank you?
Or perhaps he’s hoping I’ll take pity on his dick and return the favor…
Fat fucking chance.
I’d rather chew glass. Just the thought of putting my mouth anywhere near him makes me want to bash my fist into something. Quite possibly his skull.
Once I’ve got my socks and shoes on, I grab my keys from where they’d fallen on the ground. I’m about to reach for my bag when I catch him approaching the knife he’d dropped earlier.
I manage to beat him to it.
Whirling on him, I fist his tie, right at the base of his throat, shove him up against the lockers, and point the tip of the blade at his chin. He freezes, eyes rounding.
There it is.
His fear smells as sweet as I imagined it would. Sweeter than his needy cries and silky skin. Sweeter than how I imagine he’d taste… all dripping and tight and hot. For me…
No!
Enraged by my unwanted thoughts, I growl, “Stay the fuck away from my shit. And stay the fuck away from me.”
Despite the wariness flickering back at me, his lips twitch, like he can’t help but try to lighten the moment by playing with fire. He tilts his head. “You sure you want that?” His voice is raspy—evidence of the abuse he happily took.
I can’t decide if I’m more pleased or annoyed that he gets off on the humiliation. The hurt. The fear. Leaning forward, I angle the knife downward and add just enough pressure to his throat to break skin.
He pupils expand, and he captures his bottom lip between his teeth. Visibly fighting a shudder.
Yeah, he likes this.
My spent dick twitches in my shorts.
Ignoring it, I arch my pierced brow. “What else left is there to do to you?”
His jaw hardens when he processes what I’m saying.
I shrug and arch my brows in a silent sort of, What can you do?
Looking him up and down, I inhale deeply. “It is a pity. You’re fun to play with.”
When he visibly squirms, his hip brushing mine, I cock my head, flitting a glance to his crotch without really seeing anything.
Curling my lip cruelly, I return my gaze to his and say, “Aw, is someone feeling a little neglected? If only you had someone here who wanted to help you take care of that.”
His eyes widen, flashing with surprise that is quickly replaced by a glittering, victorious sort of smugness. It mirrors the smirk tugging his lips, and if I wasn’t so suddenly aware of how close we stand, perhaps I would’ve tuned into the alarm bells going off sooner.
His lips are right. There. Those full, glistening, pouty lips that only moments ago were wrapped around my cock. As if sensing where my head went, Aston pushes up on his toes and leans forward, puckering up and—
A hand appears—my hand—palming his face and shoving him away. Horror at what almost just happened has me taking several steps back and biting back a string of curses.
“We’re done,” I mutter tightly at the same time he says something. “What was that?”
“I said you’re too late anyway.”
I frown, searching his face. While that smugness still radiates from his eyes, there’s also something else there, something reinforced by the flush blooming over his cheeks.
Nerves? Shame?
He shrugs and looks down. “Embarrassing, I know.” He blows out a breath and flicks his fingers dismissively. “What can I say? That was hot.”
For a long moment, all I can do is stare at him.
“You didn’t,” I whisper faintly, my grip on the knife tightening.
Though the words aren’t for him, he hears and responds to them all the same.
“Oh, trust me. I did.” His nose wrinkles, and he reaches down to tug at the crotch of his khakis. His wet khakis…because the spot that was there before has tripled in size.
How did I not…
I mentally replay through what happened. An image of him sprawled out beneath me, flushed and squirming, lashes fluttering. The little moans and whimpers breaching his throat as he held his mouth open expectantly.
I take a step back, then another.
A dangerous stillness has fallen over me, one that is as familiar as it is foreign. Foreign because it’s been so long since I felt like this.
“See?” he says, fingers fumbling with his fly.
“Stop.”
But he doesn’t seem to hear me as he continues to mumble under his breath, “...sticky. Ugh…no regrets. None whatsoever…except—”
Something bad is coming…
One second I’m standing here, frozen, and the next—
I was wrong.
I was wrong.
Something bad wasn’t coming…
It was already here, happening right under my nose.
“I’m sorry…please, I’m so sorry…”
“You promised!”
A yelp pierces through the heavy black fog surrounding me. I blink and find myself crouched and hovering over a curled-up Aston on the locker room floor. He’s got his knees curled up to his chest, arm shielding his face.
And my fist…it’s pulled back. The sharp metal of the blade glinting in the light.
“Don’t!” he gasps. “Don’t, I’m s-sorry, please I-I—”
I push to a stand, chest heaving. The knife clatters to the ground, and I slam my hand against the locker, making him flinch as the sound echoes across the room.
A sage eye cracks open, peering up at me over his arm. “V-Vale?”
Slowly, slowly, he eases up to a seated position, not taking his impossibly round eyes off me as he scrambles back against the locker I just punched.
His nose is intact. No blood, save for the smears of mine on his sleeves and the thin line going down his neck from where I pierced him with the knife before everything went to shit.
I didn’t hurt him.
It’s as baffling as it is a…relief. Fuck, it’s a relief.
He hugs himself, shoulders hunched. Looking so much smaller than he did a second ago. Vulnerable, and…broken.
“We’re done,” I repeat, and even to my own ears my voice sounds hollow. Robotic.
His lips purse, and there’s an unsettling sheen to his wide eyes. Even though he’s now staring straight ahead, it still makes looking at him unbearable, so I rip my gaze away, and head for the only exit.
Never should’ve stuck around…
My steps slow to a stop when I reach the door, hand splayed over the wood.
“This never should’ve happened,” I say in that same flat voice. I don’t even have to raise my voice, it’s that fucking quiet in here. “Stay the fuck away from me. This…us…whatever you think this is…it’s never going to happen. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll fucking back off.”
Why I don’t immediately leave, I’ve no clue.
Perhaps to give him a chance to push me one final time. I’d be justified in hurting him then, wouldn’t I? To ignore me after that wouldn’t just be stupid, it would be suicidal.
Hell, maybe that’s exactly why I hesitate. Give him an opening. Show me who you really are under all the bullshit. Show me you remember.
But he says nothing, telling me all I need to know.
He doesn’t remember what he did.
Or he does, and it’s not enough to make him want to die.
“You won’t ever leave me, right?”
“Valey, Valey, Valey…”
Somehow I end up outside. In my car. My tires kick up gravel, the engine roaring as I floor the gas.
Without having had made the conscious decision to do so, I find myself speeding down a familiar stretch of dirt road toward the abandoned industrial park a few blocks down from Aston’s neighborhood.
Utility poles and weathered Do Not Enter and No Trespassing signs litter the way, passing me in a blur, melding with the dreary atmosphere and rain picking up momentum.
Angry music blares from my speakers, unraveling what threads remain of my rapidly slipping control. But it might as well be playing from mile away, muffled by the distance stretching out inside my head, pulling taut like a rubber band.
Past.
Present.
I’m at the center, bracing for the impact when they inevitably collide.
Snarling viciously through my teeth, I swing the Audi right, cutting through the overgrowth into what was once a parking lot for the Crowley Lace Factory.
It’s empty, as it almost always is. I don’t even have it in me to be relieved. There’s no way I would’ve been able to turn around, not now, when I’m barely holding it together.