Chapter 14 Lexi
Lexi
We’re still at the trailer, waiting for Oxy to return. The silence stretches between us, thick and uncomfortable. Koa’s on one end of the couch, I’m on the other. We’re just... still staring at each other.
His gray eyes don’t blink. Don’t waver. Like he’s cataloging every micro-expression on my face, every shift in my posture.
It’s unnerving.
I clear my throat, trying to break the tension. “So. Drugs, huh?”
He doesn’t respond. Just keeps staring.
“Is your motto like... sell it, not do it?” I try to sound casual. Conversational.
He nods once. “Pretty much.”
“I don’t understand.” I shift on the couch, pulling my knees up. “Why? Why sell?”
He leans back, and his expression shifts. Not angry, exactly. More like... closed off. Like I just asked him to open a door he keeps locked for a reason.
He’s not going to answer.
I try something else. “How many girls have you hooked up with?”
His brows furrow.
“Just curious.” I shrug, realizing he’s not going to answer again. “You’re so boring.”
His jaw ticks. “Says the one who won’t kiss me.”
Something snaps inside me. Maybe it’s the exhaustion. Maybe it’s the adrenaline still coursing through my veins from the party, from seeing Axel gagged and tied up, from everything.
Maybe I just want to see what happens when I push back.
I start crawling across the couch toward him. On all fours.
“What are you doing?” he asks, voice dropping lower. Darker.
I don’t answer. Just keep moving until I’m close enough to touch him.
I glide my fingers to his lips, press gently to shush him. His mouth is warm under my touch.
Then I trace his face—his jaw, the scar cutting through his eyebrow, the sharp line of his cheekbone. Looking at him this close is a different experience. He’s much more beautiful up close. Dangerous, yes. Terrifying, absolutely. But so fucking beautiful it hurts.
“You want a kiss?” I whisper.
He swallows. Doesn’t answer.
I crawl onto his lap, straddling him. His hands immediately go to my hips, fingers digging in through the denim.
I lift my shirt. Slowly. Just enough.
His eyes stay locked on mine. He doesn’t look down. Not once.
I lift it higher, exposing my bra. Then the bruise.
The bite mark he left on me days ago. It’s faded from deep purple to a sick yellow-green, but it’s still there. Still visible.
“Look,” I mutter, because he’s keeping his eyes on mine like it’s a test of willpower. “Look at what you did to me.”
Finally, he glances down.
His hands slide around my back, pulling me closer. I watch his eyes flick from the bruise to my stomach, then back up to my cleavage. He leans forward, and I feel his breath ghost across my skin.
Then he kisses the bruise.
Softly at first. Then he nips at it.
“You have a biting problem,” I whisper, looking down at him and panting. His lips are searing my skin.
“I want to eat you,” he says, voice rough. He nips again, harder this time. “All of you.”
I try to pull my shirt down, suddenly aware of how exposed I am. But it’s no use. His mouth is already moving—kissing, nipping, biting my skin like he’s starving.
I lean back, giving him access. Because it feels good. Ticklish and intense and overwhelming all at once.
He grabs the back of my neck, pulls me closer. Now he’s at my throat, kissing and sucking and biting. I close my eyes, tilt my head to give him more room.
There’s nothing else that has made me feel so in the moment than this right now. I thought dancing earlier tonight was freeing. Letting him do this to me is another level entirely.
“Should I stop?” he asks, voice muffled against my skin.
“No.” The word slips out before I can stop it.
He flips me onto my back in one smooth motion. I gasp, hands flying up to grab his shoulders.
He’s kissing my stomach now, lips trailing down my ribs, across my navel. I watch in horror and pleasure, scared of what this is turning into.
I didn’t plan to let him touch me. I also hate that he’s such a gentleman, asking permission first. It would be easier if he was just an asshole. Easier to hate him.
His lips travel down my body, kissing my hips, my thighs. He’s nipping me every chance he gets, and it’s ticklish as hell. I squirm, trying not to laugh.
“Why do you wear these?” he asks, tugging at the waistband of my jeans.
“I like them.”
“I’m dying to know what’s under them.”
“Hot dogs,” I mutter without thinking.
He pauses. Looks up at me. “Don’t say that.”
I throw my head back and laugh. I can’t help it. “Can you imagine?”
He licks his lips, eyes dark. “I would figure something out.”
My face burns. “Oh my god. Stop.”
“Turn around,” he says.
“You are not kissing my ass.”
He shakes his head, sitting up. “Turn around. Now.”
Something in his tone makes me obey. I roll onto my stomach, face pressed into the couch cushion.
His hands settle on my lower back. Then he starts massaging my back.
“Oh,” I groan before I can stop myself. “That feels nice.”
He leans down, mouth close to my ear. “Don’t make that sound, Lexi.”
I do it again. Louder this time. Just to spite him.
His hand comes down hard on my ass.
I try to sit up, but he doesn’t let me. His hand presses between my shoulder blades, holding me down.
“Keep defying me, Lexi, and suffer the consequences.”
“You have something else coming for you,” I mutter into the cushion. “I’m spiteful.”
“You are?” He sounds amused.
I nod as much as I can with my face pressed into the couch. “Very. You spank me? I’m going to hit you ten times harder.”
He spanks me again. Harder this time. It stings through the denim.
“What the hell?”
“Spite is ugly.”
“You think a lot of things are ugly,” I snap. “Selling drugs is ugly in fact.”
He smacks me again. I whimper despite myself.
“Okay, get off me.”
“Not happening.” His voice is calm, controlled. “Still massaging.”
I sink deeper into the couch cushions, giving up. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re defiant.”
“Is that supposed to be an insult?”
“No.” His hands are working the knots in my lower back now, thumbs pressing deep. “It’s an observation.”
I close my eyes. Let the tension bleed out of my muscles. His hands are surprisingly gentle now, working methodically across my back, my shoulders, down my spine.
“Why are you doing this?” I ask, voice muffled by the cushion.
“Doing what?”
“Being... nice.”
He doesn’t answer right away. Just keeps massaging.
“I’m not nice,” he finally says.
“Then what are you?”
“Interested.”
That word again. Interested.
I want to ask what that means. Want to know why me, why now, why any of this. But I’m too tired. Too drained from the party, from the fight with Axel, from everything.
My eyes start to drift. The rhythm of his hands, the warmth of the trailer, the exhaustion pulling at me like a tide.
“Don’t fall asleep,” he says.
“M’not,” I mumble.
But I am.
I feel myself sinking, consciousness slipping away. His hands never stop moving, and it’s the most comfortable I’ve felt in days.
Maybe weeks.
Maybe longer.
The last thing I register is his voice, quiet and low.
“Stubborn girl.”
Then nothing.
I wake up disoriented.
My neck is stiff, and there’s a weight across my back. I blink, trying to remember where I am.
The trailer. Right.
I try to move, but something’s holding me down. Not aggressive. Just... there.
I turn my head slightly and see Koa’s hand resting on my lower back. He’s sitting beside me on the couch, head tilted back against the cushion, eyes closed.
He fell asleep.
Or he’s pretending to.
I hold my breath, trying to figure out if I should move. If I should wake him. If I should—
“You’re awake,” he says without opening his eyes.
I freeze. “How did you—”
“Your breathing changed.”
Of course it did.
I push up onto my elbows. His hand slides off my back, and I immediately miss the warmth.
“What time is it?” I ask.
He checks his phone. “Three a.m.”
“Where’s Oxy?”
“Don’t worry. He got your brother home. He’s fine.”
“Fine,” I repeat. Like that word means anything anymore.
Koa stands, stretches. His shirt rides up, exposing a strip of toned stomach and the edge of a tattoo I can’t quite make out.
“Come on,” he says. “I’ll take you back.”
“To campus?”
“Where else?”
I sit up fully, run a hand through my hair. It’s a mess. I probably look like a disaster.
We walk out to the car. The night air is freezing now, biting through my thin shirt. I wrap my arms around myself, shivering.
Koa unlocks the Charger, and I slide into the passenger seat. The leather is cold against my legs.
He starts the engine, cranks the heat. We sit in silence as the car warms up. Oxy comes out at the last second and gets in the back seat.
On the drive, I think Oxy has fallen asleep in the back. I’m wide awake though. I don’t know if it’s the cold or the adrenaline of sleeping on the couch with Koa, but I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep again until tonight.
“Can I ask you something?” I ask.
He looks at me, waiting.
“Why did you cut him off? Really?”
He’s quiet for a moment. Then, “Because that’s what you wanted.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“I don’t believe you.”
He shrugs. “Lexi.”
I look at him.
“You can’t save him,” he says.
My throat tightens. My voice is small. “I know.”
“Do you?”
I don’t answer. Because I don’t know if I do.
The drive back to campus is quiet. I watch the trees blur past the window, my reflection ghosting over them.
When we pull up to my dorm, I don’t get out right away.
“Thank you,” I say quietly. “For... tonight. For cutting him off. For the massage.” I laugh, short and bitter. “For not being as terrible as I thought you’d be.”
He turns to look at me. “The night’s not over yet.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He leans closer, and for a second, I think he’s going to kiss me. But he just brushes a strand of hair behind my ear.
“It means you’re mine now, Lexi. And I take care of what’s mine.”
My heart pounds. “I’m not yours.”
“You are.”
I get out of the car before I can say something stupid. Before I scream and fight that I’m not. Before I admit that a part of me—a small, terrifying part—wants to actually be his.
I walk toward the building, and I can feel his eyes on me the whole way.
When I reach the door, I glance back.
He’s still there. Watching.
I lift my hand in a small wave.
He doesn’t wave back. Just sits there, engine idling.
I go inside.
And I don’t look back again.