Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Eve
My pulse throbs against my eardrums, the rhythm growing louder until it’s the only sound I can hear in the silence, a steady drumbeat from within.
How did Christian find me? This house is filled with people, all wearing masks, including me. The only thing my panicked brain can come up with is that he had been passing by and heard my voice. It’s the only thing that makes sense.
“Sorry, man, but this fox is already claimed,” Aidan says, clearly not realizing who he’s talking to.
“That’s right, she is,” Christian growls, shoving his hand into Aidan’s chest, fisting his shirt, and violently shoving him away from me. “And you need to get the fuck out.”
When he lets go, Aidan stumbles backward and slams into an upholstered chair. Shadows play across his face as realization crawls into his expression.
“ Fuck ,” Aidan hisses, struggling to his feet. “Sorry, man, how was I supposed to know?”
“Just leave,” Christian bites out, his eyes locked on me.
Aidan rushes out, bumping into various pieces of furniture before making his way out the door. Christian and I are alone now. In a dark room. And now he’s pissed.
“I don’t suppose there’s any point in me trying to explain…” I say.
“You’re right, there’s no point in trying to feed me bullshit,” he says, stepping into the space Aidan was just forced to vacate. “I told you to stay upstairs.”
His warmth seeps into my skin, and it’s everything I can do not to focus on it. “I’m a grown woman.”
Listen, it’s a flimsy response, and I know that, but what else can I say? Not the truth—that I’m down here to snoop around and maybe get some dick. No way.
“What are you doing down here?” His hard, glacial tone tips down my spine and makes me tremble.
I clear my throat. “I was curious...”
“I’ve already told you that I hate liars, Eve.” He grabs my wrist and pulls it up. Like an idiot, I still have the condom in my hand. “You want to try that again?”
The lighting in here is dim, but not dark enough to hide his face. His pale eyes are narrowed, his chiseled jaw clenched, pulsing. I’ve seen angry, resentful Christian before, but this is something else. This is a quiet rage that seems more sinister somehow, more lethal.
“How did you find me?” I’m somehow brave enough to ask.
His hand tightens around my wrist until it feels like my bones are going to snap. “That moment in the closet wasn’t enough?” he asks, ignoring my question. He leans in while jerking me forward at the same time. “You want a cock to fill your greedy cunt?”
Blood rushes to my clit, making it throb.
“That’s not what this was,” I lie, trying to sound confident. But it’s already too late to salvage this. I’ve fucked up here. Royally.
“Get down on your knees,” he bites out coldly, tearing the mask off my face.
Panic bubbles up in my chest, and my throat bobs. “Christian, listen?—”
He pulls something out of his pocket, and I hear a click , right before something cold is pressed against my throat. A switchblade. The sharp tip digs into my skin and sends my pulse racing. “On your fucking knees,” he repeats, anger punctuating every syllable.
Letting the condom drop to the floor, I follow it down, my knees sinking into the expensive rug until my face is level with his zippered crotch.
With clipped movements, he unbuttons his pants and lowers his fly. Anticipation pounds in my chest, and my cheeks grow hot, flushed. My tongue darts out to wet my bottom lip as he pulls his cock out. It’s two inches away from my face, and damn… damn . It’s huge , thick, veiny, with a drop of pre-cum already beading on the tip.
Swallowing, I realize I’m leaning forward, saliva already gathering in my mouth. He’s doing this as some kind of punishment, but I realize with a jolt that I want to taste him.
So, joke’s on him, I guess.
Widening his stance, he threads his fingers through my hair, fisting a chunk of it while using his other hand to pump his cock once, twice, before pushing the head against my closed lips. “Open your mouth and take it,” he growls.
I part my lips and his cock slides into my mouth. “Good girl,” he praises, gently rocking his hips forward, pushing himself deeper into my mouth, down my throat. My jaw strains painfully to accommodate him, saliva already filling my mouth and dripping down my chin.
I’ve only sucked one dick in my life, and it was brief—maybe thirty seconds, tops—so I don’t actually know what I’m doing. But driven by pure instinct, I slide my tongue around his thick, veiny shaft and suck as I pull back.
His fingers tighten in my hair, the sting making my eyes water, sending a jolt straight to my center. My panties are already drenched and my clit is throbbing like a second heartbeat.
“That’s it, baby. Let me fuck your mouth.” His voice is strained, his hips thrusting forward as he pushes himself even deeper down my throat, making me gag. I try to pull back, but he holds my head in place, forcing me to take every last inch of him.
“Fuck, yes,” he hisses. “I’m going to fill your pretty little mouth with my cum.”
Tears sting my eyes as he picks up his pace, his cock growing larger, harder inside my mouth somehow. With my hands on his thighs, I use them as leverage to ease off a little, enough to breathe, even as he continues to punish my mouth.
He moans, and I whimper, my jaw burning, my pussy drenched.
Inching back even more, I’m finally able to swirl my tongue around the head, then suck, hard . That earns me a guttural groan, and taking that win, I pick up the pace, using my hand to pump him while I suck.
Finally, the muscles in his thighs twitch, then he goes completely still, his cock pulsing against my tongue. “Fuck, Eve, ” he hisses as hot, salty cum slides down my throat. I swallow it down like I can’t get enough. Like it’s the last drop of water in a hot desert.
His breath heaving, he pulls out of my mouth, and I sit back on my heels, using my sleeve to wipe the drool off my chin. I can still taste him on my tongue, and it fuels my own need. I’m so keyed up right now, it’s insane.
Pinching the head of his cock to express those last few drops of cum, he reaches down and smooths the creamy liquid over my lips before zipping back up.
My tongue slides across my bottom lip, and I practically moan at the lingering taste of him. Instead of helping me up, he takes a step back, and I’m forced to awkwardly rise to my feet. Once I do, I face him, unblinking. “Is your ego satisfied now?”
He opens his mouth and I brace myself for a lashing response—but before any sound leaves his mouth, a loud crash jolts us both. Christian yanks me out of the way as something solid careens through the room, smashing everything in its path before landing with a heavy thud on the rug.
What the…?
The stained glass window that overlooks the front lawn is shattered.
Christian picks up the object, and I’m right behind him, but as I approach, he lifts his hand, stopping me from coming further. “Stay out of the path of the window,” he says. “And be careful, there’s glass everywhere.”
Sure enough, Christian has to dodge another something as it crashes through the large hole in the window and lands on the leather sofa. I’m close enough to see that it’s a rock about the size of a cantaloupe.
What the fuck is happening?
My first thought is that it must be someone from the party, drunk and horsing around out front. Then I hear a raised voice coming from outside—someone is yelling.
Fear claws up my throat. “Who is that?”
Christian picks the rock up off the floor and across the face of it, there’s a word written in red paint—ATONE. Jackson rushes into the room, glances at the rock in Christian’s hand, and shakes his head. “We need to get outside. There’s something popping off on the front lawn.”
Christian glances at me as he follows Jackson out the door. “Wait here. Lock the door behind us. Stay away from the window.”
Then he’s gone. The door clicks shut, and I’m alone in the study.
Outside, the angry voices grow louder, more heated, and the acrid smell of smoke coils through the broken window. Are they setting the house on fire?
Rushing to the window, I peer out, which is probably stupid, because another rock could come hurling at my face, but I have to get a quick look.
Half the front lawn is on fire. It looks like shrubbery and driftwood have been piled up to provide more fuel, and it’s working. A wall of flames engulfs the lawn and reaches into the night sky. Behind that flickering wall, in the driveway, are thirty or forty people—one very familiar face standing at the forefront.
It’s my brother.
Shit.