Chapter 6
My brain shorts out again.
All the things I should say—the sarcastic retorts, the demands for him to get away from me, the accusations—they all die on my tongue.
The fury in his eyes is real, but underneath it, there’s a desperate vulnerability that terrifies me more than his anger ever could. He looks like a man backed into a corner, one who just admitted something he never meant to.
And in the face of that raw truth—the evidence of it pressed hot and heavy against me—my body makes a choice my mind can’t.
I can’t bring myself to say yes. I can’t admit that this terrifying, overwhelming proximity is exactly what I’ve been craving in some dark, secret corner of my mind. I can’t give him that power.
So instead, I lunge forward and crash my mouth against his.
It’s the only answer I can give him. My teeth scrape against his lip, and I pull back for a fraction of a second, but then I’m kissing him again, deeper this time, trying to communicate everything I’m too afraid to say. Yes, I notice. Yes, I want it. Yes, this is driving me insane too.
Raiden freezes for a single, heart-stopping moment. It’s as if my attack has shocked him into stillness. I feel the solid wall of his chest go rigid under my hands. I think, I’ve made a mistake. He’s going to push me away and laugh.
But he doesn’t.
A low groan tears from his throat, and his arms snap around me, caging me against him.
He hugs me so tightly it’s hard to breathe, his face burying in my hair as he takes a deep, shuddering breath.
He holds me like that for a few seconds, as if trying to absorb me, before pulling back just enough to look at me. His eyes are blown wide, the blue irises swallowed by black.
Then his passion, held back for a moment, comes roaring back to life.
His hands slide up my bare back, fingers splayed wide, and his mouth finds my chest again. He returns to my nipple, laving it with his tongue before sucking hard, his gaze locked on my face, watching my reaction obsessively.
He’s cataloging every flinch, every hitch in my breath, all tremors that run through me. It feels clinical and possessive all at once, like I’m an experiment he’s finally been allowed to conduct.
I’m ashamed of the way my back arches, the way my hips involuntarily press forward against his.
I bite my lip, trying to stifle the sounds building in my throat, terrified of what will happen if I let them escape. My body trembles under his touch. I close my eyes, trying to disconnect from the sheer intensity of it, but that only makes the sensations sharper.
His mouth releases me, his breath hot against my skin.
“Why are you silent now, Patton?” His voice is a ragged, trembling whisper against my collarbone. “You used to at least answer me.”
He sounds… wounded. And the thought is so absurd it nearly makes me laugh. He wants me to talk? To banter with him while he has his mouth on my nipple in the middle of the locker room?
My mind is a frantic mess. I can’t form a coherent sentence. I search for any excuse.
“Someone could walk in here at any moment,” I manage to choke out. It’s the stupidest, most obvious thing I could possibly say, but it’s all I have.
For some reason, that’s the wrong thing. Completely the wrong thing.
A dark look flashes across his face. Something predatory and decisive. He lets out a harsh breath, and then his mouth is on my neck, kissing a hot, wet trail up to just below my ear. His teeth graze my skin, and he sucks hard, right on that sensitive spot.
A loud moan tears from my throat.
“There it is,” he growls against my skin, the sound vibrating through my entire body.
Before I can react, he’s moving. His hands are on my waist, strong and insistent, turning me, repositioning me. I’m clumsy and off-balance, still perched on his knees.
He guides me until I’m on my hands and knees on the bench in front of him. In one swift, brutal motion, he hooks a finger under the knot of my towel and yanks.
It falls away, leaving me completely naked, exposed to the cool locker room air and his burning gaze.
My entire body flushes with heat. Humiliation and a shocking, electric thrill war inside me. I’m bent over for him, my ass in the air.
“Raiden,” I breathe, the name a trembling plea. For what, I don’t know. For him to continue? I’m so shocked by his actions, by the raw passion he’s treating me with, that my mind can’t keep up.
He doesn’t answer with words. His large hands land on my thighs, his touch firm and possessive. He squeezes, kneading the muscles there, his thumbs tracing circles on my inner thighs, dangerously close.
I gasp, my hands gripping the cold edge of the bench. I can feel him right behind me, feel the heat radiating off his body.
Then, he leans forward, his hot breath ghosting over the most sensitive part of me. I tense, my entire body going rigid with anticipation.
And he starts licking my hole.
My world dissolves into pure, white-hot sensation.
He is really enthusiastic. There’s no hesitation, no reservation.
His tongue is hot and wet and quite skillful, tracing the rim of my opening before flicking and probing and swirling.
He licks me like he’s been dying for this taste.
One of his hands stays on my hip, holding me steady, while the other trails up my spine, sending shivers everywhere it touches.
I’ve never felt excitement like this. It’s a lightning storm in my blood, a fire in my stomach. And a lot of butterflies. I whimper, unable to stop myself, burying my face in my arms. He just growls in response, a low, encouraging rumble, and his tongue darts inside me.
He fucks me with his tongue.
Deep, rhythmic strokes that send shockwaves straight to my cock. My hips start to buck on their own, chasing the feeling, and his hand clamps down harder on my hip, stilling me, forcing me to take it. He controls every part of this.
“Don’t move,” he rasps, his voice thick with arousal. “Let me.”
My mind is gone. There is nothing but the wet heat of his mouth, the shocking intimacy of his tongue inside me, the overwhelming, building pressure in my groin. It’s too much. I can’t take it.
My climax crashes over me without warning. I cry out, a strangled sound, my body seizing as waves of pleasure tear through me. I come without a single touch to my cock, spilling onto the cold metal of the bench, my body shaking uncontrollably.
Raiden doesn’t stop. He keeps licking me, until my frantic shudders finally subside into weak tremors. Only then does he pull away.
He immediately moves up behind me, pressing his hard, clothed length against my ass as he wraps his arms around my chest, pulling my back flush against him. He’s huge and solid and scorching hot.
He presses kisses all over my temple, my cheek, my jaw, his stubble scraping against my sensitive skin.
“Artie,” he whispers, his voice thick and broken. He says my first name. Not Patton. Artie. He repeats it, over and over, like a prayer. “Artie, Artie, fuck…”
His hips start to move, rubbing his cock against my thigh in a rough, desperate rhythm. The friction is jarring, the fabric of his athletic pants rough against my skin. He lets out a guttural growl, a sound so primal it sends a fresh jolt of fear through me.
His entire body goes tense. He thrusts one last time against my thigh, his teeth sinking gently into my shoulder, and then a ragged roar escapes him as he comes right in his pants.
He buries his face in my hair, his chest heaving, his entire body vibrating with the force of his release.
The animalistic nature of it all… The growl, the possessive grip, the way his hands are still roaming insistently over my body as if he can’t get enough, itfrightens me.
And my own feelings seem just as terrifying. I have never been this close to anyone, never experienced anything so intense, so consuming. I’ve never lost control like that.
The fear is like a bucket of ice water. It brings me crashing back to my senses.
What am I doing? What the hell just happened?
My body is still trembling, slick with sweat. His arms are still around me, holding me hard. I need to get out. Now.
I wrench myself out of his grip. He makes a noise of protest, reaching for me again, but I’m already scrambling for my things. I snatch my underwear and jeans from my locker, my hands shaking so badly I can barely hold them.
“Where are you—”
I don’t listen. I pull on my jeans over my damp skin, not bothering with underwear. I shove my bare feet into my shoes, grab my backpack, and without a single look back at the man sitting wrecked and panting on the bench, I run.
~ ~ ~
I don’t stop running until I’m back in my dorm room, the door slammed and locked behind me. I lean against it, my chest heaving, my heart hammering against my ribs.
After a few minutes, when my breathing finally evens out, I stumble into my tiny bathroom and stare at my reflection.
I look ravaged. My lips are swollen, my hair is a mess, and dark, angry bruises—his marks—are already forming on my neck and chest. Physical evidence. Proof that it wasn’t some fever dream.
A cold wave of confusion washes over me.
I’ve always known, on some level, that I wasn’t totally straight. But my attractions have always been muted, slow to build. I thought I was demisexual, someone who needed a deep emotional connection before any physical desire could take root.
What just happened in that locker room wasn’t just about emotional connection.
It was raw, primal, and very physical. Raiden Blackwell, the man who has made my life hell, just had to touch me and I fell apart.
One look, one growl, and my body responded with an eagerness that horrifies me.
He arouses me, and that is a terrifying truth to face.
And him? Is he even gay? Or bi? What are his motivations and his intentions?
I spend the next hour pacing my room, replaying every second, analyzing every word. “I’m always hard when you’re around, Patton.” It sounded so sincere, so angry and desperate. It sounded real. But how can it be?
The pieces start clicking into place with a dreadful certainty.
He waited for me in that empty corner of the locker room.
He shows up every single day to work on a Christmas party he clearly couldn’t care less about.
Everywhere I go on campus, he’s there, in the cafeteria, the library, the stands at the arena.
He’s not just showing up. He’s practically stalking me.
Maybe I need to stop being so naive. I need to face the truth.
Seems this isn’t about him having a secret crush he doesn’t know how to express. This is a game. The day I stood on that stage in the auditorium, I publicly challenged him. I made him look like a fool, and then got him roped into this stupid committee in front of the whole school.
Raiden Blackwell doesn’t take insults lightly. This is his long-con revenge. Seduce the nerdy art kid, break him down, make him lose control, and then what? Humiliate me? Destroy me completely?
My stomach twists into a knot. That has to be it. It’s the only explanation that makes sense.
But… even knowing that, a part of me wants to go back and play again.