Chapter 11
This time, I don’t just take it. I claim my own fire.
As his mouth devours mine in the humming darkness of the HVAC room, my hands, which had been trapped at my sides, come up and dive into his hair.
It’s thick and soft, and I grip the strands at the back of his head, pulling him closer, answering the punishing pressure of his kiss with my own.
I meet the sweep of his tongue, the scrape of his teeth.
He seems excited by my response, by the force of it. He breaks the kiss for a fraction of a second, his chest heaving as he exhales a hot, shuddering breath directly onto my lips. The green and red LEDs of the machinery blink across his face, carving it into stark, demonic planes.
“I won’t let you go,” he says, his voice a low, guttural promise. “Anyway, you’re probably glad to be pinned against the door. That way no one can come in and find us.”
The raw sarcasm in his voice is a shield, but I can see right through it to the possessive, jealous thing writhing underneath. It should annoy me. Instead, a low chuckle escapes me, surprising us both.
“Stop it,” I whisper, my fingers tightening in his hair. “You talk as if I could be ashamed to be seen with you.”
The very idea is absurd. He’s the king of this campus, and I’m… me. But we can’t kiss in the middle of the hallway in front of God and everyone, not when I don’t even know what this is. Not when I haven’t had a single second to process the whiplash of going from enemies to this.
My breath hitches, loud in the small space, as his hand slips past the waistband of my jeans.
His rough fingers close around my cock through the thin cotton of my boxers, and I gasp, my head falling back against the door.
His movements are quick, desperate, nothing like the slow exploration I would have imagined. He’s not teasing; he’s claiming again. He presses his face into the curve of my neck, his other hand coming up to hold my jaw, keeping me from turning away.
“I want to see you,” he rasps, his breath hot against my skin.
“I want to watch…” He pulls back just enough to look at me, his gaze intense, burning even in the near-darkness.
His thumb begins to circle the head of my cock, slicking it with my own precum, and a jolt of electricity shoots through my system. “Do you enjoy it, Artie?”
I can only nod, again and again, like a broken toy.
I’m so completely, mind-bendingly aroused that words have abandoned me. He takes my frantic nods as permission and increases the pressure, his hand a piston of heat and friction.
He watches my face with an obsessive focus, his pupils blown so wide the blue is just a thin, startling ring around the black. He’s cataloging twitches of my mouth and every flutter of my eyelids like he’s memorizing my undoing.
My orgasm crashes over me without warning. It’s not like last time. It’s a full-body cataclysm, so intense a wave of fire floods my veins and my spine feels like it’s melting into liquid heat.
A strangled cry is torn from my throat as I come hard into his hand, my legs giving out completely.
He’s there to catch me, his body solid. He supports my weight, holding me up as my body shudders with the aftershocks.
He lowers his head and gently, almost clumsily, nudges my face with his own, like he doesn’t know any other way to express tenderness.
His forehead bumps mine, then his cheek presses against my temple.
The gesture is unexpectedly sweet and achingly sincere after the raw brutality of his touch, that a joyful, slightly hysterical laugh bubbles out of me.
I tilt my head up and kiss him. It’s a soft, messy kiss. He makes a strange sound in the back of his throat, a mix between a groan and a whimper.
When I pull back, I’m suddenly shy. “Do you want… me to do the same to you?” I ask.
His thumb comes up to trace the outline of my bottom lip, the one he bit. “Fuck. Come to my place with me? Right now?”
The words are harsh, a demand more than a question, and I flinch. He sees it immediately. He shakes his head, a flicker of self-loathing crossing his face.
“Nothing will happen that you don’t want to happen,” he says quickly, his voice softer. “I mean… we don’t have to do anything serious. I just want… us to have more time. More space than this fucking closet.”
I understand. God, do I want to. The thought of being alone with him, of having hours instead of stolen minutes, makes my stomach swoop.
But a deep-seated kernel of fear is still there, a lifetime of caution warring with this explosive new desire. And… there’s the party. The cleanup.
“Forget it,” Raiden says sharply, misinterpreting my hesitation as rejection.
“No!” I say, relieved he didn’t just shove me away and leave. I press my body fully against his, needing to feel the solid reassurance of him. “You’ll come to the final prep evening. Tonight. Come. And then… we’ll go to your place. Or mine.”
He’s quiet for a moment. “What else do you need to finish?” he asks, his voice grudging, but he’s listening.
“Move some of the heavier furniture back out, now that the lights are all set. And after the fire this morning, we need to scrub the soot off the floors and—”
“The fire?”
His voice cuts through my explanation like a whip crack. His hand clamps down on my elbow, his grip painfully tight. “What fire?”
I tell him everything, about the prank theory, the melted table, the cut trip wire. As I speak, I feel the atmosphere in the tiny room shift, grow colder, more dangerous.
He listens without a word, his jaw clenching tighter and tighter until I’m sure he’s going to crack a tooth. When I’m finished, the silence is terrifying.
“You’re not going,” he says finally, his voice flat and absolute.
“What?”
“The Christmas party. You are not going.”
I stare at him, uncomprehending. I even laugh a little. “Um, no. You’re joking? You’re really exaggerating. It was a stupid prank, Raiden. Even the dean said so.”
“I don’t give a shit what the dean said.
” His expression hardens into something I’ve never seen before—not mockery, not desire, but cold, hard command.
“The coolant line, now a fire? No. It ends. I’m not letting you go to that stupid party.
The thing isn’t worth it. Something is wrong, and you might be in danger. ”
“Stupid… party?” The words feel like a slap. All the air leaves my lungs. I push against his chest, creating a few inches of space between us.
“It’s not a stupid party to me,” I say, my voice dangerously steady. “And I’m going. I’m going to celebrate Christmas in the best way I can.”
“With a school party?” he scoffs, his eyes narrowing. He’s trying to protect me, I know, but his words are careless, and they cut deep. “Almost no one will come, Artie. Half the school has gone home for the holidays, and the rest will find something better to do.”
“Well, if no one’s coming, then there’s nothing for you to worry about, is there?” I retort, a bitter sting behind my eyes.
He actually recoils, seeing the glint of tears I can’t hide.
“Fuck, Artie. You know I didn’t mean it like that,” he says, his tone softening with frustration. “It’s a forced school activity. That’s how other people see it, even if you manage to make it the coolest party ever.”
“I don’t care how other people see it,” I hiss, my teeth clenched. “This is the only party I can have, and I’m going to have a good time with my friends.”
Anger flashes in his eyes, his own hurt lashing out now. “Of course. Your friends and Chase. And I’m not on that list.”
“I just invited you tonight!” I cry, incredulous.
“And I told you not to risk your fucking neck for a holiday party! Someone started a fire, damn it. Why can’t you see that something strange is going on?”
I can’t control it anymore. The words, the secrets I’ve held tight for a decade, just burst out of me.
“Well, it’s time for a tearjerker, Blackwell, I hope you like it,” I say, my voice shaking with a fury born of pure pain.
“My mum died when I was eight. She loved Christmas. After she was gone, I went to live with my aunt and uncle, who despise me and who haven’t put up a single decoration in years.
I wanted to do this… I wanted to make one good Christmas, because it’s the only happy memory I have left of her.
” The tears are falling now, hot and shameful on my cheeks.
“But you’re probably right. I’m just kidding myself.
It’s just a stupid school party that no one will come to.
Just a pathetic attempt by the biggest loser in college to pretend he has a life. ”
The color drains from his face. He goes so pale he looks ill, his blue eyes stark and wide. He sees my tears.
I try to push past him, to get out of the tiny, suffocating room, but his hand shoots out and grabs the sleeve of my jumper.
“No,” he croaks, his voice broken. “No, Artie, no…”
“Let go of me.”
I yank my arm free. I push him, hard, in the center of his chest. He stumbles back a step, looking stunned, lost, and on the verge of genuine panic.
“Come to the prep tomorrow,” I say, my voice cold and dead. “If you actually give a shit about me, you’ll be there. But I’m not expecting you.”
I reach for the door handle.
“Artie, wait—”
“Don’t touch me right now,” I warn him without looking back.
And I leave him standing alone in the dark.