38. Sydney
thirty-eight
sydney
Carter is waiting for me on my couch, his brows pinched with concern.
He wasn’t in on it.
He didn’t partake in my trauma.
That’s what makes him safe now. Not that he’s really to blame, that his hotheadedness caused this. It’s squarely on my shoulders, because I told him and didn’t stop him from being an idiot.
Doesn’t matter.
I kick off my shoes, barely hanging on to a blank face, but he understands something is wrong. He meets me halfway, opening his arms to me.
I fall into them, and the fucking dam breaks.
He eases me back to the couch, putting me on his lap before I can protest, and slowly unzips my coat. He doesn’t attempt to shush me or get me to stop crying, even though I instantly buried my face in his neck.
I don’t want to come out.
As soon as the coat is open, though, he freezes. “Please tell me this is your period and you didn’t get fucking brutalized.”
I lick my lips, tasting the salt from my tears. “I did, but it’s also my period.”
“Tell me,” he demands.
He strokes my hair, and it makes me cry harder. Because it fucking reminds me of Penn, and right now he’s no better than Oliver.
They were there.
“O-one of their t-teammates tried to rape me,” I say in a rush. “They stopped it, but they were wearing masks. H-he was wearing a clown mask.”
Carter’s fingers tighten on me. “Keep going.”
I sit up and sniff, shifting on his lap. “I need to change. I’m going to bleed?—”
“Get comfortable,” he says. “I don’t give a shit about a little blood.”
He grips my hips and adjusts me so I straddle him. Our faces are at an even height like this. His hands slide to my thighs, his palms sinking heat into my chilled skin through the thin leggings.
“Oliver told me to stay and watch their practice, then wait for them. He…” My gaze drops to Carter’s chest. “He came after me wearing that same mask, pretty much dressed exactly as…”
“The teammate.” His jaw tics.
“I ran for my life,” I whisper. “I tried to escape and then I tried to fight, and neither were good enough.”
If you asked me six months ago how well I’d fair against an attacker, I would’ve said something like, I’m quick, so probably decently . Now, my opinion has changed. I’m fucking easy prey, no good at saving myself whatsoever.
I’m the girl who goes into the basement when she hears a creepy noise in the middle of the night.
I’m the girl who runs upstairs when there’s an intruder in the house instead of going out .
I’m the one who tries to outrun the train instead of moving aside.
The first one to die in a horror movie.
Stupid.
Fucking.
Idiot.
“I’ll teach you,” Carter promises. “Okay?”
He wipes away my tears. Uses his sleeve to dab under my nose. Truly heroic behavior. If I didn’t know how dark he runs under the surface, I’d call him a white knight.
He clears his throat, then slowly reaches between my legs. I don’t stop him, but my chin wobbles when he runs his finger down and back up, coming away with Oliver’s cum and streaks of dark blood. It looks… erotic. And a little horrifying.
“He fucked you,” Carter says.
“He had me pinned. He told me who he was, but he didn’t take off the mask.”
His eyes darken—his pupils dilate. He drags me closer and leans in, planting a kiss on my throat. Right at the center, over my windpipe.
“You’re going to bruise there,” he says softly. His tongue flicks out, tasting my skin.
I lift my chin.
“Let me erase the memory of what he did to you.”
I huff. “How?”
“How, indeed…”
He puts me on my feet in front of him and drags my destroyed leggings and panties down. He helps me kick them off, then pushes my coat off my arms. It falls to the floor behind me. My shirt is next, and I strip out of it on my own.
“I’m on my period.”
His blue eyes meet mine, searching for what I’m not saying. When he finds whatever he’s looking for, he smiles. “I like a little blood, dream girl, remember? I don’t care if it’s fucked up, I just want to erase what they did to you.”
I need that, too. It doesn’t matter that it might be considered wrong. I need to feel something other than the skin-crawling sensations Oliver left me with.
He motions for me to turn around. The couch creaks slightly with his movement, and something wet touches my ass cheek.
His tongue . He runs his fingers along the scabbing letters. They’re still covered in a smattering of healing bruises.
“Hands on the coffee table.”
I bend over, my nerves taking over. He nudges my legs wider and pulls at my hips. I open my mouth to question him when his mouth lands on my pussy.
“Oh, shit,” I groan. “You shouldn’t?—”
He laps at my clit just enough to tease me, then moves to my entrance. His tongue plunges into me, and I almost jump forward. This is so twisted, but his hands on my hips keep me against him. He groans, too. His teeth nip at my flesh, followed by his tongue. He goes back to my clit, playing with it. Flicking the tip of his tongue. He pushes two fingers into me.
“Fuck.”
He pulls away slightly, kissing the crease where my ass and thigh meet.
“All gone.” He smacks my ass. “Now come sit on my cock.”
I rise, glancing back at him. He runs his thumb across his lower lip, catching a spot of blood there, and then he reaches up and undoes my bra with nimble fingers. I let the straps fall down my arms and turn back around. His jeans are open, his cock hard against his stomach. After a moment, he shifts and slides them completely down.
He smirks when I straddle him again. I fist his cock between us, stroking slowly. Around and up, twisting and squeezing. He leans in and sucks my nipple into his mouth. The one that Oliver bruised. He leaves his own mark on me, while his fingers wander up my back, to the top of my spine.
Something slips down my chest, between my breasts.
The necklace.
I touch my throat with my free hand, trying to catch it, but he’s faster. He tosses it onto the coffee table and meets my eyes with a smug look of his own.
“You’re mine. No doubt about it, babe.”
His hand covers mine, slowing my strokes. I rise on my knees, and he helps line himself up. When I drop, I keep my attention on his eyes. My lips part at the stretch, the way it feels good and sore at the same time.
“Does this do it for you?” I say, stilling when he’s fully seated inside me. “If there’s no adrenaline?”
He chuckles. His response is to grab my face with both hands, slamming his lips to mine. His hips move under me, and the micromovements almost undo me. I hold on to both wrists, willing him to keep his hands on my face.
It’s grounding.
I was sinking in the arena, I’m spiraling now.
Carter catches me.
He pulls away just enough to speak. “Just because I sometimes need that doesn’t mean I don’t also enjoy this.”
I lick my lips. “But the knife?”
“Pocket.”
I release one wrist and drop my hand to the waistband of his jeans, following a wandering path until I find it. It’s a silver folded knife. He takes it from me and opens it, then offers me the handle.
I take it. The weight of it… I think if Carter cut all the clothes from my body, I’d be more than turned on for every cut.
But Oliver took the excitement out, leaving only fear. Even if he was turned on by it, I wasn’t. My body was not on board. Even realizing it was him. Even though he made me come.
That’s confusing, too.
I press my thumb to the point. It cuts immediately, sinking into the pad without resistance. A drop of blood wells up, and I bring it to my mouth. There’s something in his eyes, though…
Instead of sucking the blood away, I smear it across my lower lip.
“Oh, fuck, baby.” Carter’s hips flex again. “More.”
More blood wells up on my thumb, and I lean back slowly. I drag my thumb from my the hollow of my throat down the center of my chest. Between my breasts.
He holds out his hand. I offer him the knife. He takes it carefully.
“You trust me,” he says.
I nod.
His free hand presses to my back between my shoulder blades, holding me steady. He drags the tip of the knife, light as a feather, from the hollow of my throat down between my breasts.
“Don’t move,” he warns. “Don’t even breathe.”
My lungs lock up on command. He traces an invisible pattern around my breast, spiraling toward my nipple.
Every scrape of the tip, every almost-cut, puts me on edge. Not fear, exactly, but something similar. I don’t know what it is.
I almost don’t notice the way his hand shifts. The blade bites my skin, but it’s so sharp the pain doesn’t register until two seconds later, when the blood beads up in its path.
He leans forward and kisses the cut on top of my breast. Kisses it and then sinks his teeth into it until I groan.
He gets harder. If that’s even fucking possible. He thickens inside me, and my head falls back.
“Vampire,” I tease.
“I need you to move,” he orders. “Ride me, dream girl.”
I like it when he calls me that. I like when he bosses me around.
He mauls my breasts and keeps me pressed to him while I take what I need. My hand goes between my legs, and I rub myself to an orgasm that I control. This is all me, even as my breathing gets shallower and a ball of pleasure pulses in my core.
I shudder. “I’m going to come.”
He lifts his head and watches my face. I keep going, my tits bouncing now that he’s not attached to them. I rub my clit harder, and I cry out sharply. He lets out a low breath, too, and nudges my fingers away.
He takes over stroking me, urging me to keep moving. My muscles tremble, and I lift off him. He growls at the loss of contact—the loss of me —but I slide to my knees between his legs and take him in my mouth. I taste myself on him, and I smear my palm across the droplets of blood on my chest. I wrap that hand around the base of his shaft, letting him see the glint of blood mixing with my saliva.
His fingers thread in my hair. I don’t think about my blood mixed with arousal. I try not to think about anything except making him feel good.
I bob faster, urging him deeper. My gag reflex kicks in, but I keep pushing.
He helps me. His hips thrust, and he leans back and watches me through lidded eyes. The blood tastes coppery, but mixed with him , it’s right. I suck hard, my cheeks hollowing, and his dick twitches.
“That,” he mutters. “Do that.”
I do. I take him deep and suck hard as I come up, stealing a sip of oxygen through my nose. Then down. I lap my tongue at the underside of his head until he hisses. With my other hand, I cup his balls, lightly stroking between the two sacs.
“I’m close,” he warns.
Good .
I keep taking him, forcing him deeper. The ring of muscles at the top of my throat constrict around his head, and I gag.
That does it.
His balls seem to lift, and suddenly his cum fills my mouth.
I swallow around his head, then pull back. His last spurts coat my tongue.
I climb up him and kiss him hard. He doesn’t fucking object when my lips part. He opens for me, and my tongue slips into his mouth. Mine tangles with his for a moment, the taste between our mouths rich and distinct.
Not bad, just… different?
When we break apart, I push off of him. Suddenly embarrassed at how forward I was. He’s still fully clothed, only his jeans and boxers around his thighs, and I’m… so naked it stings .
“Don’t retreat,” he says softly. “Don’t hide after I hurt you.”
I tip my head toward the bathroom. “Clean me up then, dream boy.”
He grins and bounds after me.