8. Chapter Eight
Chapter Eight
I stared at Connor, the flames of my own righteous indignation hot enough to burn me alive.
The sound of the apartment door closing behind Lena might as well have been my casket lid clicking shut.
Connor watched me, his face unreadable, arms crossed over his bare chest.
“It’s bad enough I’m trapped in this apartment like some goddamn Victorian invalid,” I snapped. “You don’t get to tell me I can’t have a friend over whenever I want to for as long as I want to!”
A muscle in his jaw twitched. “I don’t get to?” he repeated, his voice low, dangerous. “I get to do whatever the fuck I want. You, on the other hand, do not. And your little plot? Don’t even think about it.”
I took a deep breath to steady myself. “I have no fucking clue what you’re talking about.”
He took a step towards me. I took a step back.
“You think I don’t hear everything in this place?” His voice was calm, but sharp as a razor.
Another step forward for him, and another step back for me.
“You’re not going anywhere, Tuesday. You’re not moving in with that little bitch.”
I swallowed hard.
Step forward, step back.
The fighter in me screamed at me to stand my fucking ground, but my self-preservation screamed even louder not to let him get any closer to me, so we continued our little dance.
The air between us charged, crackling with intensity.
“We’ll see what Dean Bennett has to say.” I lifted my chin.
He tilted his head, like he was considering that. Then, without warning, he closed the remaining space between us, his chest nearly brushing mine. His heat was suffocating, intoxicating, scary.
He grabbed my chin, wrenching my face to look up at him.
Defiant, I gazed at his wrist instead. He had fingerprint bruises. Where I’d grabbed him earlier, when he’d swatted at Lena.
His fingers dug into my jaw, and I took another step back.
I closed my eyes as my back pressed up against the boards over my window.
Dammit.
I’d pinned myself between him and the wall.
“It doesn’t fucking matter what the dean says. Because I said no.” His breath caressed my lips as he released his hold on my face.
“What the fuck do you care?” I opened my eyes and met his gaze.
He didn’t answer. Just stared down at me.
And it pissed me the fuck off.
I shoved him. Hard.
He barely budged.
Just rocked back slightly, looking bored.
So I shoved him again. “Say it. Say why you care. Say it, Connor. And stop acting like you’re a fucking god. They may exist, but you’re not fucking one of them.”
Before I could react, he grabbed the back of my neck, yanking me towards him.
Then his mouth was on mine, claiming, devouring, stealing the yelp of pain from my throat and the breath from my lungs.
His smoked cedar and rain scent steeped right into my core.
I gasped against him, drawing his cinnamon breath into my mouth, my hands flying up to claw at him—but instead, I curled my fingers into his bare shoulders, holding on, anchoring myself.
Heat tore through me, the sharp, biting edge of fury mixing with something darker, something deeper, something that shouldn’t have felt so fucking good.
I couldn’t even feel the ground under my feet as he kissed me like he wanted to ruin me. Like he already had. Like he knew he could set my whole world on fire with just his lips and would burn the whole goddamn place down just to prove it.
And I kissed him back. Hard.
Teeth. Tongues. The scrape of his slight stubble against my skin. I hated him. I hated him so fucking much.
So why was my body begging for more?
The moment I let myself sink into my desire, the second I let myself fall into the hot passion, he wrenched away, dropping me like a sack of potatoes.
Oh my god. My legs had been wrapped around his waist.
My feet hit the floor, knees buckling, but I locked them, forcing myself to stand. To not sway. To not show any sign of weakness.
Connor, on the other hand, staggered back like he’d just been scorched, his chest rising and falling like he’d run a marathon. But his expression? Pure ice.
“Don’t ever do that again,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I heard about your ménage à trash with Kade and Malcolm. They might be interested in a street-leech cunt, but I assure you, I am not.”
What in the gaslit fuckery?
My lips still tingled. My body still burned. My clit, I thought, was actually smoking.
He’d initiated that kiss.
I knew it. I knew it. It hadn’t been me. It had been him.
But it was as if he’d robbed me of my words, my power of denial, my ability to speak.
Something flickered behind his eyes, something uncontrolled, something like actual human emotion.
Then it was gone.
“Doesn’t matter,” he muttered, his voice lower, almost as if he were saying it to himself. He shoved a hand through his hair. “Never fucking happens again.”
He cleared his throat. His gaze lingered for a beat, dropping to my kiss-bruised lips.
“By the way, love what you’ve done in here.” He gestured to the boarded-up window. “Very abandoned warehouse chic. Back to your roots, huh, Geulia?”
How did he know…
Before I could find the words, he turned and stalked away, muttering something under his breath, leaving me standing here, shaking, my fists clenched, still tasting his cinnamon taste on my tongue.
Confused. Furious. Shamed.
And aching for more.
It wasn’t that I screamed so much as a scream tore out of me. It was primal and raw, and I had only screamed like that once before in my life.
I shoved the thought of that day away, and instantly replaced it with the image of Connor pumping his dick, my tits bouncing…
The vision expanded and… Holy fuck, my titties were bouncing because I sat on his face while he fisted himself.
I moaned. My entire body thrummed with a need I’d never felt before, like the damn Passion sector of the Lifewell was inside my panties.
I paced the room, my hands twitching, my breath coming too fast.
I needed…
I needed to get out of here.
Lena.
I could take her up on her offer. Now.
Except…I had no idea where she lived. No dorm number. No way to contact her. No phone.
I couldn’t do anything until I saw her in our next class.
So I did what any reasonable, mature adult in my position would do. I yanked off my pants and flung them across the room.
I snatched my pillow up, folded it, and climbed onto the bed with it clenched between my thighs.
And then…I moved.
Just a little.
Just enough to feel it against my aching core.
Enough to make me bite my lip, my breath catching.
Then I did it again.
Slower this time.
Dragging myself over it.
Pressing down.
I whimpered.
Began grinding, chasing friction, relief, some way to not spontaneously combust. I twisted my hands in the sheets as I came down hard, gasping.
Then I felt it.
That unmistakable, suffocating presence.
Watching.
I froze. My breath hitched. My heart slammed against my ribs.
No. No, no, no.
I turned my head, my pulse roaring in my ears, expecting to see Connor, but no…
Malcolm.
In my doorway.
Smirking.
Shirtless.
Silent.
I should stop. But I couldn’t.
The want in me… It was too much.
I had to get it out.
I had to get off.
If I didn’t, I’d die.
I refused to be ashamed, refused to look away. I watched Malcolm as he watched me riding my pillow like my damn life depended on it because it felt like it did.
Slowly, deliberately, he stripped naked. First his athletic pants and then his boxers.
Already hard.
“Oh my god.” The words fell out of my lips in between gasps.
“Well, since you summoned me,” the jackass said, his smirk deepening.
In seconds, he jumped onto the bed behind me, his knees pinning my thighs between them. I let him pull my shirt over my head, then his chest pressed against my bare back. His arms snaked around my stomach, holding me against him.
“Couldn’t wait for me, huh?” he murmured.
His lips brushed my ear, the sharp point of his incisor fang grazing the lobe. Not an attempt to break the skin, just a reminder, maybe, but the sensation zinged straight to my desperate pussy.
One of his hands slid up my stomach, over my ribs, hovering just below my tits while the other went lower. Much lower.
I let out a strangled noise, grinding harder, feeling the thick, hard length of him against my ass. His hand slipped into my panties.
“Poor little thing,” Malcolm cooed, his voice rich with amusement as my clit twitched and pulsed under his finger. “So fucking needy.”
I cried out as he withdrew his touch, moving both of his hands to my sides, his fingers digging into my skin. His body rocked against mine in perfect rhythm.
Not taking.
Not giving.
Just teasing, like he knew how fucking close I was, like he wanted to drag it out until I was begging, groveling.
“Malcolm,” I moaned, my body trembling against his, but it was Connor I was thinking of.
Malcolm hummed. “What is it, my slut?”
I made a noise somewhere between a growl and a plea.
“That desperate, huh? You insatiable little whore.” He nipped at my neck with his lips only, his voice smooth and smug. “Go ahead, baby. Show me how bad you want it.”
My orgasm slammed into me so fast and intense my vision went white.
Malcolm groaned, working himself against the small of my back, a shudder racking through his body like he was getting off on just feeling me fall apart next to him.
When I finally went still, my limbs loose and trembling, my head lolling back against his chest, he chuckled.
“My turn. Let’s paint that pretty backside with my cum.” Groaning, he wrapped his arms around my waist like a too-tight belt as he rutted against me.
The heat of him burned through my skin, the thick length of his cock grinding against me, slick with need.
“You’re so hot like this,” he murmured, his voice husky, rough. “Spent and shaking and turned so I don’t have to look at that face. Fuck.”
“Fuck you.”
The words came out with no venom. His insults about my appearance turned into vapor.