Chapter 11 #2
He crowded me back into the narrow space between the wall and the door, his hand slamming the door shut behind me.
The thunder outside cracked, and the house shivered with the force of it. My heart kicked up, dizzy from the vodka, dizzy from him.
He pinned me, rough and sure, his hand sliding up to cradle my jaw, thumb dragging across my cheek. His body pressed into mine, hard enough to bruise, his breath thick with anger and hunger.
“You like putting on a show for him?” he slurred, voice low, dangerous, each word scraping raw inside me. “Letting him touch you like that?”
“You don’t get to tell me what to do,” I whispered, but my voice was weak.
His thigh forced my legs apart, his knee wedged between mine, pinning me helplessly against him. “You want it to be him?” His mouth hovered at my ear, the heat of his words boiling through me. “Or do you want it to be me?”
I hated how badly I wanted him, wanted to be ruined by his hands, wanted to carve this ache into my bones so I could feel something that lasted. “I don’t know what I want,” I managed, voice ragged.
He laughed, but it was a mean sound, his fingers digging into my jaw, tilting my face up until I was forced to meet his eyes.
“Liar. You know exactly what you want.” He pressed closer, hips grinding into mine, every inch of him burning, possessive, desperate.
“You want to be owned. You want to be marked so no one else even tries.”
A shudder ran through me. I could have screamed, could have pushed him away, but I didn’t. I let him see my fear, my hunger, my shame.
He bent and kissed me, stealing what little breath I had left. His hand slid under my dress, fingers rough and sure, mapping the heat between my thighs. He teased me through the thin fabric, making me squirm, making me beg with every whimper that slipped past my lips.
“Say it,” he ordered, voice dark velvet, all command and ache. “Tell me you want my hands. Tell me to ruin you.”
I wanted to resist, wanted to pretend I could say no, but my body betrayed me. I arched into him, my mouth finding his.
My skin prickled, every nerve tuned to his darkness. I wanted to say I didn’t want it, that I hated him for making me feel like this, but the truth trembled on my tongue: I wanted to drown in the tide of his jealousy, wanted the thunder of him to drown out the old ghosts.
His forehead pressed to mine, his breath shaking. “He doesn’t see you, not really. Not the way I do.”
The music from the living room was muffled, but I could hear the pulse of it. I felt untethered, slipping beneath the surface, swept into the undertow of everything I’d tried to bury.
He pressed closer, and I melted, my resolve gone, my body betraying me. His hand tightened in my hair, his thumb brushing my cheek as if he could memorize the shape of my ache.
“I hate wanting you,” he breathed, words rough and desperate against my lips. “But I can’t stop. I see you letting him in, and all I want is to tear him apart. All I want is to make you mine until you forget the rest of the world exists.”
I clawed at him, nails raking down his back, needing him to feel it. To know I could hurt him too.
But Caiden was always fire. I burned for him, burned with him. We’d both go up in smoke.
He caught my wrist, fingers digging bruises, and dropped my hand straight to his jeans. Even drunk, even wild, his cock was hard beneath the denim. Pure demand, all for me.
He rolled my palm over his bulge, slow at first, then rough, setting the pace he wanted. I gasped, breath coming out ragged, a messy sob.
“God, you feel that?” Voice so low it vibrated through my jaw. His hips flexed into my hand, hard and needy. “That’s all for you. Always you.”
His forehead pressed to mine, his eyes dark, all violence and wanting.
My hand shook, clumsy from vodka and hunger, but he moved it how he needed. Using me, dominating me, until I couldn’t pretend I wasn’t desperate.
“I hate you,” I whispered, but the words just made him smile wider. He wanted the truth, even when it hurt.
His hand went between my legs, and I nearly buckled, my body liquid, my head spinning out. He rubbed circles through the soaked fabric. Just enough for me to choke on a whimper, not enough to let me finish.
“Yeah? You’re pretty fucking wet for somebody who claims to hate me.”
I scoffed, but it came out sounding like a moan. “Fuck you.”
“You want safe? Go fucking back to Alex.” His mouth at my ear, breath scorching. “You want real? Keep your eyes on me.”
I trembled, caught in his shadow, falling into his need. I forgot, for a moment, that I could leave, that I could push him away and run back to the noise, to Alex’s hands, to the safety of pretending I didn’t crave this.
But I kept my eyes on him. My hand rests on the bulge of his dick through his boxers.
“That’s right, baby, show me how much you hate me,” he said, voice hot and rough.
I leaned my head on his shoulder, vibrating from the pleasure shooting through my core from his fingers. He wasn’t putting any fingers inside of me. Just teasing. Slowly sliding them over my cunt.
I rubbed my hand faster over his bulge, and became wetter when I heard him groan into my ear. Just the sound of it was enough to bring me close to the edge.
What was I doing? This was Caiden. I shouldn’t be doing this. But, fuck, it felt so good.
“Does this make you burn, Amelia? The way I touch you?” His voice consumed me. Like a flame in the cold.
“N-no, it makes me want to vomit.” It wasn’t a total lie. The amount of pleasure was mixing with the alcohol, but the nausea did not come from his hands.
No, his hands were the one thing grounding me.
“Liar. You were always such a fucking liar.” Caiden began rubbing his finger faster, and my legs became jelly.
Images flashed in my mind. Caiden calling me cruel names. Caiden glaring at me from across the room. Caiden’s drunk hunger overpowering me.
I should stop. I should stop. But the past became a dead thing, and I, as hollow as ever, needed the distraction to numb the blackness consuming my mind. Just like my mother.
I could see her now. Spread out in her room with a man pleasuring her. All to escape the void.
Fuck it.
I moaned softly, and rubbed myself on his hand. He chuckled. “I bet you’d sound so pretty moaning my name while you cum on my fingers.”
I couldn’t respond. I was lost in the stars of this white-hot pleasure. All I could do was moan helplessly.