39. Aj
Ugh. My head is throbbing.
A deep ache burns through my hips, thighs, and stomach. My mouth feels disgusting—dry and bitter—every heartbeat pounds harder behind my eyes. When I try to move, sharp pain shoots from the base of my neck all the way down my spine.
Jesus Christ.
Where the hell am I?
I crack my eyes open, wincing as sunlight stabs straight through my skull.
The ceiling above me is unfamiliar. Dark, exposed wooden beams. Tall, vaulted ceilings. Massive windows spilling warm morning light across hardwood floors.
Definitely not my bedroom.
Fantastic.
Who did I go home with this time?
I push up onto my elbows and instantly regret it. The room tilts sideways.
“Shit,” I groan, squeezing my eyes shut while nausea crawls up my throat. Something cold presses against my temple.
I blink blearily toward the nightstand and spot a fresh glass of ice water.
Weird.
Grabbing the glass with a shaky hand, I drink too fast, water spilling down my chin and soaking into the collar of the oversized white t-shirt hanging off my shoulder.
A rooster crows somewhere outside.
I freeze.
Slowly, I blink toward the massive windows overlooking endless fields and dark tree lines stretching into the distance.
What the actual fuck.
Who has a rooster?
The room comes into focus, piece by piece. Rustic furniture. A huge stone fireplace. Dark wood walls. An open loft overlooking what looks like a living room downstairs. I sit up slower this time, trying not to throw up while fragments of last night scrape uselessly through my head.
I remember getting on stage.
After that?
Nothing useful.
The oversized shirt shifts against my chest, and pain sparks sharply through my nipples.
“Ow— Fuck.”
I glance down and find the fabric is stained faintly red. My stomach drops. What the hell—
I yank the shirt up fast enough to make my head pound harder.
My piercings are gone? I bolt upright so fast that the room spins again. Panic punches straight through the hangover while I frantically scan the bed.
No clothes.
No panties.
No stilettos.
Nothing.
The shirt slips halfway off my shoulder while I spin toward the floor, looking for literally anything that belongs to me. My nipples ache badly enough to throb.
“Fuck,” I hiss again, pressing a hand against my forehead while my pulse spikes harder. The ends of my hair are damp…did I shower?
I need my phone.
I need to figure out where the hell I am before I have a full mental breakdown. A door creaks open behind me, and I spin around.
The room tilts again—
Then the air leaves my lungs completely.
Wolff steps out of the bathroom wearing nothing but gray sweatpants hanging low on his hips, water dripping from dark hair down the hard lines of his chest and stomach. A towel hangs over one broad shoulder while steam curls behind him through the doorway.
For one disorienting second, relief hits me so powerfully it almost hurts. Then rage slams into it immediately after.
“You fucking asshole.”
Wolff stops dead in the middle of the room.
His eyes drop to my body wearing his shirt.
“What the hell is this? Where are my clothes? My piercings?”
He doesn’t answer right away. Which somehow makes me angrier. His eyes drag slowly over me.
“I took them out. Your tits look better without them.”
“You fucking what?” I bite out.
“You’ll thank me later.”
“You bastard.” I grab the nearest pillow and hurl it at his head. “You had no right—” He catches the pillow easily, tossing it to the side. His voice stays infuriatingly calm.
“I saw the same video everyone did. You were unconscious when they pierced you.”
Heat burns my cheeks, and I swallow roughly.
I’ve been trying not to think about the video.
Trying not to think about waking up sore and bleeding with metal shoved through my nipples and half the Sovereign passing clips around. Laughing at the Commander’s fucked-up daughter. My hand twitches toward my chest, but I stop myself. I won’t let him see how much this is fucking with me.
“Where am I?”
“My house.”
He walks toward me slowly, and my legs back up automatically until the backs of my thighs hit the mattress. Crowding into my space, his broad chest almost brushes mine while heat rolls off his skin. I feel exposed—vulnerable and fucking pissed.
“Where’s my stuff?” I glare up at him. Hating his scent that overwhelms the space between us. The way my body remembers his hands, his mouth. “And why am I here?”
“You were passed out drunk while some bastard was fucking you.”
Shame twists hot and ugly in my stomach. I don’t remember. I never remember. That’s the whole fucking point.
“Get out of my way.”
He reaches into his pocket and tosses several orange prescription bottles onto the bed beside me.
“Your drugs.”
“Those are prescriptions, asshole.”
“Doctor prescribe the coke too? The molly? The crushed-up Adderall?”
“I can do whatever the hell I want.”
“I watched you snort half your body weight off that Slut on stage.”
“Move.”
“And afterward, I found you unconscious while some guy was raping you in a back room.”
“Stop.”
“If I hadn’t dragged your ass out of there, you’d still be there, getting fucked by whoever wanted a turn.”
“And?” My laugh comes out ugly and hollow. “That’s all I’m good for anyway. What the fuck does it matter if I’m awake or not?”
Something dangerous flashes across his face.
“You think you get to disappear for weeks and then suddenly play fucking hero?”
“I’m not playing anything.”
“Bullshit. You pushed me away and now suddenly you care if—”
“I never said I cared.” The words come out flat, but every muscle in his chest tenses.
“Right. Forgot. I’m just a hole to you.”
“Stop talking.”
“No. You don’t get to stand here acting pissed when this is exactly what you wanted.”
“I wanted this? You drugged out of your fucking mind while some bastard shoves his cock in you?”
“At least they didn’t lie first.”
His hand slams against the wall beside my head, hard enough to shake the wood. Furious heat rolls off him in waves as his body towers over mine.
As his green eyes lock onto mine, the air between us pulls taut. Before I can process what’s happening, his mouth crashes into mine. His other hand grabs my jaw, forcing my mouth open as his tongue shoves inside. I gasp, nails scraping against his chest.
I try to push him away.
I try to hate this.
But then he groans against my lips, and my body betrays me.
My grip tightens. I toss her onto the bed.
Her small body bounces on the mattress, my shirt riding up her thighs, barely covering her ass. She props herself up on her elbows, breathing hard. Lips flushed from my mouth. Dark eyeliner smudged. Ponytail half-undone.
Fuck. She looks good.
I drag her back toward me by the ankles. Her thighs spread around my hips as she tries to kick weakly. Catching her knees, I shove them open wide, yanking her down the mattress until her back hits the sheets again.
My eyes drop between her legs. She’s completely smooth.
“Shame you waxed that pretty cunt. I liked it better with that soft little patch of hair.”
I grab the hem of my shirt and rip it open in one clean pull. Her soft tits bounce free. My cock hardens instantly at the sight of her puffy, sensitive nipples.
Perfect.
I crawl over her, caging her beneath me. The taste of her mouth burns on my tongue. She tries to push me off.
“Stop being a fucking asshole.”
Her nails dig into my shoulders, but I catch both wrists and pin them above her head with one hand.
“You know how to make me stop, solnyshko.”
She glares up at me, hips squirming beneath mine. My cock presses heavy and demanding against her stomach.
“Wolff,” she rasps, and the sound makes something dark and hungry uncoil in my chest.
I lower my mouth to her throat and drag my tongue slowly over her racing pulse. Her body shudders, back arching. I bite down, sucking hard enough to leave a mark, then lick over the sting.
“Fuck you,” she whispers.
I grin against her skin and bite her again—harder.
“Careful. I’m already in a bad mood.”
Her thighs tighten around my hips, her glare sharpening.
“There she is. That’s the fucking girl who kept me awake for eight goddamn weeks.”
I grip her throat enough to feel her pulse hammering wildly beneath my palm. Her breath catches.
Mine too.
Fuck.
“Tell me your safeword.”
“Wolff—”
My hand tightens again. “Safeword.”
“Jackal.”
The second the word leaves her mouth, something gnawing and unfamiliar settles inside my chest. Even after everything, even after I tried to cut her out of me, she still trusts me. I fucking hate what that does to me.
“Good girl.” I lower my mouth beside her ear, breathing her in. Sweat. Perfume. AJ.
My free hand slides up her thigh, fingers brushing her soaked pussy. She’s dripping. I press two fingers against her slit, spreading her open, teasing her entrance while her hips jerk desperately against my hand.
“You’re so fucking wet for me.” When I push two thick fingers inside her tight heat, she clenches hard around me, moaning.
I add a third finger, stretching her, pumping deep while my thumb grinds against her clit. She’s so small beneath me, so tight, and the sight of my thick fingers disappearing into her perfect little cunt makes me lose whatever control I had left.
I pull my fingers out and line my cock up. In one brutal thrust, I slam into her.
She cries out, back arching. I don’t give her time to adjust.
I fuck her harder, hips smacking against her ass. Every thrust makes her perky tits bounce. I spread her legs wider, pushing her knees toward her chest so I can watch everything—the way her tight cunt stretches around my thick cock, the way her slick pussy lips grip me on every pull.
“Fuck, look at you.” Pressing down on her lower stomach, I feel my cock rearranging her insides. “Taking every inch like you were made for me.”
I fuck her deeper, harder, punishing her for living in my head for weeks.
With a growl, I lean down, mouth against her ear. “You have no idea what you do to me. I can’t stop thinking about this tight little body. How perfectly you take my cock. How fucking wet you get when I use you.”
Pulling out of her cunt with a wet sound, I flip her over onto her stomach in one rough motion. She gasps as I yank her ass up high and shove her face down into the mattress.
I need to watch both her tight little holes take me.
Spreading her knees wide apart, I force her thighs open. My hand presses hard between her shoulder blades, pinning her down as I line my cock up with her dripping pussy and slam back inside her.
“Fuck.” Her perfect cunt swallows me whole.
But it’s not enough.
I spit on her asshole and thrust two fingers into her ass, scissoring her open. She cries out, body jerking, but I hold her down harder.
“Your holes stretch so pretty for me.”
Sliding my fingers out, I lean down and shove my tongue into her asshole, licking and fucking her.
She tastes like sin and desperation, and it makes me even angrier—because I crave it.
And hate it. Hate how quickly my hands learned her body.
Hate that some primal part of me already thinks of her as mine.
I pull back, spit on her hole again, and push three fingers into her ass.
“Fuck, Wolff—”
Thrusting my cock inside her, my head falls back, and a deep groan leaves my throat. The ridges of my length drag against my fingers through the thin wall inside her with every brutal movement, the pressure making her shake and sob beneath me.
I’m angry at how badly I need this. Fucking pissed that her skin against mine doesn’t disgust me. It only makes me want to bury myself deeper. And never leave.
I fucking hate it.