Chapter 14 Reverie #2
The tension is as thick as the smell of chlorine as he watches me.
Blue light dances across his face from the pool water, startling against the sharp cut of his jawline, the thin scar cutting through the arch of his thick brow, his straight nose.
The silver hoops in his ears and nose glint, and it’s criminal how well he pulls it off.
He could break me in fucking half with ease, and I’m terrified he may just do that. Whether it’s with his hands or…
God, I don’t even want to think about it, to be honest. I’m not a virgin by any means, but I don't have a large body count, either.
I dated one guy, Matthew, my sophomore year.
It lasted seven months before it ended, primarily because of Dread.
His bullying created tension between us, considering Matthew was always having to defend me and constantly getting into fights with Dread.
It wore him down over time. At one point, Matt was even convinced we’d fucked, which couldn’t have been further from the truth.
Aside from him, I slept with a few others. Over summer breaks, I’d choose one state to explore and would usually come across a guy or two to take the edge off. None of them were memorable as far as sex went, but it was enough to familiarize myself with what to do and not to do.
Still, standing here before Dread, who I’m sure has been with many women, my stomach tightens with apprehension.
Even worse, the men I've been with were all pretty average-sized. I have only felt the imprint of Dread, and it's fucking daunting, to say the least.
That amused smirk widens, and with one last heated, lingering look, he turns and walks away. I take the opportunity to inhale as deeply as I can before my breath whooshes out in a shuddery exhale. Then, I follow him, not entirely sure where we’re going but thankful it’s away from the pool.
He leads me toward a blue-painted steel door and pushes it open to reveal a locker room.
If my life were on the line and I had sixty seconds to locate exactly where my heart is, I’d end up dead. It seems to have vacated the premises, and instead of it beating in just one central part, it feels like my entire body is thumping.
I step into the room but stop at the entrance as the door slowly closes behind me, the soft snick sounding more like a bomb detonating.
After toeing off his shoes and socks, he grabs the back of his gray hoodie and pulls it over his head, the white T-shirt beneath lifting to reveal an expansive, tattooed, muscled back before dropping again.
I clasp my sweaty hands together, twisting my fingers as he approaches a long bench off to the left side of the room, swings his leg over, and sits down.
Those long, black strands fall over his eyes, and when he lifts them up to mine, I struggle to maintain my critical thinking skills.
They’re filled with a white-hot heat, releasing plumes of tension into the air like smoke until we’re engulfed in a dense fog.
There doesn’t seem to be an atom of oxygen left in the room outside of it.
I cross my arms, uncaring if it makes me look uncomfortable. I am uncomfortable.
“Do you have a condom? I get enough shit from you. I don’t need STDs on top of it.”
I was hoping my question would offend him, but there’s no change in his impassive expression.
“Can’t say I do,” he replies simply. “But I can say I’ve never fucked without one before.”
I arch a brow. Instinctively, I want to doubt that, but with his status as an Olympic legend—and likely with a very decent-sized bank account because of it—I also don’t doubt Dread is very careful with getting STDs or knocking someone up.
“What if I have an STD?”
“Do you?”
I almost say yes so I wouldn't have to fuck him, but that would mean he'd resort to the alternative option and drown me. Which is obviously not a real option.
“No. But maybe I’m not on birth control,” I say, and then give him an innocent look. “Can’t breed with a D’Amour. That would be tragic for you.”
He huffs out a laugh. “You got an IUD after you started dating Matt. I overheard you two talking about it outside of class because you had terrible cramps from getting it put in. Those things last for years, do they not?”
I frown, surprised he would even remember something like that. That was so long ago, and I hadn’t even realized he was around at the time.
Again, I almost lie, but even if he allows for a rain check, he could easily google and find that they do, in fact, last years. At that point, he'd probably just go straight to drowning me for playing him.
“They do,” I answer hesitantly.
“Anything else?” he asks, a nefarious undertone to his question.
I purse my lips while he silently observes me, likely reading every thought on my face. With his chin tipped down and his frosted eyes pinning me beneath those unruly strands, his smirk returns, even more wicked than before.
I can see exactly what the fucker thinks of me right now.
He sees me as a silly girl who’s going to stumble to him, take off my clothes with trembling hands, and stiffly lie down on the bench.
Maybe he thinks I’ll turn my head to the side and stare off into nothing while he fucks me, or maybe he thinks I’m going to put in the effort, but everything I do will be awkward and clumsy.
Either way, I know he thinks I’m going to give him the worst sex of his life while he gives me the best of mine.
The mere thought of that happening has my spine snapping straight.
I may not be able to put a leg behind my head or know any secret tricks to blow his mind, but I refuse to allow him the satisfaction of humiliating me any further than he already has.
I refuse to allow him to walk away with more ammo to use against me later—more reason to look down on me and see me as lesser.
A strange sort of calmness settles over me, and all my racing thoughts quiet and fade into the darkness.
I won’t just fuck Dreadful Sharpe. I’ll ruin him, too.
Confidence floods in and dilutes the anxiety in my bloodstream until I feel… at peace.
I bend at the waist and quickly unlace my boots before kicking them off, followed by my socks. The smooth cement floor is icy, a balm to my flushed skin.
He tracks my movements closely, his gaze sharp as I straighten and shrug off my coat, dropping that next to my shoes. I hold his stare as I cross my arms to grip the bottom of my sweatshirt before quickly pulling it off me, revealing my bare breasts.
I didn’t bother to put a bra back on earlier, and he’s visibly surprised by it. His muscles tense, his jaw clenches, and his Adam’s apple bobs. Otherwise, he keeps his expression passive as he studies me, though his heated stare burns everywhere it touches.
When I was naked in his bed, he deliberately refrained from looking too much, and aside from getting hard, he kept any other reactions locked down. Now, he seems to have less control over his roaming eyes.
Next, I hook my fingers in my leggings and slide them down, taking my underwear with them before tossing both into the clothing pile at my feet. It’s chilly in here, tightening my nipples into hard peaks and provoking goosebumps to rise across the expanse of my body.
Yet, my blood is boiling beneath the surface, keeping my limbs loose and languid as I approach him, allowing my hips to naturally sway.
It’s not so much that it’s forced, but enough to draw his attention to them before settling on my V, where a trimmed strip of hair runs down the middle.
His nostrils flare, and the flames in his gaze explode into a wildfire.
I don't always shave completely, like I assume he thought.
His spine straightens when I stop before him, slow to return his gaze to mine. His smugness is nowhere to be seen now, replaced with a calculating gleam swirling within the raging heat. He can tell my energy has shifted, and though he’ll never admit it, I think that puts him on edge.
I don’t let myself think about what I’m doing as I grip his shoulders and swing my leg over him before settling onto his lap. Amber and sandalwood engulf my senses, and I hate how incredible he smells.
His gray sweatpants do little to hide his cock protruding beneath the fabric, and even just a glimpse of it has my throat tightening.
For now, I push it out of my head, deciding to worry about it when the time comes.
He grips either side of the bench, purposely keeping his hands off me. It’s supposed to feel cold, as if he’s uninterested, but I think it’s because he’ll lose control the moment he touches me.
His cock presses directly into my clit, and my pussy throbs from the contact.
I fight the urge to roll my hips against him, seeking more of the heady pleasure the simplest of touches ignited.
I’m not ready to let my body act on instinct yet.
To keep myself distanced, I need my every move to be intentional and orchestrated, but already, I feel my control slipping.
I’m not quite brave enough to meet his stare this close yet, so I focus on his mouth.
All I can do is try to keep breathing through the heavy blanket of warmth and static electricity wrapped around us.
It seeps beneath my pores, making me hyperaware of how he feels beneath me.
The slightest friction ignites the sharpest of sparks, and it’s taking a toll on my concentration.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I lean forward and capture his bottom lip, sucking it into my mouth before pulling back, scraping my teeth against it as I do. A deep growl rumbles from the depths of his chest, and it sounds like a warning.
But I’ve never heeded them before.
I grab either side of his head and slant my mouth over his, pulling him into an open-mouthed kiss, though I deny him my tongue.
A flurry of winged insects buzzes beneath my skin, and my stomach flips, sending the butterflies soaring.
It’s not supposed to be passionate, yet our lips dance to a slow, heavy bass.