Chapter 27 #4
“The next meet, I wasn't paying attention and put one of them on in front of the entire swim team, and my dick instantly fell out of it,” Dread says, pulling my focus back to him as he gives me a dry, unimpressed look.
The image has a laugh bubbling out of my throat. I’m picturing what Dread’s face must’ve looked like when he realized; it’s probably one he’ll never make again, and I’m sad I missed it.
He grins, and although my chest is still too tight and I’m trembling violently, my next inhale is a little easier.
“Rogue laughed so hard, he cried. Actually—” He tilts his chin up as he considers something. “—the entire fucking team did. Even more so when I realized I didn’t have any suits with me that didn’t have holes cut into them.”
I bite back a smile, but it’s futile. There’s no trapping the impish grin that curls my lips, the tinge of my pride in my chest for effectively ruining his day.
Dread’s stare drops to my mouth, his eyes both softening and heating, like holding a flame to candle wax. My stomach clenches, and my heart quickens for an entirely different reason. Like an idiot, my own gaze drops, and the air between us thickens to stifling levels.
I’ll never admit how often I replay those lips on mine, exploring my body, going to places no one else has gone before, tasting me and giving me pleasure I never knew possible.
But they’ve also spoken some of the cruelest words I’ve ever heard, smiled while I raged and cried. They’ve made me feel good, but they’ve also done an insurmountable amount of damage.
Clearing my throat, I step back out of his hands and drop my stare to the water. It’s only waist-high when standing, but it doesn’t stop my blood from running cold at the sight.
“So, uh, did you have to wear someone else’s?” I ask, my voice splintering at the seams.
I risk a glance up at him, finding his expression impassive and unreadable.
“The only teammate who’s the same size as me wears briefs,” he answers, flicking his gaze down my body before turning and wading a couple of feet away. “The first and only time I’ve worn that style at a swim meet. The media loved it, so they can thank you for that.”
My lips twitch. Dread only ever wears knee-length suits, much to the public’s dismay.
“Glad I could be of assistance,” I quip, though my voice wavers as I become more and more aware of the water. He’s incredibly effective at distracting me, but apparently only when we’re making out—or on the verge.
“Zoomed in shots of my dick plastered all over the internet while thousands of people tried to guess how many inches it is,” he goes on, dropping into a crouch again and pushing off, cutting through the water with ease.
I wrinkle my nose. “That sounds incredibly invasive and gross.”
“It is.”
He says it casually, as if he's telling me the weather. Somehow, that's even sadder—to be so used to people viewing his body like that, it doesn't even faze him.
“You’d be surprised how many are convinced I’m packing a fucking tree trunk.”
My tongue feels two sizes too large as I mumble, “How disappointing that you aren’t.”
He pauses and quirks a brow. “Darling, are you implying my cock disappoints you?”
Oh, God.
This conversation took a turn, and my brain is only functioning at half its capacity.
I have no fucking idea how to answer that and not dig myself a deeper hole. So instead, I drop my knees and submerge myself into the water, up to my shoulders.
I choke on a groan, instantly feeling panic claw up my throat. Every inhale feels like ice, and it freezes my muscles, preventing me from moving.
Dread swims toward me, his eyes sharp as he watches me, as if to ensure I don’t drown, though amusement colors them, too.
“Did you seriously just throw yourself back into a panic attack to avoid answering that?” he questions, one corner of his mouth curling.
“No?”
I sound like an idiot, and I feel like one, too, because I definitely am on the cusp of another panic attack.
He shakes his head but swallows his amusement and grabs my hands, pulling me into him until a foot separates us.
“The most important thing about keeping yourself afloat is doing it in a way that doesn’t exhaust you. The quicker you tire yourself out, the more likely you are to drown.”
I nod, but the only part my brain latches on to is ‘drown.’ My breaths come out short and heavy.
“First, you need to relax your breathing. Inhale deeply. It makes you more buoyant.”
My first attempt fails, and so do my second and third. It feels as if my throat is the size of a pea, and I can’t suck in enough.
“Rev, focus on me. Try again.”
My gaze shoots to him, and the next several attempts also fail. But the longer I stare into his eyes, the easier they become, until eventually, I’m able to draw in a full breath.
“That’s it,” he encourages softly. “Now, you’re going to point your toes, and when you move your feet, you’re going to pretend like you’re peddling a bike.”
The second I lift my feet from the floor, I sink, causing me to instantly panic and put my feet down again. I didn’t even drop an inch, but my heart pounds against my chest as if I went completely under.
“Hey, hey, relax, baby. I’ll help keep you afloat for now. I won’t let you go under,” he soothes, dropping my hands to grip my waist instead.
My nod is rushed and choppy, and I try to even out my breathing again.
Another several minutes pass before I accomplish that, and even more before I convince myself to lift my feet again.
The initial dip has me tensing, but, true to his word, Dread bears my weight.
He holds me at arm’s length, giving me room to pedal my feet.
“Good,” he murmurs. “For your arms, you’re going to make a figure eight motion. It’s called sculling, creating upward pressure. Keep your hands flat and relaxed, and move them out and then in.”
I do as he says, focusing on his voice as he corrects me on the motion a few times until he seems satisfied.
“I’m not going to let you go, but I’m going to loosen my hold, okay? I want you to keep moving your legs and arms until it starts to feel more natural.”
“Don’t let go,” I rush out despite myself. He already said he wouldn’t, but my body refuses to trust that just yet.
“I won’t, baby,” he reassures gently. “I just want you to feel your own weight and get accustomed to it.”
My movements are stilted and awkward at first. In my panicked mind, it takes several attempts before I figure out how to move my limbs in tandem. All the while, Dread stays quiet, letting me figure it out on my own.
Swimming is something he does nearly every day. He could swim in a goddamn coma, and here I am, subjecting myself to his scrutiny when I look no more apt than a toddler. In fact, I think a toddler would look less pathetic than me right now.
A small part of me is still waiting for him to pull the rug out from under my feet, whether that means actually drowning me or twisting his lips into that familiar cruel smile and laughing at me for how ridiculous I look.
But he does none of those things, even when I finally get the motion down, and he slowly pulls his hands away, allowing me to keep myself afloat.
“Am I doing it? I’m doing it, right? I’m doing it!” I ramble excitedly, forgetting about everything except the thrill exploding in my chest.
He grins, an emotion passing through his eyes I’m too distracted to dissect.
“You’re doing it, baby,” he says, his tone low and full of something that sounds a little like pride. It hits me directly in the heart, but I force myself to focus on my new accomplishment instead.
“Holy shit, I'm swimming,” I breathe, almost in disbelief. His smile only widens as he watches me. “Do I qualify for the Olympics yet?” I joke, almost breathless from excitement.
He hums, his eyes glimmering. “I think I can pull a few strings and get you in.”
I pin him with a warning look. “Be careful. I might steal your thunder.”
“You think so?” he taunts, drifting back into my space. My movements falter for a split second, and any hope it went unnoticed vanishes when one side of his lips curls into a smirk.
“I know so,” I whisper, resenting how a different type of thrill ignites low in my stomach.
His messy black hair falling into his piercing eyes, the tiny bead of water clinging to the silver hoop in his nose, his bottom lip curling beneath his straight teeth—they’re all responsible for making him devastating to look at.
No matter what we do, we always seem to drift back into dangerous territory.
I’m flirting with death, but it isn’t the water threatening to take me. It’s the monster before me, staring at me like he wants to devour me.
The last time I found myself between Dread’s teeth, I met God, only for Him to kick me down to hell when He saw who I let disgrace me.
With his stare locked on my mouth again, his tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip, the action way too erotic for him to be thinking about anything but the same memory.
We need to stop.
I need to stop.
Every time I fall into this trap, I come out battered and bruised.
For an entire week, he disappeared to one side of the country and then ignored my existence. But not before practically daring my father to come after us—after me—then fucking me in a retort and leaving me there, covered in human ash.
None of that is normal. Despite his claim to having feelings for me, it doesn’t just erase everything he’s done.
He doesn’t erase everything I’ve done to him.
He knows all my dark secrets, everything I’ve burrowed deep in my soul until the shame is only an aftertaste on my tongue. He pulled it out of me until it flooded from my mouth, leaving me to choke on the bitter truth.
I’m responsible for those women’s deaths.
I’m responsible for his mother’s death.
I may have not been the one to take her life, but I’m the one who made it possible.
Not only did I allow a monster to roam free, but I created one of my very own.
And I think that’s the hardest pill to swallow.
I created Dread. In turn, he’s done everything in his power to destroy me.
And now…
He wants me—he keeps wanting me.
And I’m supposed to just… accept it, as if the last four years didn’t slowly break me down and tear me apart. As if half the times we've fucked are completely normal.
He may have had a week to process his feelings, but I haven’t, and this is way too much.
“Thanks for the lesson,” I mumble, letting my feet drop and quickly moving away.
His flicker of surprise appears as quickly as it fades, freezing beneath the cool expression that washes over his face. In an instant, it hardens into ice. I shiver, as if he, himself, is causing the temperature of the water to plummet.
He says nothing as I awkwardly stand and rush back toward the stairs, feeling his stare burning into my back.
The familiar sense of doom floods my system again as I quickly grab my clothes crumpled by the corner of the pool then and rush to the door.
It’s sad how much more comfortable I am with dread when it’s nothing more than an emotion, rather than the man himself.