Chapter Sixteen Sam
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
SAM
I hate him. Hate this team. Hate Jackson for putting me here. Hate myself for going to that party.
I squeeze my eyes shut, taking in one deep inhale after the other to settle my nerves.
With a shaky hand, I pick up the dirty clothes and carry them to the washing machine, leaving a trail of the items that slip from my grasp.
Frantically, I shove the uniforms into the machine, my hands still trembling.
I close my eyes once more and just breathe. In through the nose. Out through the mouth.
Pushing it all to the back of my mind, I pour in the detergent and begin the wash cycle. While the clothes wash, I grab an empty bucket to carry that and bleach over to the sink to make the sanitizer solution.
I turn on the sink, testing the temperature until it’s to my liking before setting the bucket inside to fill with water and bleach.
As the water runs, I quickly snatch my headphones up from the floor, where they landed after Ryker pushed me.
I take them to the utility closet they gave me for breaks.
There’s barely space for a chair and my duffel.
No windows. Just a file cabinet no one uses and floor-to-ceiling metal racks of extra equipment.
After returning to the sink, I reach in to pull out the bucket, grunting at how heavy it is.
As I finally get the bucket to the brim of the sink and turn, it gets caught on the edge.
Water splashes the front of my clothes and spills all over the floor, the strong scent of bleach singeing my nostrils.
“Shit.”
I drop the bucket, and it clinks against the sink. I peel the fabric away from my chest, muttering curses while trying not to cry from frustration.
I sprint back to the closet, pulling out the shirt I wore here from my duffel. I reach over and tap the door closed, then pull the bleach-drenched shirt over my head and let it drop to the floor at my feet.
My eyes drop to my wet bra, and I groan before unhooking it from the front. My skin is flushed, and my nipples pebble the moment the air hits them.
It’s late, and everyone should be in bed by now. No one is going to notice that I’m braless. The walk back to my dorm isn’t that far.
A low, guttural groan pierces through the air. The door creaks, and I freeze, snapping my gaze forward.
Alex.
He stands in the doorway, his chest rising and falling in rapid succession. Hastily, I cover myself, using my forearms as a shield. His jersey clings to his torso, soaked. His eyes move slowly.
Then lower.
Until they catch on the curve of my breast, my very naked breast. The soft skin of my stomach. The tattoo inked across my ribs.
Neither of us speak. We only stare at each other, me with wide eyes and him… he stares like he hates me. Eyes hooded and seemingly darker than usual, lips slightly parted. He wets them, and I can’t help but follow the trail of his tongue.
Alex steps in and closes the door behind him. I stumble backward over my duffel to keep the distance between us. It’s futile in a space this small, even more so when heavy-duty shelves are taking up most of the footage.
I can hear his ragged breathing. It hits loud, too loud.
Or maybe it just feels that way because every sense in my body is suddenly hypersensitive.
I smell his scent—sweat and expensive cologne—feel him even though he hasn’t touched me.
Notice the vein that protrudes along his neck toward his jawline.
Then he reaches out to touch my wrist. I slap his hand away, momentarily exposing myself in the process. He tries again, and this time he succeeds. Alex grips both wrists, pinning them high above my head with my back against the shelves.
He’s taller, just over six feet, but with him this close, this imposing, he feels bigger. His breath is hot, but minty, and it causes my lashes to flutter. A lump lodges in my throat, and I swallow it down.
He leans in, his mouth dangerously close to mine. I squirm to get out of his grasp, my breasts swaying and brushing against the wet knitted material of his top.
“Mmm,” he moans. “You think you can just show up at my school, mess up everything, exist here like nothing matters?”
His voice is low.
I grunt, trying again to wiggle from his hold. I lift my knee to shove him, but he catches it. One hand grabs the back of my thigh, hitching my leg around his hip. He presses into me, the thick bulge forming in his pants unavoidable.
I squirm to break free, but not enough. I never permitted him to touch me like this, but I also don’t say stop.
I should.
I need to.
But I don’t.
“You make me fucking insane.”
I whimper at that, my own breathing growing increasingly out of control.
“You get under my skin, and it kills me.” He leans back, his eyes roaming over me as he licks his lips again.
Suddenly, the pad of his thumb is on my exposed nipple, strumming it slowly.
My back buckles from the contact, and a gasp slips past my lips.
But it’s when he leans down and suckles it into his mouth that I fall apart.
I bite back the moan, not wanting him to see how much he’s affecting me. Heat slicks across my skin, my pussy throbbing like it’s desperate to be touched.
He kneads my breast before flicking his tongue over my swollen bud. The sensation alone has me writhing against him. Alex switches his focus to the other breast, using the free hand to show it the same amount of attention.
His dick is hard against my stomach despite the thick uniform pants and my jeans. I find myself wanting to touch, wanting to know if the rumors are true.
When he pulls back and our eyes meet, there’s something there. Something wicked and greedy.
“Tell me you don’t want me to touch you.”
I don’t answer, I can’t. I don’t know why I don’t stop him, why I don’t use my words. He’s bound my hands, locked me in place with his body, but my mouth is free. All it would take is for me to do just that. To tell him to get his filthy hands off of me.
It’s that simple. Only the words never come.
Maybe it’s because of the way he’s looking at me, something in his gaze telling me that he needs this. Maybe I don’t stop him because, deep down, I need this, too.
I need to bury myself in something that feels good to take the edge off, even when I know it’s a mistake, even when I’m sure to regret it in the morning. Even though he’ll have won, and I’ll be just another notch on his belt.
His finger slips down my stomach until he reaches my waist. Without unbuckling my jeans, Alex dips his hand past the waistband. It’s effortless how quickly he finds my clit. He strokes me through the thin material of my underwear, gently running the tips of his fingers over my bud.
He lets out a slow breath. “You’re soaking these panties, Sunshine.”
He moves lower, stroking my slit, the moving pressure edging me closer and closer to exploding. And when he roughly pushes my panties to the side and slips a finger inside my pussy, my head tips back with a gasp I can’t swallow.
His mouth is on me, brushing my jaw, then my throat, and he moves his fingers in and out of me.
“So fucking wet. I bet your pussy would feel real good wrapped around my cock.”
A strangled whimper is all I get out.
“You like this?” His voice drops lower. “Like me touching you even though you hate me.”
Another moan slips out before I can stop it.
“Maybe I should ruin you,” he whispers against my neck. “Fuck you against this rack until you’re crying. Until you forget your name.”
My body arches. I do hate him. I want to claw him open, make him pay for all the petty bullying. Take out my frustrations on him as he claims to want to do to me. Curse him for all the shit they’ve put me through.
But then he adds a second finger and hooks them until he finds my spot.
“Oh, fuck,” I groan. “I hate you.”
“Say it louder while you drip all over my hand.” His mouth grazes my ear, breath hot and ragged. His fingers curl deeper, faster, knuckle grazing bone. “Do you want me to fuck you into submission, to ruin you, to break you in half until you’re begging me to stop?”
“Yes!” I cry out. And I come, hard and violently, my body and breath fighting to find a rhythm.
Alex doesn’t stop. He keeps fingering me like it’s the only thing he wants.
My walls convulse, clenching around his hand in quick bursts.
It’s not until my breath settles and my muscles relax that he pulls his hand from my pants.
Alex steps back, fingers slick, breath ragged. Then he sucks the two middle fingers into his mouth, savoring my juices.
“Fucking sweet.”
He releases my other hand, picks up my dry shirt from on top of the duffel bag, and signals for me to hold up my arms. I do as he wants, letting him put the shirt on my body. Alex puts more space between us; then he turns and leaves without a goodbye.
Not that I need one.
I stand there, my clothes too sensitive against my skin. In the distance, the shower sputters on. Alex continues with his routine, not a care in the world for what we just did… what he just did.
And me?
I’m left aroused, furious, and completely wrecked.