Chapter 9
Ramsey~
I t’d been the week from Hell.
One week.
School had only been in session for one goddamn week, but it was feeling like an eternity. Luckily, I wasn’t a complete imbecile. I knew that I had to pay attention to my curriculum and actually learn a thing or two, but my mind was completely consumed with all things Emerson.
After I had drugged her back into the café Monday evening, she had clocked out, cashed in her tips, then had walked out without another word as she’d left me still sitting at the table with Deke, Liam, and Grant. I had ended up staying behind to speak with Jarod about her working there, and once I’d made myself clear…well, Emerson could now basically do whatever she wanted at the café without the fear of being fired. However, I still didn’t like the idea of her working.
When she’d shown up to school on Tuesday morning with a dark blue scarf around her neck, I had pushed her up against the lockers, then had almost choked her with it. We had battled it out until I realized that the girl would let me strangle her first before she ever gave in. I had ended up letting go of the grip that I’d had on her scarf, but I had whipped it off her and had made her walk around school with those awful marks on her neck for everyone to see.
I had ended up spending all day Tuesday hard as fuck.
Then Wednesday.
Then Thursday.
Today was looking like shit, too.
I’d never jacked off so much in my life, and I was pretty sure that I’d jacked off more in the one week that I’d known Emerson than I had in my entire life.
The fantasy was also always the same. My dick stood at full mast every time that I remembered how it felt to have my hands on her body. Emerson was soft, smooth, and feminine, and I’d meant what I’d told her. I couldn’t wait to suck on her big tits and lick that sweet pussy of hers.
Now, normally, I wasn’t much of a foreplay kind of guy because I equated foreplay with affection, and no girl had ever held my affections before. Any sucking, licking, biting, or petting that I’d ever engaged in, I’d done it when I was younger because I’d had to learn somehow. However, once I had hit high school, it had all been quick fucking for me, and even that had come to a halt last year.
I glanced over at Emerson, wondering how far she would let me take this. We were in fifth period, and while she had learned to ignore me for the most part, she didn’t fight me anymore on where we sat. I wanted to count that as a victory, but I knew better. Emerson was probably just playing into the ‘keep your friends close, but your enemies closer’ adage.
She hadn’t once brought up what had happened outside the café, and I didn’t like it because there was no way to deny what had happened between us. I mean…hell, just look at her fucking neck. Still, her trying to cover up my marks with that fucking scarf and treating me so casually wasn’t working for me.
I leaned into her, completely ignoring the fact that I should be paying attention to whatever it was that the teacher was saying. “How’s your neck?”
Emerson turned towards me, then quirked a brow. “I have no clue what you mean.”
Just like that, my dick turned to granite.
My hand snaked out, then grabbing her neck, I squeezed on the wounds. She winced but didn’t protest as I pulled her towards me, then replied, “Just wait until you’re covered in my marks, Emerson. You’re not even going to be able to do something as simple as dress yourself without feeling pain.”
She narrowed her silver orbs at me. “And what about you, Ramsey?” she asked.
“What about me?”
“And what if it ends up with me leaving my marks on you?” she whispered seductively.
Fuck.
She just didn’t know. What I wouldn’t give for her to leave me in battle scars. The thought of her digging her nails into my flesh, or biting me until I bled, made me wish that I didn’t need her consent.
I nipped her lower lip. “Emerson, baby, you can do whatever you want to me. As long as we’re both naked, and you’re coming on my cock, I’ll give you anything you want.”
Her breath hitched, and I knew that she was imagining the picture that I was painting. Her eyes flittered around the classroom, and by the hesitation in her eyes, I knew that we had an audience. However, I wondered what if we hadn’t? Would she let me finger fuck her, right here, if all heads had been facing forward?
Emerson looked back at me, then said, “You know nothing about me, Ramsey. How can you promise that?” She smirked, then asked, “What if I told you that I like to be the man in the bedroom, and that strap-ons are my fetish?”
Okay.
I wanted this girl more than I wanted to take my next breath, but I drew the line at gender swapping.
Also, at anything up my ass.
Plus, any threesomes where she was concerned.
Not to mention, anything public where another man could see her naked body.
I removed my hand from her neck, then placed a soft kiss along the scabbed bruises. “I don’t know what you’re into, Emerson, but I know you’re not into that,” I said as I peppered her neck in kisses.
She sounded completely breathless when she asked, “How do you know that?”
I pulled back, so that I could look into her eyes as I answered, “Because I can smell how wet your pussy gets when I’m violent with you, Emerson.” Her eyes widened, and I could swear that I saw shame swirling in their depths before she quickly masked her features. “Your body heats, your muscles tense, and your pussy drips any time that I grab you, shake you, force you, bite you, yell at you, or do my best to humiliate you.” Her eyes took on a glossy sheen, but I didn’t let up. “There’s nothing more that you want than a hard, rough, forceful man in the bedroom with you.” I leaned into her ear as I whispered, “I’d even bet that you would scream down the house in pure fucking ecstasy if I held you down and made you take my cock up your ass, baby.”
She jerked back from me, and my heart skipped a beat when I saw the absolute mortification that covered the features of her stunning face. However, before I could say anything more, Emerson jumped up, grabbed her books and her backpack, then fled down the aisle steps, and kept running until the classroom door slammed shut behind her.
Mr. Grady looked up at me. “What’s going on with Miss Andrews, Mr. Reed?”
“Nothing,” I answered automatically. “She’s fine.” Since he knew better than to question my word, he went back to teaching the class.
I should have gone after her, but I needed time to process her reaction. I’d been spot on with my assumption that she enjoyed violence, and I imagined that the shame came from enjoying something that made her sick every time that she’d seen her father mistreating her mother. I couldn’t imagine it, but that had to be hell on a person’s subconscious.
Granted, I wouldn’t know because I embraced my demons. I knew that I was screwed up, and I knew all the whys, whens, wheres, and hows of it all, but I made no effort to change or fix it because I was at peace with all my broken pieces.
My father was a ruthless businessman with ties to the Mob, and my mother was a brainless socialite that had never embraced motherhood. Both she and my father fucked around and used their money to wash away all the stains from their sins. However, I was fine with all the stains that smattered my soul. They didn’t bother me one bit, and today’s little revelation was the answer to why I was so drawn to Emerson.
Darkness attracted darkness.
It also answered my question of how far Emerson would let me take this game. I was pretty certain that she’d let me take it to the finish line before she ever conceded defeat. While my parents might dance on the edges of the Mob’s dance floor, Emerson came from a family where her father’s violence had ultimately led to him murdering her mother. No wonder she wasn’t afraid of us or our status and money.
She knew real-world fear.
She had experienced real-world violence.
This was probably the part where I should leave her alone. The part where my conscience would finally speak up and tell me that Emerson had been through enough. The part where my brain would tell me that I had my pick of any female in town; I didn’t need this one.
However, my brain, and what little conscience that I did have, were no match for the voice of my soul, the heat in my veins, and the pure feeling of euphoria at knowing that Emerson would welcome my demons. She’d embrace them, play with them, tempt them, and challenge them. Emerson would give me the ultimate high. That girl would let me hurt her at the same time that I made her cum on my cock; she’d let me leave her bruised, bloody, and torn.
Still, that wasn’t all of it.
Oh, no.
I also knew that she’d leave me in the same condition if we ever came together because I wanted her violence as much as she craved mine.