Chapter 28 Riven
Riven
When I got that text from Sloane, it was like time stood still. Now that Van has likely ended up on her shit list, I had to find my way back in.
I can’t let her go after that kiss. That kiss made me realize so many things, but the one that matters the most is that she’s mine. Even if it means that she only belongs to half of me. Even if it means that she loathes the man who belongs to the mask.
I had to wrap up a few loose ends today. Now I’m here, standing outside her door. I knock once. The door opens shortly after. A shocked expression flashes across her face for only a second before realization sinks in.
“Riven. Hi. You came,” she says, looking away from me. She brings her right hand up to fidget with her earring.
“Of course I did,” I say back, taking a moment to look her over.
She’s wearing an oversized black band tee that comes down to mid-thigh.
I try not to imagine what is, or isn’t, underneath it.
Her hair is up in a high ponytail with a couple of loose strands framing either side of her face.
There’s an interesting shade of pink dusting her freckles, and her eyes are alight with a dangerous sort of desire.
It’s gone within seconds, replaced by uncertainty and unease.
She shies away from my gaze, staring at the ground near her feet.
It takes every ounce of restraint I have not to reach out, lift her chin, and bring those beautiful eyes back to me.
“Come in,” she chimes. She turns around and walks to her sofa, sitting down cross-legged in one of the corners.
I follow behind her, taking a seat on the other end of the sofa.
I’m not sure what boundaries exist between us after what I’ve done.
I notice the mostly empty glass of wine sitting on the end table next to her, and I wonder how much she’s already had.
Her mood shifts as if suddenly remembering my recent transgressions.
She turns toward me, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Start explaining,” she snaps. Ah, that attitude that I’ve grown so fond of has returned. Perhaps it’s enhanced by a little liquid courage, too.
“That text was out of line. I should have talked to you in person.” I pause, gauging her reaction.
She bites her lower lip, reaching over to grab the glass of wine.
She takes a sip, running her tongue over her bottom lip where some of the red liquid dribbles over it.
I wish that it were my tongue, instead. She brings her gaze back to me, pinning me with that death stare again.
“So, you came all this way to tell me that you should have ended things in person?” The green in her eyes morphs into a darker shade to match her mood. I let her keep the attitude. I deserve it, and I happen to find it sexy as hell.
“Shit, no.” I run my hands through my hair. “I didn’t mean … Look, I shouldn’t have said it at all. I was pushing you away.”
“Mhm,” she says, still sporting a death stare with her arms crossed firmly across her chest.
“Go on,” she says. She’s gonna make me work for it, then.
“I tend to run from things. But more than that, I tend to ruin them, to burn them, to destroy them.”
She arches an eyebrow. “Wow. That was a bit dark and cryptic, don’t you think?” She smirks, but her posture relaxes just enough to let me know she’s warming up to my apology. Then she laughs, really laughs. I instantly want to hear it again.
“Riven, if you’re afraid to hurt me, just say that.” Straight to the point, then.
“I was. I am. I’m … afraid that if I pull you into the darkness, you’ll suffocate.”
The darkness in her eyes shifts to a more vibrant color as they lock onto mine.
An emotion that I can’t quite place flicks across her gaze before she stands and walks away from me, and toward her kitchen island.
Her ponytail swings as she walks, and I fight the urge to run after her and grab it.
She picks up the wine bottle that’s sitting on top of the kitchen island next to a corkscrew and comes back over to the sofa.
She plops down, uncorks the bottle, and drinks straight from the tap for several seconds too long.
I’m about to grab it from her when she finally stops and sets it on the end table.
She wipes her mouth and continues talking like it never happened.
“How about you let me make the decisions on what’s best for me from here on out,” she declares. Bossy Sloane is back. I like it.
“Of course,” I say, a smile tugging at the corner of my mouth.
“And anyway, how do you know that I don’t enjoy the darkness?” she says back, playfully.
No, no, no. Turn around. Do not fall into this trap. Instead of heeding the warning from my inner voice, I decide to jump right into it.
“Hmm, aren’t you afraid of what you might find in the dark?”
She twirls her ponytail in her fingers, tilting her head. “I’ve never been afraid of such things. I tend to like them.”
“What if I’m the monster in this story?”
“You’re not,” she says it with such certainty.
“How can you be so sure, Sloane?” I push.
“Are you trying to scare me off again?” She pins me with those beautiful eyes.
“I’m trying to make sure you know what you’re getting yourself into.”
“I’m not afraid of you,” she says, tilting her chin up to hold her ground.
“You should be,” I grumble.
“Well, I’m not. So stop it.” She reaches over and slaps my thigh.
I laugh and give it up, for now. “So, does this mean you forgive me, then?” I ask, grinning.
“Actually, I think I’m still mad. Maybe if you beg, though.” She’s smiling, and her eyes are now so light that I swear they might be translucent. I can almost see the fire burning behind them. I can’t help the full-on laugh that escapes me as I throw my head back against the sofa.
“Sloane, if you wanted me to get on my knees for you, all you had to do was ask.”
She blushes, dusting her freckles in pink. She averts her gaze from mine to stare at her hands in her lap. I scoot down the sofa and reach over to tilt her chin up with my finger.
“Eyes on me, Sloane.” Her lips part, bringing my gaze down to them briefly. “Is that what you want?” I whisper.
“I … what?” she asks, breathless. I slide my hand down her chin until it’s circling her throat, and I tilt her head back. I bring my mouth to her ear and whisper, “Do you want me to beg for your forgiveness, Sloane?” I watch as the goosebumps erupt over her neck.
“Yes,” she pants.
I release her throat from my hand and stand from the sofa.
I turn until I’m standing right in front of her.
She looks up at me through her lashes, and so many filthy thoughts run through my mind.
Her eyes search mine as she considers what my next move might be.
I drop down to my knees right in front of her.
Her gaze drops with mine as her eyes widen.
“Should I crawl to you? Should I worship at your feet? Say the word, darling, and it’s yours.
” She follows my eyes as they trail down her body and then back up.
She’s silent for several seconds, staring at me.
Then, she makes a move that I don’t see coming.
And it has me grasping at every ounce of control that’s grappling to hold me down.
She reaches down and grips the bottom of her tee, lifting it over her head. She tosses it to the side carelessly. I realize she wasn’t wearing a bra as her perfect tits are now on full display. Now, all she has on are her silky black pajama shorts. I swallow.
Her eyes never leave mine as she trails one hand down her chest at an agonizing pace until she finds her nipple, twisting it in her fingers.
If my goal was to let her see how much control she has over me, it’s working.
Because she has all of it right now. Her lips part as she plays with herself, and I have to fist my hands at my sides to maintain what’s left of my restraint.
“Sloane,” I warn. She smirks, moving her hand down and down, until she finds the waistband of her shorts. She slips her hand a couple of inches below the fabric, moaning. It’s breathy, and needy, and I nearly lose it. Nearly.
“Take them off,” I order. “Now.” It’s not a full release of the reins, but it’s enough for the moment.
She stills her hand and looks me dead in the eyes and says, “Beg.”
Oh, she’s good. She’s so good, and she knows she has me right where she wants me. I let out a low chuckle.
“Sloane … please remove those fucking shorts, before I do it for you,” I say, teeth clenched.
She arches a brow, continuing her descent into her pajama shorts. She tosses her head back and spreads her knees to make room for what she wants. She begins moving her hand inside the thin silk, and what escapes her mouth next has me coming completely undone.
“Riven,” she moans.
The next thing I know, I’m standing and reaching under her thighs with both hands to lift her from the sofa.
She gasps, pulling her hand free to wrap her arms around my neck.
We pause for a moment to stare into each other’s eyes.
I don’t know if we’re silently asking for permission to keep going or if we’re trying to commit this moment to memory.
Her eyes dart back and forth between mine, and she nods once.
It’s enough to have me moving forward until the front of my thighs find the kitchen island.
I sit her down on the countertop, and she frees her arms from around my neck to lean back on her hands.