"I-I don't know who it was. I had no idea what was going on until it was over."
"Liar," he booms, making me startle.
"I'm not. I'm sorry. I have no idea."
"Always fucking lying," he murmurs. His hand that was wrapped around my waist, helping to hold me in place, moves until he pulls at the knot holding my wrap dress together.
"Dawson," I half-warn, half-moan when the fabric parts. My arms lift in an attempt to cover up, but his fingers wrap around my wrists to stop me.
"You want me to stop, baby girl?"
Do I? Do I want him to stop?
I should. This is fucked up. But his touch, his scent, even his vicious words... I crave all of them. I have since the day I left, and now he's here, his hard body pressed against mine, I need it—him—more than ever.
"Yes?" I don't mean for it to come out as a question, but the battle between my head and my heart confuses me too much. Not to mention the wine.
“Hands on the counter. Don’t move them.”
He chuckles as his fingertips connect with my bare stomach. I suck in a sharp breath.
Just one touch and the entire world ceases to exist.
It's a heady feeling, and one I've only ever felt with him.
The first time I was with someone else, I thought it was just because he was useless in bed. But then I met someone else, then someone else, and I soon came to the decision that it wasn't the guys. It was me.
I was broken.
He broke me, and I was never going to be the same again.
"Your lies are going to land you in even more trouble." His hand cups my lace-covered breast as his fingers around my throat tighten a little. "Why did you do it?"
"D-do what?" I ask, my head spinning, my grasp on reality vanishing fast as he circles my already peaked nipple through the fabric of my bra.
"Play me. Why did you do it, baby girl?"
"B-because I didn't have a choice," I admit.
"Better. See, I knew we'd finally start getting the truth out of you. And I'm not opposed to a little... persuasion."
"Shit," I squeal when the lace covering me is ripped away and the cool air of the room surrounds my bare breast.
His fingers pinch until it hurts, sending a bolt of lust between my legs.
"Dawson," I moan, shamelessly grinding my arse back against his length. He groans at my movement. I'm affecting him just as much as he is me right now.
"Did you enjoy it?" he asks, his hand leaving me and making me want to beg to have it back. "Did you get some sick fascination out of watching me fall for you, knowing that you were going to rip my heart out?"
"What? No, no, Dawson. Never."
"Bullshit," he spits as the familiar sound of a flip knife opening hits my ears.
Fear rips through me.
"Dawson, what are you..."
He brings the knife in front of my face.
"You remember this?" he asks.
"Y-yes." I swallow harshly as my eyes run over the Royal Reapers crest engraved into the handle. It's almost the same as the one I have, only that's got my father's MC crest on it.
I was handed it at thirteen, just like Dawson would have been, in order to protect myself, if necessary. I've never used mine. I know that when we were eighteen Dawson hadn't either. I wonder if that's changed.
"Good. So you know just how sharp it is. Just how... deadly it can be."
I nod as the tip presses against my collarbone.
Oh shit. This is it. This is where I die, and at the hands of the only man I've ever loved.
He lowers it down my chest, the blade barely kissing my skin until he hooks it under the centre of my bra and tugs until the fabric falls away from my body.
Heat floods my core as he growls in my ear, his length growing impossibly hard against my arse.
"You always did like to experiment," he murmurs, his teeth sinking into the shell of my ear until I cry out. "We never did move onto pain though, did we?"
"Dawson, whatever it is you want to do to me, just get it over with."
"What's the fun in that, baby girl? You know as well I do that most of the fun is the anticipation. The thrill of the chase."
The tip of the blade circles my nipple before moving to the other. My breaths race past my lips as my heart thunders in my chest, but I fight like hell to keep still, not ready to feel the blade making easy work of my skin.
"Is that what you enjoyed? Knowing that you were betraying me and just waiting to be caught?"
"No. It wasn't like that," I cry.
"Really?" he barks, moving the knife away. I sag in relief, but his grip on my throat tightens for a beat before it slips around the back of my neck and I'm pushed forward until my cheek presses against the counter before me.
The coldness of the marble bites into my sensitive skin, but it does little to cool the inferno raging inside of me.
7
Dawson
The need to cause her some pain, to get even a small taste of revenge for what she did to me, burns through me so strong that it's impossible to ignore.
I press down on the back of her neck, forcing her to remain bent over the counter as I move my other hand to pull the fabric of her dress from her body.
I discard it on the floor and run my eyes over her porcelain skin. It's as flawless as it always was, and my fingers itch to mark it, to brand her so that she never forgets who she belongs to. She may never have been mine, not really, but she does belong to me. Her pain, her pleasure, her possible future are all in my hands right now. One way or another, she's going to learn just how wrong she was to play me like she did back then.
With her cheek crushed against the marble, she watches me over her shoulder.
"Go on then," she taunts. "Punish me. Hurt me. Break me. I deserve it," she seethes, her eyes narrowed on mine.
"Shut up," I bark, lifting my knife once more and making quick work of slicing through the thin band of lace at her hips.
Her knickers float to her ankles before she kicks them away and widens her stance, arching her back as much as she can and wiggling her arse at me, tempting me.
"Will it make you feel better about this whole thing if you fuck me like an animal? Will it settle the beast inside you?"
"You have no idea what it'll take to settle my need for revenge, baby girl. A quick fuck will barely scratch the surface."
My knife clatters to the floor as I rip open my fly and push the fabric of my jeans and boxers down just enough to free my aching cock.
"What you deserve, I don't think I'm capable of," I admit. She must hear my warning loud and clear, because a shudder rips through her. "But I know a few men who would love nothing more than to teach you a lesson you'd never forget. Once I've finished with you, that is."
I don't bother checking to see if she's ready. I already know she is. I remember her tells all too well. And I'm proved right when I push the head of my cock against her entrance and find her wet for me.
"Just like back then, you try playing innocent, baby girl. But your lies will always be exposed."
I surge forward, filling her to the hilt. She rolls her hips as she adjusts to my invasion, but I only give her a second before I pull almost all the way out and slam back in. The head of my cock hits her cervix and she cries out in pleasure, her walls gripping me so tight I worry that I'm not going to be able to last.
I want to draw out every second of pleasure from this. I fucking deserve it.
"Fuck," I bark, unable to keep my mouth shut. I don't want her to think I'm enjoying this more than she can feel. I slam my lips shut before I give too much away and focus on my restraint so I can hold off a little longer.
My fingers tighten on the back of her neck as I pound into her. Sweat begins to glisten on her skin as she moans under my hold.
Needing more, I slip my hand back around the front of her throat and pull her from the counter so her back hits my chest.
"Does it feel like you remember?" I grate in her ear.
"No," she confesses.
"Good. That boy you played? He's long gone, baby girl. The man in his place is going to fucking ruin you."
"Oh God."
A low chuckle falls from my lips. "God? Nah, baby girl. You might need to reconsider. You're headed straight for the devil."
My hand slips down her stomach until I find her swollen clit.
I pinch her hard and she immediately falls over the edge.
"Dawson," she screams, her head falling back against my shoulder as wave after wave of pleasure rips through her.
Her pussy clamps me so tightly as she loses herself to the sensation that I have no choice but to let go.
The roar that spills from my lips doesn't sound like my own as I allow the pleasure I've been craving since my father discovered the truth to consume me.
I've hated her since that moment, but I also can't deny that she affected me like no other woman I've ever met.
My chest heaves as I drag in the air I need, my release beginning to subside.
"Dawson?" she whispers through her own increased breaths.
"Don't," I snap. "Just because I let you come, don't think this is anything more than a cheap fuck. You were just easy. Here. Begging for it."
She tenses in my hold before I push her back down on the counter and pull out of her, watching as the evidence drips out of her.
I release her and stand back to right my clothing, but she doesn't move. Not that I'd allow her to.
I can't look into her eyes right now. I just can't. And it seems on some level she knows that because she remains exactly where she is as I reach down and collect my knife, tucking it back into my pocket.
I run my eyes down the length of her spine, over her slim waist and full arse, and down to her swollen pussy, still glistening with our releases.
My muscles ache to take more. To give her more. But I know I can't.
Not tonight, anyway.
This woman completely disarms me. One look in her eyes, one whiff of her sweetness, and I forget everything.
It's dangerous. She's dangerous, which is exactly how I fell for her games in the first place.
I need to remember that she's not the one in charge this time. I'm the one with the game plan, and I intend on seeing it through before handing her over to someone who will be more than interested in her reappearance.
"This isn't over," I warn, marching toward her door, needing to get away from her before I do something I'm going to regret.
I'm about to step through when her voice rings out through the silent flat.
"It's okay, I'm on birth control, you arsehole."
I don't respond. I can't. The thought of her pregnant with my baby does weird things to me, things eighteen-year-old me would have got excited about. I need to remember that everything is different now.
8
Piper
The second the door slams shut behind him, my legs give out and I collapse to pile on my kitchen floor. I'm so numb that I don't even feel the cold biting into me.
Tears stream down my cheeks as ugly sobs rumble up my throat. They're not because of what he did, they're because he just walked out.
I should be relieved, not devastated that he couldn't even look at me as he backed away and disappeared out my door.
I have no idea how long I sit there, drowning in my guilt and my loneliness, but at some point, the coldness seeps into my bones and my shivers get so violent that I have to move.
I kick off my shoes, allowing them to collide with the wall at the other side of the room before sweeping up my discarded and ruined clothes. I drop my underwear straight into the bin. I'm tempted to put my dress in there as well; I'm not sure I'm ever going to be able to wear it again and not be confronted with memories of tonight.
Tonight might have been all kinds of fucked up, but I don't want to throw away the reminder that he was here, that he touched me, that our connection—for me, at least—burns as strong as ever.
I pad through to the adjoining bathroom and run the bath, my body aching in a way I haven’t felt in years. And as good as it might feel, I'm not sure the memory of his rough touch is what I need right now.
I pour in some of my favourite bubbles before turning to the mirror hanging above the basin.
I gasp as I take in the faint red scratch marks that run down from my collarbone to my breasts. Lifting a finger, I trace the marks, remembering just how the cool, sharp blade felt.
Heat floods me once more and my cheeks flame with embarrassment that just the memory of his brutal visit turns me on more than any of the guys I've been with over the years.
Dropping my hand and attempting to push the memories away, I reach for my cleanser and set about removing my makeup.
The heat of the water stings as I step into the bath, but as I sink down into it, I realise it was exactly what I needed.
I rest back, allowing the soothing water to seep into my muscles and the scent of shea butter and ginger fill my nose. I sink down lower until it's only my face and the top of my head above the water.
I close my eyes and try to relax, but the only thing I can see in my mind is him. The only thing I can feel is his touch.
It's only a few minutes later when I decide the attempts are futile and I pull the plug and get out.
It's a school night; I should be getting ready for bed so I'm fresh in the morning, but instead, I fear that I'm going to spend the entire night with my head still in the kitchen.
It's the beginning of a new year, which means new students, fresh starts, and clean slates.
It should be an exciting time. It usually is, but my first day back after the summer off and everything has already gone to shit.
I angrily rub myself with some moisturiser before pulling on a clean pair of pyjamas and going back to the kitchen for a drink.
Needing something comforting, I dig around in my cupboard for a tub of hot chocolate and make myself the biggest mug I can.
The coffee I started for Dawson taunts me from under the coffee machine, and in a moment of madness, I take it from under the spout and launch it at the wall where my shoes met the same fate not so long ago.
The ceramic shatters and the dark liquid coats the cream wall before running down to form a puddle beneath.
The moment my hot chocolate is ready, I turn my back on the mess—and hopefully the memories—and lock myself in my bedroom.
As predicted, I toss and turn all night. I wake up covered in a sheen of sweat and with vivid images of Dawson in my head more times than I care to count.
By the time my alarm goes off the next morning, I'm exhausted and frustrated. The last thing I want to do is go to work, but nevertheless, I drag my arse from bed and just hope that I don't get any unexpected visits from a member of the Royal Reapers. Or worse, a Ramsey.
"Two things..." Lisa starts as she falls into the chair in front of my desk barely two seconds after I walk inside. "One, please tell me that exhausted look on your face has something to do with the hot daddy who was waiting for you on his motorcycle yesterday. And two... please, tell me the reason you never responded to my message was because he was banging your brains out."
"Well... it sure wasn't Henry," I mutter, dropping my bag into my drawer and following her move as I fall into my chair.
She snorts a laugh but claps her hands together. "OMG, tell me everything."
Guilt ripples through me, but I already know I can't dive into things between me and Dawson. They're too... fucked up.
"It's nothing like that."
"So, you didn't spend the night with that beard between your legs?"
"Uh... no," I say honestly. It's probably the only thing I can be honest about, because that particular act didn't occur. Although now she mentions it... my mind wanders off into dangerous territory. "Yesterday wasn't the first time we met, Lis. We knew each other as kids," I admit with a wince.
"Oh, okay. It was just a catch up then?" she asks, looking totally disappointed.
<
br /> "Of sorts, yeah. We didn't exactly end things on good terms back then."
"So, you have been with him?" Her eyebrows wiggle in excitement.
"We were eighteen, Lis. He was different... we were different people."
She opens her mouth to say something but changes her mind and blows out a long breath instead.
"Spit it out." Reaching forward, I power up my computer so that I can get started once Lisa finishes with her little fishing quest.
"Can I..." she trails off. For a second, I don't know what she's getting at, and then all of a sudden realisation and a wave of jealousy hit me like I've never experienced before.
But I have no right to feel that way.
Dawson isn't mine; he hasn't been for... Hell, he was never really mine. Everything we had was founded on a lie. I might have been myself while I was with him, I might have been honest about who I was, about my hopes and dreams for the future, but the truth is that if it weren't for my dad, nothing would have happened between us.
We were—we still are—forbidden.
"Sure," I say, although the word tastes bitter as it passes my lips.
"Sweet. Besides, you've got Henry. You can't steal all the hotties." Guilt twists my stomach despite the fact that what she’s saying is wrong. I don't have Henry. There’s nothing serious between us, and there never will be. We just... lean on each other when we need it.
"Right." I fight to keep my eye roll in. Lisa knows the deal between us, yet she likes to believe that Henry could be my knight in shining armour and the two of us can ride off into the sunset together. For someone who claims to only want men for sex, she sure is a romantic. "I'm sorry, I really need to..." I point at my computer and she pushes from the chair.
"Yep, duty calls. Got to get all those little monsters settled in." I watch her walk to the door before she turns back around, deep in thought and chewing on her bottom lip. "Any chance I could get his number?"
"Err... no." Dread settles in my stomach as her earlier words come back to me about not replying to her message.
Play You: A Second Chance/Single Dad Romance (Rebel Ink Book 4) Page 5