by Eva Ashwood
This time, she moans, and I feel it as well as hear it. I redouble my efforts, licking and biting and sucking and squeezing. She’s making noises I’ve never heard her make—hell, that I’ve never heard anyone make—and her hands fly to the sides of my head, fisting my hair and yanking on it.
I don’t stop torturing her breasts, but my free hand finds its way up her skirt, and oh holy fucking Jesus, she’s soaked. The crotch of her panties is completely damp, and when I push the fabric aside and run a finger through her folds, I can feel myself getting coated in her cream.
The deep keening sound falls from her mouth again, and her hips buck against my hand.
Goddammit. Goddammit. Goddammit.
I’m about to blow my fucking load in my pants. My cock is so hard it’s pressing painfully against my zipper, and I finally abandon her breast to work my button and fly open as I lift my head to kiss her again.
When she hears the sound of the zipper, Emma’s body stiffens. She shoves hard at my shoulders, tearing our lips apart, and when she sees my pants hanging low on my hips, my cock tenting the fabric of my boxers, her jaw drops open slightly.
This is the moment when I expect the madness to end. She’ll shove me away from her and slip out the door, running for her life.
But that moment never comes.
Electric energy hovers in the space between us for a heartbeat, and then Emma’s hands find my shoulders again—only she’s not pushing me away, she’s hauling me back toward her. Rage flashes in her eyes again, and her lip curls up as she snarls like an animal.
“You better fuck me like you mean it, West Montgomery. Because it will never happen again.”
The disdain in her voice ignites something in my blood, and I growl back at her as I shove my boxers down, freeing my cock. I’m filled with an overwhelming need to prove to her that she’s wrong—that once this happens between us, she’ll never be able to walk away from me. We’ll never be able to let go of each other.
I press her legs open and step between them, sliding both hands up her skirt as I devour her lips in a rough, consuming kiss. The fabric of her panties is sensible cotton instead of fancy lace, but it shreds just fine. I yank the scraps off her body and toss them aside, and then I’m lining myself up with her wet heat and thrusting hard inside, filling her in one hard stroke.
She’s tight. She’s so fucking tight, and there’s a split second of resistance before I’m buried balls deep inside her.
Emma lets out a pained cry, her fingernails digging into my upper back as she bites her lip.
I freeze.
Or maybe time freezes.
Either way, the whole world seems to stop.
Holy fuck.
“You’re… a virgin?” I grit out, tilting my head to look down at her.
“Was.”
The pain still echoes in her voice, but there’s something like triumph in her eyes. Like she just won a game I didn’t even know we were playing.
Like she wanted me to hurt her, and she just got her wish.
Her tight pussy is still gripping me, and I have to take a sharp breath in through my nose to get my shit back under control. I’m a hair’s breadth away from losing it, but I can’t. I won’t let myself—yet.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
She huffs a breath, and a dark sadness crosses her features, even though her lips tilt up into a smile. “You’ve spent the entire year trying to convince everyone at this school I’m a whore. Why would you have believed me if I told you I was a virgin?”
Because those rumors are lies. I know it, and my boys know it. We fabricated every one of them.
I feel a sharp pain in my chest, as if Emma slipped a knife between my ribs while I wasn’t looking.
And maybe she did.
Lingering pain still hovers on her features, and her jaw is set, clenched tight against the discomfort. She tips her chin up, shooting me a challenging gaze, daring me to finish this.
My dick jerks, as turned on by her fierce defiance as it was by her desperate neediness earlier.
I will finish this. But she’s fucking crazy if she thinks she’s not crossing the finish line with me. I’ll drag her across if I have to.
Keeping my gaze locked on hers, I slip a hand between our bodies and find the hard nub of her clit with my fingertips. Her whole body jerks, and her eyes fly open wide.
“What—what are you doing?”
“You should’ve told me you were a fucking virgin, Holloway. I would’ve gone slow.”
Even as I speak, I pick up the tempo of my fingers, circling harder and faster as I feel her inner walls clench around me. I grit my teeth, holding back a groan as I focus on the look in her eyes—confused and angry and so fucking turned on.
She starts to speak again, but the second I see her mouth open, I cover it with mine, plunging my tongue between her lips to steal her words. I know she fucking hates me. I don’t need her to tell me again.
I just need her to come on my cock.
She didn’t want to enjoy this. She wanted her virginity to be just another thing I took from her, another reason to despise me forever. But as my mouth works against hers in time to the rhythm of my hand, she starts to move, shifting restlessly on the small table as she chases my touch.
I don’t deny her. I wouldn’t deny her anything she asked me for right now, but she doesn’t need to know that.
Whimpers and moans pour from her throat, and each one seems to connect directly to my dick. I draw my mouth away from hers and kiss the tears on her cheeks, licking them away as if that will remove her pain. When I begin to thrust, pulling out and pushing back in gently, she rolls her hips against me, urging me on despite herself.
As I keep going, I feel her legs wrap around me, her heels resting just above my ass. Her body softens against mine, and when her lips find mine again, there’s something different in our kiss.
I can tell when she’s close, because her nails dig into my back and her breath starts to come in sharp gasps.
Drawing back, I stare at her face, entranced by the sight of it as she comes undone. Her cheeks flush, her jaw drops open slightly, and her chocolate brown eyes go glassy with pleasure. A sobbing cry falls from her mouth, and even though she bites her lip, it’s too late to hold it in.
Her walls clench around me, and oh fuck, fuck, fuck, I’m coming too.
Thrusting into her one last time, I grind my hips against hers, like I’m trying to get even deeper somehow, to crawl inside her fucking body, her soul. Something cracks open in my chest as my balls draw up and I empty myself inside her—but unlike the invisible knife that I swore pierced my ribs earlier, this doesn’t hurt.
It feels… good.
She clings to me, her arms wrapped around my shoulders and her face buried in my neck, her wadded up skirt still bunched around her waist and crumpled between us. We’re both breathing hard, our hearts racing, and I can feel her whole body shudder against mine.
It feels fucking perfect.
I’m about to tilt her head up to claim another kiss, to lose myself in her lips again, when I hear her whisper softly against the skin of my neck. She only says two words, but they twist the knife in my heart.
“Never again.”
“You got another round in you?”
Trent’s voice makes me jerk, dragging my attention out of my vivid memories. The noises of the gym around us slowly start to filter back into my ears, and I glance over to see him standing behind the heavy bag, waiting for me to hit it. Without responding, I dig into the fucking bag like it’s my mortal enemy, and it feels good.
It feels cleansing.
“Jesus, man.” Trent grunts, digging his feet into the floor and trying to hold on as best he can.
Reese is off running on the treadmill. I think that’s his method for relieving tension. He runs. I’m almost jealous, because it seems like a more civilized thing to do. Me, I gotta use my fists. As I keep punching away, gritting my teeth, sweat running down my fa
ce, I begin to feel better. For a few moments, I manage to not think about Emma’s body, the way she wrapped her legs around me and ran her fingers through my hair.
I never told either of the other guys about what happened that day, and I don’t intend to ever tell them. They can just go on believing that I’m the quiet guy who doesn’t like Emma Holloway. The sick fucking truth is that I crave her in a way Reese and Trent don’t know about and wouldn’t even be able to understand.
In fact, telling them would be a betrayal of our brotherhood. We’ve been blood brothers since elementary school, for Christ’s sake. We watch each other’s backs no matter what. Been through parents’ marriages, divorces, new siblings, and nearly getting kicked out of high school because of Emma. There’s no breaking the bond I have with these two men.
And there’s no way in hell we’ll let a woman come between us.
Once we finish up at the gym, I head back to my dorm pretty quickly. I’m physically wiped after the grueling workout, but it’s not enough. It’s never enough. It’s like my body stores energy reserves specifically for Emma Holloway, so I’m never too exhausted to think about her.
To crave her.
I hop into the shower to rinse off, and as the water pours down over me, my hand finds its way unerringly to my cock. Images and remembered sensations flow through my mind as I stroke myself in hard, angry motions. This insatiable need that has me jerking off like a teenager at the very thought of her was a common occurrence in high school, and since seeing her again, it’s a daily occurrence that I’m not proud of.
Splaying one hand on the tiled wall, I bow my head, closing my eyes and losing myself to the need coursing through me. When my balls finally draw up tight and I come hard, painting the shower wall with ropes of cum, shame and relief spiral through me at the same time.
I want her out of my head. Out of my mind. Out of my heart.
Gripping the base of my cock, I let out a shaky exhale. Then I redirect the shower’s spray to wash my cum down the drain, hoping like hell that it will wash away a part of Emma’s hold on me too.
It isn’t long before I’m out of the shower, have a pair of jeans and a nice shirt on, and I’m heading out the door to go to a party.
Trent loves going to parties, Reese is amused by them, and I usually stand in the corner nursing a beer. I guess I’m amused by them too, but usually I just want to get out of there. I’m a one-on-one type of guy. And that’s only with the few people I actually want to be around.
Still, I’m having an okay time hanging with my boys, rebuffing the advances of a few overly aggressive freshman chicks who haven’t gotten the memo that I’m not interested—until I look across the room and spot Emma, standing with some guy I don’t know. I grip my beer tighter and glance toward Trent and Reese, who both just noticed the same thing I did.
They look pissed as shit, and I can feel my own features contorting in a snarl.
Who the fuck is that guy?
7
Emma
I have to admit, Peter is a really nice guy. We’re drinking beer and chatting, and I’m enjoying the swirl of new faces that surround me. We’ve been here for a couple of hours, and the large house has gotten more and more packed as the night wears on. A raucous cry goes up as a group of tipsy girls enter the party late, drawing my attention toward the door—and that’s when I see them, staring at me from across the room.
When I first spot Reese, Trent, and West, my blood goes cold. But a split second later, it turns hot and fiery. It seriously pisses me off that they still have this effect on me. All three of them. Peter obviously notices that my demeanor has changed because he knits his brow in confusion.
“Uh, hey. Everything okay?” he asks.
“Yeah.” I shake my head, forcing my attention back to him and pasting a smile on my face. “I just think the beer has gone to my head.”
“You’re a lightweight.” He chuckles.
“You have no idea.”
I’ve tried to stay away from alcohol, and certainly drugs, since high school. At a house party in my sophomore year, I got kind of tipsy and nearly blurted out the truth to all three of my best friends—that I desired each of them in unique ways. Realizing that I’d been about to say way too much, I decided to lay off of drinking for a while. That was back before all the shit started, of course.
“Can I get you some water?” Peter asks, his brows furrowing with concern.
“No, I’m good. Thanks.”
I feel a little sick, and it’s not from anything I drank.
Peter is a nice guy, and I’m grateful that he invited me to the party. Even though he’s a really good-looking guy, I’ve noticed I don’t have the intensity of feelings for him that I have for my old friends. It pisses me off to no end when I admit that. It reminds me of how twisted it is that I’m so deeply attracted to men that intentionally hurt me. It’s so screwed up that I haven’t even admitted it to Leslie yet.
Trent, West, and Reese are staring at me like hawks, and it gets to the point where I simply can’t stand it anymore. What began as a really pleasant party is turning into a hothouse of tension.
“I think I need some fresh air,” I tell Peter, going up on my tiptoes and raising my voice so he can hear me over the music and the roar of laughter and conversation.
“Yeah, of course. No problem.” He nods, taking me by the hand and leading me out of the room. As we walk through the door, I glance back at the guys one last time, and what I see might just give me nightmares tonight. West looks like he’s about to beat the shit out of someone, Trent looks like he’s about to tear shit up too, and in Reese’s eyes, there’s a strange sadness veiled by contempt. I look away from them, unable to stand it for one more second.
It doesn’t matter what they think, Emma. They’re wrong, but even if they weren’t, it’s none of their fucking business.
Peter leads me down a short hallway, and before I know it, we’re outside in the cool evening air. I heave a sigh of relief, sucking in fresh oxygen as I tilt my face up to the night sky.
“Social anxiety?” Peter asks affably.
“Sometimes… I get a little funny around all those people,” I reply, not wanting to tell him the truth. I don’t even know how I feel about this guy, but I don’t want him to see me as weak. To know how fucked up in the head I am. “Do you mind if we keep walking?”
I’m trying to move us away from the house, because I sense that the guys might try to follow. Peter seems more than willing to walk away, so we head down the street, walking through the quiet neighborhood back toward campus. It’s only about a five-minute walk, and by the time my dorm building comes into sight, my heart rate has gone back down.
“We don’t have to go to parties if you don’t want to,” Peter finally says as we come to my door.
My eyebrows lift a little at his use of the word we. He makes it sound as if we’re already a unit somehow.
“It’s fine.” I shake my head, deciding not to comment on it. “I really did have a good time.”
Peter catches my hand before I can turn to go inside, and then he slides his arm around my waist, pulling me a little closer. He smells like whiskey and aftershave, and my heart beats harder as he pushes a lock of my light blonde hair behind my ear with his free hand.
He’s going to kiss me, and I want to want him to.
I want my pulse to be picking up from excitement, not from confusion and nerves. I want to be thrilled by this, giddy about it.
I’m not, but I let him kiss me anyway. I wrap my arms around his neck and press my body against his and let his tongue delve into my mouth. His lips are warm and soft, and it feels… nice. But I don’t feel that crazy buzz of electricity I feel with three other men who set all my nerve endings on fire just by standing near me.
Our kiss deepens for a second, and it feels like I’m trying to start a fire with nothing but wet paper and a single match. I pray for a flame to ignite inside me, but the harder I wish for it, the colder my insid
es seem.
When we break apart, Peter smiles down at me.
“I had a great time too,” he murmurs, and I have a feeling he’s talking more about the last few minutes than the entire time we were at the party.
“Goodnight.” I press one last peck to his lips. I don’t feel a spark, but I do like him, and I did genuinely have fun. At first anyway.
“Goodnight, Emma.” Peter squeezes my hand once more before stepping back.
As I enter the door to my building and head up the stairs to my dorm, I can’t help but be grateful for what a nice guy Peter is.
If, God for-fucking-bid, I ever kissed Reese or Trent like that, there would be no escaping what would happen next. It’d be like tossing a match into a barn full of dry hay and gasoline. What happened between me and West in high school proved that. I couldn’t have stopped it if I’d tried—and as often as I try to convince myself otherwise, I didn’t even try.
As I push open the door to my dorm, I feel a moment of pride. I went out with a guy, I went to a party without the comforting backup of Leslie, and I survived. But from now on, I’m going to stick to my resolution to not date guys while I’m in school. I’m going to focus on my future and make something of myself.
The overhead lights are off, and the only illumination comes from the strings of Christmas lights that glow dimly, casting shadows around the room. I let out a low chuckle when I see Leslie lying on her bed with a box of pizza in her lap, totally asleep.
This is the kind of thing I need to come home to at night. Not some guy’s bachelor pad.
The Icons make no mention of what they saw at the party—which was honestly nothing but me standing next to another guy—but I can feel the memory of it coloring every interaction we have for the next week.
I fucking hate it. I don’t even know what they’re so mad about anyway. Are they just pissed that not everyone in the world despises me as much as they do?