by L V Chase
I spin around as someone in my periphery walks up next to me.
Klay. A man who turns vulnerability into a weakness and assholery into an art form. The only reason he gets away with it is because he looks so damn good while he’s doing it.
He keeps looking straight ahead at the parking lot. I look forward, too.
“The girl Ethan is talking to is his ex-girlfriend,” he says. “They might be talking for a while. It’s a shame. I was ready to fight him after he found out I lied to him.”
As I search for the right response, he walks straight, going into the parking lot. I freeze as it looks like he’s going to interrupt Ethan, but he moves past him to go to his Jeep. I move quickly across the road, crossing over the small stretch of grass in front of the parking lot to avoid letting Ethan see me. I stop every few steps to check the school door behind me.
As I stop in front of Klay’s Jeep, I check over my shoulder. Roman is stalking out of the school. He looks like he’s going to kill someone, and I’m not interested in getting murdered.
I take the last leap to the passenger side of Klay’s Jeep and pull the door open. I jump in, keeping my head ducked down.
I cringe as I hear Klay get into the driver’s side and slams the door shut.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he asks.
“Hiding.”
“You’re doing a terrible fucking job because I can see you,” he says. “You can’t be in here. I’m leaving.”
“I can’t,” I whisper, though I know Roman can’t hear us. “Do you have a blanket or something I could hide under?”
“No. I’m not in the habit of hiding girls in my Jeep,” he says, a note of exasperation in his voice. He groans, the rumble of it feeling like it gets under my skin. “God, you are insane, you know that? Does mental instability run in your family?”
His words are harsh, but the tone is nearly hesitant. Even if he meant to tear me down, I’m not going to be baited. I’d rather have Klay with his hands around my throat than be within six feet of Roman.
I lift my head to look up over the windshield. Roman is crossing the road. I duck back down.
“You shouldn’t have tricked him if you’re afraid of him,” Klay says.
“You saw that?” I ask.
“Yes. But your problem is that he saw it, and he’s not happy,” he says.
Klay’s staring out the windshield. This parking lot only has a few street lights, so his face is distorted by dark shadows. Red marks seem to streak across his neck, but it could be a trick of the bad lighting. He turns toward me, his eyes glinting in the darkness.
“In terms of dumb moves, this one ranks high,” he says.
“Klay.” I look over at him. “Please. I need to hide. He’s going to come here soon. I just need a jacket or something to hide under.”
He mutters under his breath, but takes off his sports jacket. He drops it on me. I tug it more securely over my curled up body. His scent—amber and woodsy with a hint of leather—drifts down on me. As I turn my head to surround myself completely with it, I feel the Jeep jerk backward. My body hits against the door as Klay turns out of the parking lot. I keep my head down, gripping the sides of the seat to avoid getting thrown around.
“Thank you,” I mutter.
“I’m only driving you home,” he says. “The last thing the school needs is a crazy girl planting evidence on people. We might as well turn it into an asylum already.”
After a couple of minutes, when his driving becomes smoother, I sit up. I pull on the seatbelt but keep a tight hold on the jacket. I run my hand over my face, taking in deep breaths.
“You know about my grandma?” I ask.
“What?”
“You asked me if mental instability ran in my family,” I say. “That sounds like you know my grandmother is in the psychiatric ward.”
He rubs his bottom lip. “I’d heard rumors.”
I fold up his jacket. As much as I want to keep it with me, I set it on the seat behind him.
“You and everyone else,” I say.
Warm tears are barely cradled in my eyes before they start spilling out. I quickly wipe them away, but it’s impossible to hide as my breathing becomes hitched.
“What’s wrong, Sadie?” Klay asks, far more tenderness in his voice than I expect.
“I just have a lot going on,” I say.
“Don’t get worked up over Roman. He’s a dog that’s all bark, no bite,” he says. “It’s his life’s goal to annoy the shit out of everyone, and he’s succeeding brilliantly.”
“Well, he seems oddly fixated on me,” I mumble, trying to catch my breath, but it only causes the tears to tumble down faster. “It’s not just that. I just…my grandmother’s somewhere, and I can’t even talk to her. And everyone is acting so weird around me and, I mean, maybe they aren’t. I must be acting strange, because I can’t even remember them like my brain’s deleted them.”
I hit my fist against my forehead. God, why did I tell him about the amnesia?
“I don’t need to come from a medical family to know that your brain might be deleting things because you punch yourself in the head,” he remarks.
The Jeep slowly pulls over to the shoulder of the road. I gaze over at him. He could have laughed at my mess of a life, but he’s been too kind. It’s almost painful because I know it won’t last.
He undoes his seatbelt and fully turns toward me. I copy his movements.
“Listen, Sadie.” He touches the tip of my lips, breaking apart a tear into a faint dampness. “You know who you are. Even if you don’t remember it. It takes a woman with creativity, conviction, and confidence to pull off what you did with Roman. You—”
“I wasn’t filled with much conviction or confidence when I was hiding.”
“No, that was just smart,” he says. “Roman will have time to cool down, and everything will be fine on Monday. The smartest plan was to lay low. At some point, I wouldn’t be surprised if he even respects you for beating him out of his own game.”
“You don’t actually believe that,” I say.
With the car’s interior lights on, it looks like there are red lines on his neck. I start to reach towards him, wanting to soothe his pain, but I force myself to stop. I rest my arms against the center console.
“That’s an accurate statement,” he says. “But I’m trying to make you feel better. I don’t want you to be scared or sad. I want you to realize you are good enough to pull through this. Most people aren’t. But you built yourself up from tragedies and never let yourself be perceived as a victim. You persevered. You could have given up, fallen into some terrible situations and blamed it on your circumstances. But you kept pushing, even when the world pushed right back. You’re better than this world. I don’t want you to forget anything, but I especially don’t want you to forget that.”
His hand is hooked around my wrist like a bandage. I raise my other hand, pressing my fingertips to his wrist. His pulse flutters under my touch. It’s a delicate reaction, completely unexpected from someone who’d thrived on my emotional disintegration.
But now my emotions are coming back to life, pulsing through my body and pushing me forward until my lips press against his.
Somehow, he’s triggered me to change from the confused, cowardly victim into a reckless siren, luring him into my dangerous water.
My captivating song pulls him closer to me, his hands moving over the silk and lace of my dress as his lips graze against mine. I’m surprised to find my hands at the buttons of his shirt, so instinctual that I have all of his buttons undone before I stop. I move my hands down, feeling his ribs rise and fall as his mouth becomes harder and more insistent—hungry for more.
He picks me up, dragging me over the cup holders and gear stick. The heel of the black leather boots gets caught on the gear stick. He unhooks me, his hand lingering on the ankle of the boot. When we kiss again, he nips at my bottom lip. It feels so familiar, but the exhilaration and the way he explores my bod
y makes it all feel brand new.
The throbbing between my thighs makes it impossible to stay still. I straddle his lap, swaying my hips to feel the bulge underneath me.
He kisses my clavicle. Pleasure tingles through me, deepening the urgency reigning over my body. It’s better than my fantasy. It’s better than anything I could ever imagine.
My dress is pushed up towards my hips, the mix of black lace and red silk reminiscent of a venomous snake. As he unzips his pants and I lift myself up to give him room to push them down along with his boxer briefs, my breath gets caught in my chest. I stare at him.
But the spark inside me isn’t fear. It’s anticipation.
As I kiss him again, I lift myself up again and pull my underwear down. I lean against him as I contort myself to get them off. My ass hits the steering wheel, the honking briefly scaring me. Klay covers his mouth to hide a laugh, but as soon as my underwear is dangling from one of my ankles, his focus is fully on my body. His hands grab onto the back of my thighs, pulling my knees forward and forcing me back down on his lap.
We kiss. As my hand grips his jaw, his hard heat rubs against me. I sway my hips. He makes a low guttural noise, grabbing onto my arms. He positions himself right under me. My wetness eases its way, but his considerable size still creates a dichotomy of pain and flourishes of pleasure.
His hands circle around my throat, interlocking behind my neck. He pulls me down, stealing a kiss as he thrusts into me.
The pain overcomes the sweet desire for a moment, but his hands move down my body like a salve, and when his thumb strokes me below, everything else is forgotten. I try to move my hand over his, trying to get more stimulation, but he moves both of my hands to his shoulders. His hand moves between the seat and the center console. The seat tilts backward, so he’s laying at an angle. He bounces his legs, causing me to jolt on him. A shock of pleasure bursts through me as our groins grind against each other. He smirks.
I smile back.
I swivel my hips, getting accustomed to his size and enjoying it. This should feel strange to me—the first time I recall having sex and pursuing my own pleasure—but it’s astonishingly natural. And the way Klay’s face looks like he’s having a spiritual experience when it’s just my body he’s experiencing—that brings its own bliss.
Klay bucks under me, causing me to jolt over him again. I press my hands to his chest. I’d love to let him have complete control, but a small part of me wants to own him completely like he owns me. I bounce in quick bursts on him as his hands flex over the muscles in my thighs. I bite the inside of my cheek in an attempt to contain the small moans threatening to come out. As I start to let myself sink all of the way onto him, he lets out a low groan that ignites a whole new fire within me.
I grind against him, the only thing deciding my action is the intense worship in Klay’s eyes and the friction between us. I squeeze my eyes shut as the desperate ache grows. The desire in Klay’s eyes builds, his fingertips squeezing harder and harder into my hips. It takes me a moment to realize that my fingers are pressing just as deeply into his shoulder.
Klay’s hands move to my ass, his fingertips digging into the flesh as he starts driving into me, smacking noises filling his Jeep. I try to keep a grip on his shirt, but his movements are so jagged and my hands are slick from our sweat.
He’s in complete control now. I’m his sex toy, and it’s the best incarnation of myself. Sweaty strands of hair cling to my forehead. I press my hands against his chest as I start copying his rhythm. I can feel that tension building that I’d only ever had before in my fantasy of him. As it builds up, he locks his hands behind my neck again. He pulls me down and kisses my lips and underneath my left eye. It makes the tension twist tighter and tighter.
A low growl slips out of Klay’s mouth. He slams me down on him one more time. He gushes inside me, hot and forceful. The sight of his complete loss of control—the idea of his climax—sends me over the edge. Pleasure explodes throughout my body, unadulterated ecstasy.
It’s not until Klay’s hands are on the small of my back, pulling me forward that I realize I’ve been leaning against the steering wheel, the horn blaring out. I let myself fall on him, my ear resting near his heart. His heavy breathing becomes a lullaby with his heartbeat playing the bass line.
But then his hands are on my waist, he’s pulled out of me, and he’s shifting me toward the center console.
“Get back in your seat,” he says, his voice hoarse and worse, tinged with regret.
My thigh is slightly twisted and pressed against the edge of the center console. His words are equally twisted and compressed. I slowly pull away from him, crawling over the center console to drop into the passenger seat. Wetness coats my inner thighs. Shame coats everything else.
As soon as I have my seatbelt on, he starts driving. I watch the night pass by me, trying hard to not think about anything. No matter how hard I try, anger, confusion, and sadness whips inside me like a hurricane. I keep my lips pressed tightly together, afraid the hurricane will come out and destroy both of us, along with anyone else on the road tonight.
When he stops in my grandmother’s parking lot, and I’m taking off my seatbelt, he finally turns to me.
“That was pity sex,” he says evenly. “I don’t want you to have any wrong ideas. I have no interest in you. I only felt bad for you. I wanted you to stop crying.”
“Understood,” I say, nodding once. “That explains why it was so sub-par.”
I jump out of his Jeep. As I’m walking to the house, I hear his Jeep pull out of the driveway. I pretend it doesn’t bother me. I hold in the tears until I’m in the house.
My underwear is still at his feet.
21
Klay
I drive for hours. I only stop for gas and keep driving. I drive in circles, passing through small towns, villages, and cities. I keep my thoughts on avoiding anything dangerous—animals jumping out onto the road, police looking for a stranger to pull over, my traitorous lust.
When I return home, the sun is struggling to come up. I close the door quietly and go straight to my father’s liquor supply in the den.
Unfortunately, my father sits in his armchair in front of the liquor cabinet, a dragon guarding his treasure. His fingers grip onto the armrests, making them crooked like talons.
“Where have you been?” he asks.
“Driving.”
His eyes search my face. Someone who didn’t know my father might think he was worried about me and stayed up all night to be certain I came home safe, but I know my father. My death would be tragic, because it would mean he’d wasted the last eighteen years training a son, only for that son to wrap himself around a tree.
“I was hopeful that you were spending the night with Sadie,” he says, relaxing his hands and setting them on his lap. “But from the way you look, I don’t think it would be incorrect for me to say that you didn’t do that.”
“That doesn’t mean I’m not trying.”
“That’s exactly what it means.”
I walk past him to get to his liquor cabinet. I pour myself a drink, well-aware that he could strike me at any moment. The only thing that’s stopping him is that he doesn’t want to break any of his liquor bottles.
I turn around, keeping my eyes on his hands as I sit down. I take a sip of my drink.
“I don’t want to keep having this discussion,” he says.
“Neither do I.”
“Then, lock her down,” he says. “And we’ll never have to have this discussion again.”
I finish the drink. I hold the glass tightly. I’d been gripping onto Sadie hours earlier. If I’d been a little more careful, if I’d never spent time with her in my own house, and if I hadn’t let my lust get the best of me every time, she wouldn’t be in this situation. We could have continued our relationship in secret. I would have thrown my chance at the Hunt, and my father would have disowned me, but by that time, I’d hope Vince could take over my role in the family
while I slipped away with Sadie. It wouldn’t be a completely normal relationship, but it would have been better than this.
“You’re making this much harder than it needs to be,” my father says. “You already have her wrapped around your finger. You just need to beckon for her.”
“I find it difficult to understand why a man with your cognitive skills can’t comprehend why I’m not interested in winning. One of the last things I’d want is for you to become her conservator. I still find it hard to believe that you managed to get the other families to agree to that.”
“They wanted us to have a disadvantage since we caused the Hunt to reset.” He leans forward, taking the glass from me and setting it on top of the liquor cabinet. If he noticed how tense my hand was, he didn’t make any indication of it. “They figured changing it to this would make Sadie less likely to accept the conservatorship, and it would dull your motivations to win.”
“They were right. It does dull my motivations to win.”
A smirk cuts across his face. “As for me, I just don’t trust you,” he says. “Sadie makes you weak. And, yes, if I’m honest with myself, I’m still troubled that you and Sadie plotted against me last time. All so you wouldn’t win. She’s gotten into your head, Klay, and turned you into a whimpering coward. You used to be so much better than this. You were supposed to be my most successful son.”
I finish my drink. “I’m fine with being a failure for her. I’d say that I’m sorry that’s not good enough for you, but you didn’t raise me to lie that well.”
He gets up, pouring more whiskey into my glass. He holds it out to me. I take it. He sits back down. I glance down at the amber liquid. He wouldn’t poison me. A dead son is useless to him, and funerals are costly. I finish the glass.
“You’re hoping that you can stretch this out and force everyone into a stalemate,” he says. “It’s cute. But it’s not going to work. Ethan is already wooing her. You two were on even ground, but she thinks you aren’t interested in her. Meanwhile Ethan is showing plenty of interest. Even with her past feelings coming through, she’ll give up on you and choose Ethan if he’s the only option she sees.”