I swipe the dampness from under my eyes, then reach to pull out my phone to call Ahmar, until I remember it’s been stolen. During the rare moments Dad spoke, he said he’d overnight me a new one. We’ve always been strained, he and I, but we’re on an entirely different level now that Briarcliff has shown its teeth.
During the questioning in Marron’s office, who, in his defense, voiced his deep concern over the “violation” to my person and property and vowed to find the person responsible (yeah, right), I remained silent unless asked a direct question. Even then, I mumbled short answers. My eyes stayed downcast, my hands demure.
What no one caught on to or suspected, is that I. Am. Pissed.
Damn if anyone is going to scare me away, cloak or no cloak, Noble or Virtue, past or present.
Somebody doesn’t want me to find out the truth about Piper or about this school.
Too bad for them.
I spring from the elevator and into my dorm’s hallway with a burst of vengeful energy, but trip on my own feet when I notice who lingers at my door.
Chase unfurls himself from the floor, clad in a pair of Briarcliff sweats and a plain white tee, tight against his pecs. His tawny blond hair is ruffled and askew, like he’s been running his fingers through it or just finished an epic work-out, the color to his cheeks mirroring the same energy-sparking habits.
“Can I help you?” I ask, my voice still ragged from my earlier rage session.
Chase licks his lips, something a six-figure, in-demand male model would do once the photographer trained the lens on him. It’s endearing and sexy, with the perfect amount of feigned contrition to make a girl want to melt.
“I wanted to see if you were okay,” he says.
“How so?” I keep my question innocent. “Because my mom’s real, violent murder was plastered all over my walls?”
“Well, yeah.”
“Mm.” I move deliberately close, and the maneuver is so surprising, Chase steps back, and I’m able to elbow my way to my door. “Sucks for whoever did it, considering I walked in on the real thing. Pictures don’t have the same impact, unfortunately.”
Chase's heavy breath hits the nape of my neck, and I stiffen at the shiver. I expect a shit, Callie, I’m so sorry, at my blunt statement. Instead, I get this:
“Jesus, I wouldn’t have wanted to see you then, ‘cause today you were a fucking banshee whose tits were just bit off by a werewolf.”
I whirl. “What is the matter with you? All of you? It’s like you get turned on by pain! You’re all fucking masochists with pretty faces.”
Chase’s hands cup my face. He ducks low, his brown eyes glittering like he kidnapped the stars to light the way for his inner beast. “Aw, sweet possum, do you think I’m pretty?”
“Stop calling me that.”
“You want sympathy? You won’t get it from me.”
“Then why the hell are you here?” I raise my chin. “To enjoy the aftermath?”
“This may come as a surprise, but I didn’t like what I saw today. Blood and murder? Not what I enjoy jerking off to.” He bends closer, and I smell the mint on his breath. “Think about it. Piper was your enemy. Stands to reason my motives for finding her killer are a helluva lot stronger than yours. She was my—”
“Girlfriend.”
“Friend.”
“Sister.”
Chase cedes my point, then says, “Not anymore.”
“So, what? You want us to work together? You have a fucked-up sense of team spirit, you know that?”
“I’m excellent at leading my crew, sweet possum, and even better at turning their spirit into discipline. Don’t think I can’t do that to you.”
“Ah. So, you’re here to threaten me.”
Chase chuckles, low and slow. “Not in the way you’re expecting.”
I force steel into my voice. “What if I told you I’m here to pack up my stuff and leave?”
“You tried that once.” He trails a finger down my cheek, and I stifle the sigh that wants to coat my throat like honey.
“This has gone too far,” I say.
“I agree. It has.” His thumb traces my bottom lip, flanging it out, then letting it snap back into place as he continues to map my features.
“You can’t possibly think to seduce me, not after everything.”
Chase nails me with a boyish, innocent look through his lashes, as if I can’t see the monster as his puppeteer. “Is it working?”
My back is flat against the door. I’m pressing into it so hard, I’m wishing for the superpower to just fall through. But the pieces of me without the bone structure to withstand the pressure surges and piques with need.
I choke out, “Did you use your father to gain access to those pictures?”
Chase doesn’t flinch at the change in topic. His hand keeps traveling, keeps finding, his fingers playing around my breasts, but not touching them.
Please touch them.
“No,” he says. “And to answer your follow-up question, I have no idea who did.”
“But you can find out.”
“Maybe.” Chase's lips take the place of his finger, starting at my ear, the wisps of his breath like curls of smoke, drawing my chin up and my mouth to his jaw, lured by the flickering flames beneath.
My lips brush against his stubble when I ask, “Are you striking a deal with me, Chase?”
“You mean, help me find out about Piper, and I’ll help you find your harasser?” Chase nuzzles where my neck meets my jaw, and I suppress a whimper. “What if they’re one and the same?”
This is crazy. There are four rooms on this floor. A neighbor could walk through those elevators or the side stairs at any moment—neighbors I’ve never met, girls who’ve predominantly ignored my presence.
If they walked in and saw me now, however, I bet my presence would be squealed all over campus.
“What if,” I manage to croak out, “they’re a Noble? Or a Virtue?”
Chase stills with his lips on my nape, his teeth so close to my jugular.
“You know the meaning of those titles, Chase.”
Chase’s hands grip my waist, so hard, his fingers create dents in my skin.
“Chase. Tell me—”
My demand loses meaning when Chase rears up and crashes his lips against mine, sealing his secrets with a searing, wrath-fueled kiss.
41
My heart slams its warning against my ribs, my pulse points following their leader’s commands, but my hands won’t heed.
They rise up, my fingers tangling in his hair, and he tastes like the alcohol I’m too young to crave.
Mint and liquor duel for their time on my tongue as Chase yanks my hair until I’m at an angle he can devour, his mouth as devious and hellbent as his brain.
I’m not supposed to want this, but my body presses against his, the hard length of him spearing against the softness of my belly.
It’s twisted and unusual to desire the boy who scares me and wants me to bend to his will any chance he gets, yet here I am, parting my lips so he can possess me deeper, spreading my legs so he can access me longer.
While our lips spar, Chase cups my ass and lifts until my legs wrap around him. He steals the keycard from my fingers and swipes us into my room without the need for sight, and with inhuman, graceful strides, he has us in my room with seconds to spare.
Chase throws me onto the bed, and my eyes pop wide, the mist of seduction waning. I glance around with terrified awareness.
“There’s nothing here,” Chase assures. “It’s all been tossed.”
He stands at the end of my bed, devouring me with such intent that my sudden fear must be fueling him.
He’s wrong for you. He’s too dark, too much a part of the underworld. He’ll drag you under—
I stop my inner angel from speaking further.
What if, for once, I want to appeal to my demons?
My lips curl on a hungry snarl, one that takes Chase by surprise, but he doesn’t flinc
h when I rise up to my knees and pull at his sweats, wanting him naked. Vulnerable. Mine.
He catches me by the wrist and pushes me back until my butt bounces against my bed. I push up on my elbows, my expression nothing but a question mark.
“You first, sweet possum.”
If I were in a better, less screwed-up mindset, maybe I would’ve considered Chase's reluctance to come undone before I do, but as he yanks my jeans down, I tug my shirt off, my chest braless and bare, a sight that triggers a rumble in his chest.
Chase climbs on top, pushing me flat, and reaches down to flick the side strap of my G-string. I flinch at the sharp pain and moan.
“Does that turn you on?” Chase whispers against my lips, his hair falling into his eyes the way a turned angel’s wings must sag and wither once they descend into wickedness.
He does it again.
Then again.
I cry out, writhing with need, a base desire to have him fill me so instant, I’m choking with want.
Chase hooks the strap, and it snaps apart in his grip, leaving me exposed. His fingers move, dancing across my skin, stroking the soft hairs there, until he finds my folds and spreads them.
Chase rises and sits back on his heels. Once I’ve sobered and can figure out what he’s doing, I move to clench my legs shut, but he keeps them spread with a firm grip on my inner thighs.
The crescents of his lashes are the darkest part of his fair form, and they’re all he’ll allow me to see when he murmurs, “Just as I thought. Sweet possum.”
I knew it. When he utters that cursed nickname, sexual promise follows, so much so that he has to be meaning something other than possum. And here I am, proving him right.
So, so, bad … so wickedly against my norm … I shouldn’t … I can’t … I … I…
He curls a finger through my folds, and my back arches in the same choreographed movement.
“I’m going to taste that sweetness,” he says, then his dark gaze flicks up to mine. “This isn’t a request.”
“I’m not about to beg,” I say hoarsely.
He slow grins in response. I allow my head to fall back into the pillows as his lowers into my personal sin.
Chase thrusts two fingers in before he allows his tongue to play, too. My hips grind with his movements, in no way delicate, and harsher than I’ve ever experienced.
I’m no sex kitten, having done it one time. Matt was gentle and clumsy, mumbling sorry after every feeble pound, until four seconds later, he was done. My back ached from being crushed against the bodega’s cupboards behind the cash register. I’d cranked my hip from him leaning his palm hard into my inner thigh, spreading it unnaturally. My clothes stayed on, with one breast exposed when he pushed my shirt halfway up for a quick grope.
In short, my entire sexual encounter with Matt, Chase could sum up with one finger joint, and he was using a helluva lot more than that.
He’s sucking on my clit in a way that makes me throw up my hips and squirm, the ambrosia too much, too sudden and unrelenting. It spurs him on, flicking my clit with his tongue and pushing a third finger in, pounding and thrusting so hard it burns.
But oh, the burn.
It’s bliss through fire, a hint of pain with the promise of desire, and I ache for more, more.
His fingers aren’t enough to fill my craving. His tongue is hot and eager to taste, but not what I want. A mere pittance to what I need after the hell his friends have put me through, what he might’ve instigated…
My warnings turn to ashes when my orgasm releases its rays of sunshine, my voice screaming its blinding brightness. I melt in Chase's hands, the thrill so shattering, I can’t draw breath as I come down.
Chase lifts his head, his lips dampened by my release, but not his smile.
I glower at him—or hope I do. My muscles are too satiated to care.
“I see my reputation precedes me,” he says, then reaches for his sweatpants puddled on the ground and pulls out a condom.
This time, my frown comes easy. “You came here with that in your pocket?”
Chase shrugs. “I always like to be prepared.”
“I see. So, if a chick crossed your path on your way to my room, you would’ve fucked her, instead?”
“You have it wrong, sweet possum.” Chase stands naked with that reputed cock of his standing at full attention. “I was waiting for you.”
My mouth becomes too dry to swallow. “I’m so going to regret this.”
“Maybe,” he says as he rips the condom packet with his teeth. He does it without his eyes straying from mine, dilated with lust and famine. “But you’ll enjoy the fall from grace. I promise.”
I never saw you coming, I think, but the scent of sex in the air prevents me from whispering it out loud.
Chase starts to slide the condom on, but I hold his wrist to stop him. He arches a brow, questioning, but I take the condom and slide it on myself, keeping him tight in my grip. He’s a Siren’s call, and I’m the stupid sailor who can’t fight the song, but you know what? Fuck it. I want some release, goddammit, and if it’s going to be physical, the person I’ve wanted to do it with—Chase—is naked and willing in front of me.
I’m not going to look this gift horse in the mouth; I’m going to swallow it whole.
I pump him a few times to keep him rigid and wanting, bemoaning the fact that I’ve already covered him in bitter latex, because taking him in my mouth would’ve given me the utmost sense of possession. And to make him come from my choice. My doing…
Chase grips my shoulders and presses me against the bed. He positions his elbows on either side and looks me in the eyes for what seems like a hundred heartbeats before I reach down, wrap my fingers around his base, and line him up to my entrance.
“You scared?” I whisper.
He searches my face, a rare moment of hesitation. “You sure?”
“It’s a little late for that, isn’t it?”
The skin around Chase's eyes crinkles, yet his pulse is pounding against his neck. “I like to be a gentleman before I fuck you into oblivion.”
“Then stop dicking around and do it.”
Chase takes me for my word. He buries himself in me in one all-consuming motion, then pulls out entirely. He does it again. And again.
I’ll be bruised by the time he’s done, but I tell him not to stop. His brows crash down with craving.
I use my fingers and find my clit, massaging circles in time to his brutal thrusts, and he looks down in surprise.
“You don’t get all of me,” I murmur into his hair, and he lifts his head and presses his lips against mine, shutting me up.
My circles become faster, ardent with pressure, the harder he pounds. It becomes so vigorous that my hand starts to ache, and he bares his teeth against my mouth, expelling his roar onto my tongue. The stimulation is so much, and I’m so filled in ways I’ve never been before, but I push past the ache and meet Chase thrust for thrust, until we’re both sweating and gritting our teeth, our rough, animalistic grunts taking over our human forms and bringing us carnal satisfaction.
I hate being the first to come, but I can’t hold on. I tangle my free hand into his hair and bring his head down to my neck as I cry out, my thighs clamping around his hips as he furiously grinds, gaining momentum for his own release.
Chase spears up onto his hands, pushing in and out in quick bursts. I’m so tender from the high of my orgasm that it’s a wonder I can contain him. The moment he comes, his dick pulses and twitches inside of me, and I take that moment of weakness by curling my legs around him and palming his ass, driving him deeper.
Chase collapses beside me with a heavy exhale, the sheer length of his body far surpassing mine.
I dare rolling over.
I risk curling my arm against his heaving chest.
I chance kissing the salted skin of his shoulder, shocked that I just had sex with the dark prince of Briarcliff.
And liked it.
“What was it like? F
inding your mom.”
I’d been dozing, but snap awake at Chase's voice.
He’s still here?
If Chase had grabbed his things and waltzed out of my room the instant my eyes fluttered shut, I wouldn’t have been surprised. Or insulted. It’s how these things go, right, when you find yourself in bed with the most popular guy in school?
I am not the girl meant to change his ways. I understood that as soon as his lips crushed mine, slick and demanding. I was in it for the ecstatic release, like him, since the burden of Briarcliff was getting to us both. In different ways, maybe, but the frustrating, unsolvable load is the same.
“Hmm?” I ask, buying time.
I’ve pulled the sheets around my delicate parts, a lot like Venus rising from the clam, my long hair just as wild and free. But if I were to compare Chase to a stunning piece of art, he was David, full-frontal and confident, spread atop my sheets like the famous sculpture cast in gold.
“Your mom,” Chase says again. “You said you walked in and discovered her body.”
He says it so coolly, like he’s the host of an investigative crime show, but surprisingly, I don’t resent him for it. Most people are afraid to broach the subject, and when they do, it’s all soft lilts and prying gazes.
Death is everyone’s greatest fear. But murder? That’s their worst nightmare.
“It was … like you’d expect,” I say, gnawing on my lower lip. “It was a Wednesday. I was late coming home from school because I’d missed my bus. I remember turning my keys in the lock to our door and crashing in—making plenty of noise, because I felt bad. Usually Mom and I went to our favorite Italian place on Wednesdays. I called out her name, but she didn’t answer. Not surprising, since she was on call a lot and was probably asked to join an investigation…” I trail off, deciding it’s easier to fix the sheets around my body than look at Chase.
He comes up on his elbow, staring down at me. “Go on.”
“I don’t—I don’t like talking about it.”
Silky, sand-colored strands obscure his eyes, but not his assessment. I may be covered by bed sheets, but I’ve never felt so exposed.
I whisper, “She was in her bedroom.”
Rival (Briarcliff Secret Society Series Book 1) Page 23