by E. M. Snow
“Well, you can pay your debt by getting the fuck out.”
He turns from me, as if that’s the end of our discussion, but I’m not done with him. Far from it.
“You know, I came here trying to be nice.” Not really. “To maybe put an end to the animosity between us.” Lie. “You’re the asshole that refuses to let go of the grudge you’ve got against me. I’m just trying to exist here, so why won’t you let me?”
“Did James have this hard a time making you leave?”
I feel like I’ve just taken a brick straight to the face. Why’d he say that name? How does he know about James?
“What … what did you say?” I choke out, panic shaking my voice.
He faces me, a revolting smirk playing at the same lips I’ve stupidly fantasized about for days.
“He was probably glad to be rid of you, right? So, tell me, how’d he do it? How’d he get your clingy ass to back the fuck off?”
I can’t think. My body moves on pure instinct. I eat up the distance between us with a few short steps, and suddenly my open hand slams into the side of his face. It’s like hitting a steel wall, but his eyes widen briefly in surprise.
“The fuck—”
“How do you know that name?” I hiss, my heart racing and my breathing ragged. “How the fuck do you know that name?”
His eyes narrow, his look of surprise gone. “Who is he?” he demands, in that same voice he’d used when he accused me of sleeping with Liam. When I hollow in my cheeks and shake my head, his lips curve cruelly. As if he finds my anger amusing. “You said it when you came to on Monday.”
I don’t remember that. I don’t remember anything accept the feel of his lips against mine and his air rushing into my lungs.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
I need to get out of here. I need to go, before he starts digging. Saint is always looking for ammunition to use against me, and James is a nuclear bomb.
“You know what?” I snarl. “You win. I’m leaving. I’m done with you and your psychotic bullshit.”
Spinning away from him, I lunge for the door, anxious to escape before all my dirty little secrets spill out onto his hardwood floor. As my fingers wrap around the knob, however, his hand slams against the wood above my head, trapping me. I can’t open the door with his weight against it, even though I yank at it with a cry.
“It’s too late for that.” His voice is in my ear, husky with warning, as he presses himself against my back. He wraps around me, both hands flat against the door on either side of my head. He’s too hot, but my body wants to arch back into his anyway, as if to soak up that heat. I barely manage to resist. “You had your chance to leave. You didn’t take it. Now, you’re going to stay until I’m done with you.”
“Let me go you fucking—”
“Who’s James?”
I circle around to look at him and shove at his chest, but it doesn’t move him an inch. My palms can’t seem to leave him, though, and I press them against his hard pecs, my fingers curling so my nails dig into his skin.
“Nobody.” My voice his breathy, but furious, and I glare up at him with as much of my hate as I can muster.
“Liar.” He lowers his face until it’s even with mine. “I’m going to ask you one more time, Ellis, and I expect an answer. Who is James?”
“Go fuck yourself, Saint.”
“I’d rather fuck you.”
I scream in his face, because I don’t know what else to do. He’s evil and manipulative, but my body is growing wet and needy for him. I hate myself almost as much as I hate him. One of his hands digs into my hair and he yanks my head back, cutting off my blood-curdling scream with a brutal kiss that steals the last of my sanity.
17
Saint Angelle is kissing me. No, kissing is too tame of a word for what he’s doing. He’s conquering me. Dominating me. Breaking me down into nothing so he can build me back up all over again. His tongue sweeps past my lips to tangle with mine as his hands land on my ass through my shorts to knead and grope my soft flesh. He pins me to the door with his body, and I’m helpless to do anything but accept the onslaught.
The thing that’s more shocking than Saint’s kiss?
How much I want it.
I wrap my arms around his neck and dig my fingers into his golden hair, tugging at it as I begin to return his kiss with as much passion and anger as he’s giving me. We bite and growl at each other, and it’s the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever experienced. I know I shouldn’t like it. I shouldn’t want his hands on me. Shouldn’t want his big body pressed so tight to mine, I can feel every ridge of muscle through my clothes.
I shouldn’t want this.
Shouldn’t want him.
But I can’t stop.
Suddenly, Saint lifts me in the air. My legs wrap around his waist instinctively, and we never break our kiss as he carries me toward his desk. With one, stiff arm, he sweeps everything from the surface and lays me on top. I’m so wrapped up in the press of his lips, I hardly register the fact that he’s yanking my shorts down my legs. I gasp when he cups me with his whole hand, my bikini bottoms the only barrier between us.
Breaking the kiss, he glances down my body, then turns a furious glare up at me.
“Why aren’t you wearing your one-piece?”
What’s happening right now? Why’s he breaking my lust-filled haze with such a stupid question? “I—”
He presses his palm harder against me, and it rubs my clit through my bottoms. I let out a sharp groan. “Whose attention were you hoping to get?” he demands, jiggling his hand until I squirm. “Wearing this? Liam’s? Gabe’s?”
Frustration wells within me, and I sit up enough to shove at his shoulders.
“You stupid bastard, I thought you might be at the pool tonight!”
The truth is out before I can stop it. I glower up at him as he stares down at me. Slowly, his lips curl into a wicked grin that gives me goosebumps.
“My beautiful, silly little masochist.”
“Oh, shut the fuck up!”
He kisses me again, shoving me back down on the desk. I claw at his arms as his fingers dip past the crotch of my bottoms. He drags them along my pussy, and I shudder as pleasure dances through my body.
The next moment, he’s dropping to his knees in front of me and yanking my bikini bottoms down to the floor to join my shorts.
“Wait…” I put a hand to his head when he moves between my legs, stopping him.
He slants me a sharp look, then shakes his head, his golden hair brushing the insides of my thighs. “Let me go, Ellis.”
I hesitate, even though I’m desperate to have his mouth on me. I’m afraid if I let this happen, he’ll use it against me somehow. Steal another part of my soul that he’ll never give back.
“Mallory…” His voice is a low growl, and his breath caresses my hot flesh.
I bite my lip against the moan that wants to escape, but then decide, fuck it. Let him use this against me later. Saint Angelle is on the verge of kissing me there—taking the edge away—and I’m certain it’s going to be the most mind-blowing sexual experience of my life. He’s already taken so much from me, it’s about time he gave something back.
Throwing caution to the wind, I drop my hand and nod my head.
“Good girl.” He dives in, sealing his mouth over my pussy, and I throw my head back with a cry.
Oh. Oh. Jesus, he’s really, really great at this.
He drags his tongue through my folds, then clamps his lips around my clit and sucks. His hands hold my thighs wide as he feasts on me. I’m overwhelmed by sensation, losing awareness of everything but his tongue, lips, and teeth. In my mindlessness, I cup my own breasts, but then feel a sting of self-consciousness and drop my hands to my sides.
He lifts his mouth just long enough to order, “Get your hands back on your tits. I want you to touch them while I make you come.”
I’ve only slept with one other guy in my life, but he never bossed me around dur
ing sex like this. He was gentle and slow—at least, until I became an irredeemable monster in his eyes. While part of me thinks I should bristle and snap back that Saint doesn’t own me, a deep, darker part of me wants to submit to him. To obey. I give into that part and pull my shirt up as he resumes ravishing me. Yanking down my bikini top, I let me breasts fall free and cup them again. The rougher he gets with his mouth, the rougher I get with my hands. I’m pinching and tugging at my nipples and squeezing my breasts until it almost hurts, but that delicious edge between pleasure and pain only makes me hotter.
“Saint…” I gasp his name like a plea.
“You should’ve left when I told you to,” he snarls against my flesh. “You’re an idiot for staying when I told you to go.”
How could that be true, when staying led me to this?
“I’m going to make you fucking regret not listening to me.”
He takes my clit between his lips again as he moves his hand to press a finger at my entrance. He teases the hole as he sucks me, then presses his thick digit inside without warning. He pumps it in and out, flinging me into madness with this finger while he continues to torment my clit. Another finger slips inside to join the first, and I gasp.
I undulate my hips, desperate for more. More friction. More torment. More everything. Wild, keening noises keep slipping from my mouth, but I’m too lost to be embarrassed by any of the sounds I make. He’s driving me toward what I know is going to be the more powerful orgasm of my life, and nothing else matters to me in this moment than the promise of that earth-shattering release.
I’m climbing higher and higher—so close I let out a frantic whimper.
“Saint, fuck, I’m almost there … please. Please.”
At my words, his pace becomes savage, and suddenly I’m tumbling over the edge into a sea of pure ecstasy. I scream as I come, wave after wave of pleasure crashing through me like a tsunami. Saint is merciless as he drags my orgasm out to a tortuous degree. I’m too tender and sore and finally have to push at his head to get him to stop and let me go.
He stands up, his expression radiating smug, male pride. Reaching down, he casually pinches my nipple, which makes me gasp.
“Damn, Ellis. For such a stuck-up bitch, you sure come unglued when your pussy’s getting—”
“Don’t,” I rasp, and a slow grin forms on his bronze features.
“Eaten,” he finishes.
I don’t even care that he’s being a vulgar dick again. That felt too good, and I’m too blissed-out to give a shit about what he says. I lean up on my elbows and take him in. He’s breathing heavy, his hair’s sticking up around his head, and his face glistening with my juices. I like that. I like how messy I made him. I let my eyes travel down the length of his torso to the front of his jeans. There’s a sizeable bulge there, and my sex clenches at the thought of making him lose control.
Sitting up fully, I reach for the button of his jeans, ready to return the favor. His hand comes down and snatches my wrist, stopping me.
“What—”
“Have some respect for yourself.” His tone has turned cold and his eyes narrow as he releases me and steps out of my reach. “You can go now.”
I stare up at him, floored.
“B-but I don’t mind…”
“I said get out,” he snaps, jabbing the same finger he’d just used on me at the door.
Startled, I slide from the desk and right my clothing, pulling up my bikini bottoms and shorts quickly. Why’s he doing this? Why’s he got to ruin this, just like he ruins everything else?
Dressed, I turn toward his door without a word. Before I leave, though, like the masochist he keeps accusing me of being, I pause and glance back at him over my shoulder.
“What are we now?” I demand. I’m proud that my tone is stead and strong. The last thing I want is to look weak in front of him. “After this, has anything changed?”
He lets out a cruel chuckle and shakes his head.
“Not a damn thing,” he sneers. “We’re still enemies, and I still want you gone.”
It’s what I should’ve expected him to say. It’s my own fault for hoping he could be anything but a complete and total jackass.
“Wipe your fucking face,” I spit, then turn and storm out of the room.
His taunting laughter follows me down the hall.
I throw all my focus in preparing for Parents’ Weekend so that I won’t have to think about Saint and his godawful talented mouth. Whatever Loni needs, I’m there for her. We shop for supplies, we order food, we organize activities, and when she asks me to help her decorate for the picnic, I meet her outside the dining hall with a smile on my face.
She’s got a crew of facility workers to help us, and a few other students from the planning committee she took over leadership of. Like a drill sergeant, she assigns us all tasks and maps of where everything is supposed to go, then sends us off to complete our tasks. Once the tables are all set up in the commons, she has me help her cover them with tablecloths and put out cute little centerpieces made from twigs and paper leaves.
“Thanks again for all your help,” she says as we move down one of the tables together.
I give her a bright smile. “No problem.”
“No, really. I appreciate you putting so much time into the weekend even though … well …”
“Even though I won’t have anyone here for me?” I finish her thought for her.
Her expression turns bashful. “Sorry, Mallory.”
“It’s okay. It’s not that big a deal. Besides, it’s just one weekend.”
Or rather, one day. The parents only come Saturday for the picnic and activities, not for the whole weekend. Why they call it Parents’ Weekend, I have no idea, but this is Angelview and I’ve learned that everything is pretentious as fuck here.
“Well, just take comfort in knowing that Parents’ Weekend is usually a shitshow anyway,” she replies. There’s a bitterness in her tone that surprises me.
“Uh oh. I’m guessing this isn’t your favorite weekend of the year?”
She pauses in setting up the centerpiece she’s working on and lets out a heavy sigh as she drops her gaze to the table. “So, Parents’ Weekend is how my mom met Laurel’s dad. They were both still married and started having an affair before eventually divorcing their spouses for each other. Pretty shitty, right? My mom left my dad—who’s amazing, by the way—for a guy whose daughter calls I.C.E. on her. And trust me, Lawrence is just as awful as his twat offspring.”
“Oh, shit,” I breath. “I’m sorry, Loni.”
I knew she wasn’t a huge fan of her stepdad, but I didn’t know it was because the relationship between him and her mom had broken her parents up.
She shrugs, though her expression is pinched with old pain. “It’s whatever now. If my parents had been happy together, my mom wouldn’t have cheated, right? Probably worked out for the best in the long run. My dad didn’t deserve that shit and now he won’t have to put up with it.”
“Still, that really sucks.” Sometimes I forget that other people have shitty parents too. As bad as Jenn is, that’s what I expect of her. To disappoint me and hurt me. It’s never a surprise.
To have parents that were good up until the point at which they disappointed and hurt you—that’d probably just make the betrayal so much worse.
“It’s one of the reasons Laurel hates my mom so much,” she continues. “Which I get, even though she’s a huge bitch. It’s not like my mom intentionally seduced her dad, though. It was completely mutual.”
I nod and we continue working as she lays out her whole family drama for me. It strikes me how little I really knew about this part of Loni’s life. She’s my best friend at Angelview, but we don’t really know that much about each other outside of school. For every secret she’s held back from me, I’ve got ten of my own. A jab of sadness pierces my heart at the thought, and I wonder if maybe I should tell her everything.
About James. The accident. My mom.
Yet, as I go through the list of things that I could tell her, I feel myself immediately chicken out. There’s too much. It’s too dark. And I don’t come out the good guy in a lot of it.
Loni’s friendship means everything to me. I’d likely have bailed on Angelview a long time ago if it hadn’t been for her. I can’t risk losing her, no matter how much I have to keep silent about.
My secrets are best left where they are. Dead and buried.
Later that night, I’m sitting in my dorm room working on an essay when my phone suddenly rings. I pick it up with a frown and look at the number. I close my eyes as frustration sweeps through me.
It’s the number Jenn called me from the last time she got in touch.
What does she want now?
With an exasperated breath, I answer the call. “What, Jenn?”
“Don’t talk to me like that, you little bitch.”
Whoa. She’s in a mood.
“Are you high right now, Momma?” I ask, softening my tone a little. It wouldn’t be the first time she called me while fucked up.
“No, the fuck I’m not. You know I’ve been clean ever since … well, ever since you know.”
I roll my eyes to the ceiling, and I don’t believe a word of it. The accident freaked us all out, sure, but it’ll take more than a single tragedy to get my mother to get her shit together.
“What do you want?” I ask again, eager for this conversation to be over.
“Are you still in school?”
The question catches me off-guard, and I push away from my desk, pumping my fingers over the bridge of my nose. “Yeah … why wouldn’t I be?”
I hear her sigh in relief through the phone. “Thank Christ.”
“Jenn, why are you asking if I’m still in school? Did someone tell you I wasn’t?”
Why does she want to know? A terrible thought enters my mind, filling me with dread. Is she going to do something crazy? Like show up unannounced and uninvited to Parents’ Weekend?