by Paige North
You’ve heard of blind rage? This was blind, deaf, tasteless, senseless rage. I’m on my feet before I totally understand what I’m doing; the glass of red wine in my hand is sliding forward, its contents splashing across Chandler Harrison’s face like deep red paint. He leaps backward in surprise, a yelp escaping his throat. At that moment, twelve years of private school and tutors and French language lessons fail me, and I shout the only words I can think of:
“Fuck you, you arrogant shithead,” I roar, and toss the glass down.
I feel almost disconnected from my body as I storm away from the library, leaving Chandler sputtering and furious in my wake. I don’t know where my purse went, or my jacket, or anything, really, but I want out of here, now. The butler, to my surprise, seems experienced with handling these types of things— he literally meets me at the front door, purse in hand, and urgent look in his eyes. I understand why when my ears are cleared of cottony-single-mindedness, and I hear the sound of Chandler and his mother shouting, my mother trying to calm them, heels on marble—
I’ve got to get out of here.
I yank the door open and sprint for my car like I’ve just robbed the house; the butler slides it shut behind me and cool, quiet air licks at my skin. I hit unlock, the interior lights are on, if I can just get the fuck away from this place—
“Lucy!” my father shouts. His voice is rocking and furious and nothing at all like the cool, collected anger I’ve heard in him before. I nearly stumble at the sound, but I grab hold of the car door handle and swing it open. “Lucy, you better think before you get in that car. What are you going to do, flee the country rather them explain to me what the hell just happened?”
His logic pricks at me; I don’t slide into the car seat, but I toss my purse in, a compromise between running and staying. “I told you I didn’t like him,” I finally say, more to my leather seats than my father. My father doesn’t answer right away, instead walking toward my car and laying a firm hand on the top of the door, effectively keeping me from shutting it. Inside, I can still hear bickering, thought its muted now by my father’s heavy, angry breathing.
“And I told you that this isn’t about you, Lucy. Not everything is always going to be about you. I do things to help you, and I expect you to do things to help me.”
“You’re my dad. You’re supposed to do things that help me,” I say— no, I cry. I’m crying, though I’m not sure when I started, exactly.
“And I do. And now you’re going to go back in there, apologize, and smooth over whatever the hell just happened. You’re nearly an adult, Lucy, and sometimes that means not getting exactly what you want all the time and expressing yourself with a little dignity.”
“Dad, he’s the worst. I don’t like him. I don’t want to spend time with him. And this is your election, not mine. I’m not a senator,” I say, voice rising shrill and high, wobbling with my tears.
“Me being a senator is why you’re wearing a designer dress and driving a luxury car and have every opportunity you have. So yes, this is your election too. Now you get back in there right now and show that family the respect they deserve! After what I caught you and that deadbeat doing in that wine cellar, I wouldn’t think playing nice with Chandler Harrison would be so much to ask,” he says through gritted teeth.
He regrets saying it— I see the flicker of remorse in his eyes the moment the words leave his mouth. But I also know he means it.
I draw my hand back and slap my father in the face, hard, so far it burns my hand. He gasps and steps back, clutching his cheek. I take the chance to slide into my car and slam the door shut, lock it, throw the car on. I still don’t know where I’m going, exactly, or what I’ll do, but I’m not staying at the Harrisons for another second.
Chapter 14
I drive around the city several times— a loop down out of Buckhead, through Midtown, across and back up at a nice, steady clip. I turn my phone off, though when I finally arrive back at the dorms and turn it back on, I see that no one’s called. It’s scarier than if my parents had called a thousand times, to be honest.
I trudge back inside, smiling quickly at the crowd of freshmen playing pool in the lobby, pretending to text when I pass a few people I know on the stairs. I just want to get to my room and force myself to sleep. I throw open the stairwell door—
The door to Gabe’s room is open. Wide open, actually, but I can tell even without the lights on that it’s empty. I feel my chest contract in hurt, then take a few ginger steps to the doorframe.
I flick on the light to reveal what I already knew to be true: He’s gone. He’s moved out— to the football dorms, I’m sure. There’s nothing left in here, save a few tape marks from where he had stuff stuck up on the walls. The bed frame is at an angle, the fan is still on high, the floor covered in dried grass with an especially large pile of it where he usually took his shoes off.
It’s the last straw on the back of a real fucked-up-camel-of-a-day. I exhale a small cry and unlock my own door, crash in, then let my purse drop to the floor. How did I start this week out with Gabe, my family, and a decent enough relationship with the Harrison clan, only to end with none of the above? I don’t bother turning on my light; I wander toward the bed like a zombie and fall forward onto it, curling into a ball and taking all the blankets with me.
I probably should lock Gabe’s room up, but whatever. I hear shuffling around in the hall, and bury my head in my pillow to shut it up. I’m seriously considering taking some NyQuil to speed up my descent into sleep when I realize the shuffling isn’t in the hall— it’s in Gabe’s room.
Are you fucking serious? I think. Whatever football groupie is in there lounging on the mattress, I’m going to write her up for every citation I can think of. I walk toward the bathroom door, eyes bleary and stinging from tears, and fling it open.
“Can I help you?” I snap into the room.
“Whoa,” someone—
No, not someone.
“Whoa,” Gabe says. “Lucy, are you okay?”
I blink, sniffle, run the back of my hands across my eyes. He’s there— he’s definitely there, standing by the dresser in a t-shirt and athletic shorts with a baseball cap on his head.
I shake my head. “What?”
“Are you okay?” he repeats, and he takes a step toward me, his eyes full of concern.
“No, I meant, what are you doing here?” I ask, shaking my head again, taking a step backward.
Gabe looks stunned that I haven’t answered his question, but he shrugs it off, then holds up a single key. “The RD office is closed, so I was planning to leave this on the dresser.”
“Oh. Yeah. There’s an eighty dollar charge if you don’t turn it in,” I say, sniffling, voice weak.
Gabe rolls his eyes at me, and almost laughs, but then seems to remember that I’m in tears. “Are you alright, Lucy?” he asks, voice firmer, but more pressing.
I look up at him and swallow. “Not really,” I say. “I got in a fight with Chandler, and that meant I got in a fight with my dad, and I’m in a fight with you, and so basically I’m just fighting and it sucks.”
Gabe looks down at my hands, and for a second, I think it’s going to take them. Instead, he motions back to my room. “Come on. Let’s go sit down,” he says.
I nod glumly, still a tearful and sticky mess, and retreat back to my room. Gabe pulls the bathroom door shut behind us, then turns one of my small lamps on so the room is cast in a tiny warm glow.
I sit on the edge of the bed and pull my knees to my chest. Gabe stands in front of me like he’s guarding me from the open space of the room; he listens as I relay the evening’s events to him. His lips twitch, eager to smile when I tell him about throwing the wine in Chandler’s face. When I tell him about what lead to me slapping my father, though, he grits his teeth.
“He said that to you? You’re not exaggerating?” Gabe asks. His voice seems to be coming from the back of his throat, heated by something deep in his core.
&n
bsp; “Yeah. I just…”
“I’m going to go talk to him,” Gabe says shortly, and heads toward my door.
“Wait— no! Gabe, you can’t just go yell at my father,” I say, leaping to my feet. I grab his arm and am surprised at how quickly the action stops him in his tracks, especially given how much stronger he is than I am.
“I said talk,” Gabe answers.
I give him a look. I can feel the heat of anger coursing through his veins.
He presses his lips together, then mutters, “No one should talk to you that way, Lucy. Not even your father.”
“I know, but I’d rather move on. He’s never going to admit it was wrong. He’s never going to…” I exhale. “It’s who he is. It’s who Chandler is. It’s who they all are.”
I take a step closer to him, and pull his arm around my waist. He hesitates, then allows himself to rest his hand on my hip.
“It’s not who you are, though,” Gabe says slowly.
“No. At least, I hope not. But I shouldn’t have— Gabe, I’m not ashamed of you. I was just trying to make everyone happy, and that meant hiding us. But I shouldn’t have,” I say.
Gabe doesn’t answer for a moment. “No,” he says. “You shouldn’t have.”
“I just…I’m so sorry. I want everything to go back to the way that it was. But this time, no hiding.” My breath hitches in my chest and I wait for his answer. He doesn’t say anything, and my heart clenches, thinking that I may have lost him for good. “Can you forgive me?” I ask softly.
He pauses, drawing out the torture. “On one condition,” he says finally.
“What’s that?”
“You let me beat the absolute shit out of Chandler Harrison.”
“Gabe!”
Gabe scowls at my response, then tugs me closer, his arms enveloping me. “Fine. Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Are you sure you forgive me? I mean, you literally took your stuff and left.”
Gabe sighs, the breath ruffling my hair. “I needed to get into the football dorms either way. The other players were starting to give me grief about it, and the coaches weren’t happy about having to travel across campus to find me. But yeah, Lucy. I’m sure I forgive you. Just…”
“What?” I ask, trying to look up at him, but I can’t see his face because of how close he’s holding me.
“I’m never going to be Chandler Harrison. You get that, right?” he asks sternly.
“I get that. And…” I hesitate, unsure if I should go there, just yet.
“Go ahead,” he says, toying with impatience.
“I’m always going to be Lucy Shaw, the senator’s daughter. Even if my dad never speaks to me again. You get that, right?”
“So long as both of us understand who we’re with, I don’t see a problem,” Gabe says.
“Okay. Good. No more hiding? No more secrets?”
Gabe hesitates a moment, and for a second, I think he’s about to reveal something— some secret, something about his mother or past or father or…I don’t know. But then he lifts me from the ground, a sweeping sensation that’s gloriously familiar.
He cradles me in his arms, allowing me to finally see his face again. He looks dark, determined, certain— all the things I so rarely feel, but all the things I want from him. It’ll be okay, I realize, because Gabe is going to fight for me. Even if he has to fight me in the process.
“It’s been two days,” he says in an admonishing voice. “Two days since I’ve had you.”
I bite my lip and feel my stomach twist pleasantly. “To be fair, you were avoiding me.”
“I’m not playing fair,” he says, shaking his head at me. “Come on.”
I expect him to carry me over to my bed, or even lay me out on the floor; instead, he transfers me to one arm and takes me straight out the main door of my room, pulling the door shut behind me. He sets me down, but keeps an arm firmly around me as we head down the stairs, a balloon of excitement rising in my chest. We leave the dorms and head out into the darkness.
We cut across campus in the cool night air, toward the football dorms. The players live on the lower floors, while the upper floors are rented out as hotel rooms— which means the whole place has a swanky, luxury vibe. It overlooks the stadium, though I’ve never seen out one of the suite windows firsthand. Gabe walks me through the entrance, where a concierge barely looks up. We board the elevator, my heart vibrating in my chest with anticipation.
The moment the elevator doors close, Gabe releases my shoulders, only to grab me by the waist and hoist me up against the wall. It’s all so fast and effortless that I feel almost like a dancer, being thrown this way or that by her partner; until, at least, I wrap my legs tight around his waist and feel his erection.
He’s rock hard, huge, and feeling him throbbing against me makes me wonder how I made it two whole days without him. He kisses me, his mouth firm but gentle against mine, and I part my lips so our tongues can touch.
Gabe groans against my mouth, then pushes one hand up the front of my shirt, sliding it over my breast and massaging it, his thumb sweeping back and forth across my nipple. I’m not even sure what floor we’re at, or hell, what floor we’re going to, but I don’t care anymore.
I grab the hem of my shirt and pull it up, eager to give him more access. Gabe immediately lifts me higher against the elevator wall, tugs the cup of my bra aside, and sucks my right nipple into his mouth. I cry out— I didn’t know how much I needed him touching me, how much I wanted to feel his mouth on me and his cock in me—
The elevator chimes. Gabe doesn’t notice, or perhaps doesn’t care. When the doors open, however, he releases my nipple and gives me a hungry gaze. I straighten my clothes as he grabs hold of one arm and pulls me over his shoulder, then carries me that way down the hall, in a way that would make me shy, if it weren’t for my certainty that Gabe will take care of it should anyone stumble upon us.
We reach a door; without putting me down, he fumbles for a key card, then shoves it open. His room— even upside down, I can see his boxes around the door, like he walked in and dropped them there. The door clicks shut behind us, and he continues forward, now sliding his hand up my legs.
He sweeps me forward; for an instant, I worry I might fall, but then his free hand catches me and he’s laying me out on the plush carpet. I see why— his bed has no sheets, the room has little furniture…but it has one hell of a view. Through floor to ceiling windows, I can see the stadium, yawning and black with night, tiny security lights like stars in a void.
It’s nothing to look at, though, compared to Gabe. My eyes go back to him, and I see he’s on his knees above me, looking down at me like he can’t quite decide where to start.
He strips me naked, freeing my breasts so that his mouth can land on them again. I whimper when his tongue circles my nipples, and stifle a scream when I feel his teeth playing with them. I arch up against him; he growls against my skin in response, then rises back to his knees and slides his pants and boxers down in a single motion. His cock springs out, somehow bigger than I remembered, and I lick my lips eagerly.
“That’s right,” he says, swinging a leg over me. He lowers his cock to my lips. “Suck on me, Lucy.”
He didn’t need to tell me; I’m hungry for him. Gabe slides his weight forward a bit, so the angle is better, then lowers his massive cock to my lips. I let the tip press against my closed lips for a moment, then open my mouth and run my tongue along the underside as he slides into me.
He moans again; I shimmy my hands up so I can hold onto the base of his cock with both fists as I tongue him, savoring his size, his taste, the way I can feel him pulsing with arousal. I lift up and down slightly as I do so, until he begins responding in kind, fucking my mouth as deep as either of us dares— this isn’t the angle for him to push himself farther into my throat. He punches at the floor, startling me— but then I realize it’s because he’s fighting the urge to come.
“Not having you for two day’s has ruine
d me,” he mutters huskily, then pulls away from me. “You’re too perfect, Lucy, you know that?”
He presses my breasts together and slides his cock between them once or twice before taking a steadying breath. He looks down at me. “As much as I hate Chandler Harrison, I have to admit: I like having the things rich men want,” Gabe growls. “I like knowing they’re mine. You wouldn’t let anyone else do this to you, would you?”
“No, never,” I say, so turned on that I feel my hips lifting off the ground, desperate to get closer to him.
“I know you wouldn’t,” Gabe says. “No one else is going to fuck this tight little pussy, are they, baby?”
“Never. Only you,” I whisper, my eyes drifting shut.
“That’s right,” he murmurs. “I don’t have a condom tonight, Lucy. I’m going to fuck you without one. My cock in your tight little pussy. That’s okay, isn’t it?” He says it like he already knows the answer— and I suspect he does.
“Please, Gabe. I need you.” I open my eyes to see he’s still on my right side, still admiring my body like I’m a work of art.
“You need me?” he asks, toying with me.
“Yes,” I beg. He’s so close, his cock is right there, inches from my entrance. He leans closer, then slides an arm under my knees, bringing both of my legs up to rest on his shoulder. The motion means my hips are lifted slightly off the ground, angled to the side— though my pussy is still lined up perfectly with his cock. It’s not a position we’ve tried before, and not one I knew would work, to be honest. I tense, wondering if the angle will be painful—
“Still nervous,” he says, shaking his head and tsking. “Still afraid of me, like the virgin you were when we met.” He moves closer to me, until the head of his cock presses against the entrance to my pussy, eliciting a moan from my throat. The fact that it’s his bare skin against me, rather than a condom, makes me feel even more alive than usual, like my very cells are screaming in want. He hugs my legs tighter, and I know I can’t get away— though I also know that if I wanted to, I’d only need to ask.