High

by LP Lovell

  “Are you talking to yourself now?” Rhett sounds like he’s away from the door.

  “Why are you still here? I’m going to call the police and say you broke in here.”

  He laughs. “We both know you have more illegal substances in this house than Felix has at the club. You aren’t calling the police.”

  “Fuck you!” I shout. “I have a joint here, that’s it.” I blew through everything else last night.

  “Enough to get arrested.”

  “As it happens, I quite like the strip searches. Especially that last time, he was so very…thorough.”

  He ignores me.

  There’s a beat of silence and I consider going out there, but the thought of having to face him makes my stomach bottom out. I stand up and walk to the door, pressing my forehead against the wood. “Please, Rhett.” I say quietly. “Please just leave.”

  I hear his footsteps on the wooden flooring growing louder as he approaches the door. “I can’t, Duchess.”

  “No one hurt me. You don’t have to do the whole alpha thing, okay?”

  I hear him sigh. “Why are you lying to me?”

  I turn and press my back to the door, sliding down it. The massive floor length mirror opposite the door throws my pitiful reflection back at me. I pull the collar of my jumper down and see the black bruises covering my throat.

  I rarely cry, but apparently I’m all about the tears today. A sob tears free from my throat and I slam my hand over my mouth, trying to stifle the awful sound. Tears track down my cheeks. I don’t even know why I’m crying. I guess this is what it feels like when you hit the bottom of that long descent into oblivion. I’m not upset that I got attacked, it was my own fault, a chain of bad reactions and decisions. I let my parents get to me. I let them push me to that point where a bag of blow seemed like the only way out, it cost me Rhett, and then I let that push me over the edge all over again.

  All I feel is this all-consuming misery, and I wonder how the hell I got here?

  “Duchess.” Rhett says quietly from the other side of the door. “I’m sorry.” I say nothing as I stare at my reflection, at the pathetic girl staring back at me. “I shouldn’t have left you.”

  “Why not?” I croak. “You said yourself I’m a mess.” I laugh. “Just a statistic waiting to happen, a brat with daddy issues. It’s who I am.” I say sadly because I’m not sure I want to be that person anymore.

  “This is not who you are, it’s just what you do.” Hurt ripples across my chest. “You’re better than this, Blake.”

  I feign a small laugh. “Of course I am. That’s why you left.” The thought that he sees beneath my shit and still left, well, that’s far worse than thinking that he just left because I’m a worthless druggie. The hurt feels like a vice around my chest, so I lash out. “Shit. Please go, Rhett. I don’t want you here! Stop trying to psychoanalyse me and just fucking leave!” Another traitorous tear slips free. How does he do this to me? Make me feel so strong most of the time, but with the ability to render me so weak?

  “Open the door, Blake.” He says, and for once it’s not a demand, it’s not quite a request, but…

  I don’t want to see him. That’s a lie. I do want to see him, which is precisely why I shouldn’t. But I can’t stay in the bathroom all night.

  I stand up and flick the lock off, slowly opening the door. His eyes crash into mine with that crippling intensity of his. He stands with both hands braced on either side of the frame, his broad shoulders filling the doorway.

  There’s a moment of silence, an awkward pause, and I drop my eyes to the floor, swiping at the tears that won’t fucking let up.

  “What do you want from me?” I ask.

  He steps forward and I stop breathing. He lifts his hand and cups my cheek. “You.”

  I pull my face away from him. “You made your decision. So if you’re only here because Milly made you feel guilty, then we’re good. You don’t need to feel guilty.”

  He places a finger under my chin, forcing me to look at him. “I’m here because I love you.” And there it is, those three words, eight letters that change everything. They shouldn’t, but god, they do.

  I love him. He makes me feel safe and without sounding cheesy, he makes me want to be better than this. I don’t feel the need to be the train wreck of a person when I’m around him, but what scares me is if he leaves. Nothing is forever, but in such a short period of time, he’s become my new addiction. He’s more addictive than any cocaine. He has shaken me to my core. He’s just like that very first hit I ever took, unattainable. I crave him. I need him on a primal level.

  He is far more dangerous to me than drugs. He has the ability to devastate me with only a few words. Love is power and destruction wrapped up in a need so fierce it’s undeniable and unavoidable. Love is the natural addiction of the human soul, and we will willingly risk any amount of pain for just a fleeting moment of its blissful high. As always, in the moment of the high, it’s easy to forget that love is the most destructive drug of all. It’s this that keeps me from telling him I love him, as though if I don’t say the words it won’t be true and his hold on me won’t be absolute and all consuming.

  He gently brushes his thumb over the bruise on my jaw and presses his lips to mine. Our kisses are usually hungry, desperate, full of burning hot passion, but this is different. He kisses me like I’m breakable, precious. He cups my face, teasing my lips until my breaths become pants. I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him closer and running my tongue along the seam of his lips. He pushes a thigh between my legs and releases my face, running his hands over my waist. His lips trail down my jaw, over my neck, before lightly nipping at my throat, making me flinch. Shit that hurt.

  He pulls back. “Sorry.” He tugs the collar of my jumper down before my brain can catch up and stop him. He freezes, the look in his eyes turning from lust to anger in a heartbeat. No, anger would be too tame, rage—unfiltered, about to lose his shit, rage.

  He grabs the hem of my top and yanks it over my head, forcing me to turn in a circle, and when I’m facing him again, I’m pretty sure he’d be going to jail if he could find the guy.

  “Tell me who did it.” His breaths are ragged as he clenches and releases his fists repeatedly.

  I frown and bite down on my lip. “I don’t know.” I whisper.

  “You don’t remember?”

  “No—I mean, yes.” I wish I couldn’t remember. “It was my fault.” He waits and says nothing. “Look, just leave it. Please. For me?”

  He shakes his head. “Did he…did you…” He drops his head forward, struggling.

  “Look, I was high, and drunk, and stupid. He walked me outside, and then he kissed me. I slapped him, and it pissed him off, so he hit me.” I explain. “He was probably just drunk.”

  “Did he rape you?” He blurts and that word just makes me cringe.

  “No! I nailed him in the nuts right after he gave me this.” I point at my cheek. “I can look after myself.”

  “You can tell me where you were, or you can be difficult, but I will fucking find him, Blake.”

  “Fuck me, two minutes and you’re doing your…thing.” He cocks a brow at me. “The macho thing.”

  He gently brushes his fingertips over my bruised throat, his eyes locking with mine. “Have I ever bruised you, Duchess?”

  My skin breaks out in goose bumps under his touch. “No.” I whisper. “You would never hurt me.”

  He nods his head. “I would never hurt you.” He repeats. His jaw clenches. “So what gives some fucking prick the right to think he can touch what is mine?”

  My core tightens, my pussy clenches, and wow, have I really become one of those girls? Shit. He’s making me as much of an animal as he is.

  I smile. “It makes me hot when you talk like that.” I slip my hand beneath the hem of his shirt and press my palm to his stomach, scratching my nails over his skin.

  He grabs my wrist, halting my movements. “Nice try.” I huff and ya
nk my hand from his grasp. “I have to go take care of this, but I will be back, and then we’re going to talk.”

  “About what?” I sigh.

  “Everything.”

  “I think less talking and more doing would be better.”

  He laughs. “Duchess, you can have my body.” He grabs the back of my neck and kisses my forehead. “After you talk.”

  He turns and walks out of my room. He’ll never find that guy, right? Oh, god, if he does, I’m pretty sure he’s going to kill him.

  A couple of hours after Rhett leaves, I hear the key in the door, then see Milly’s head poke around the corner of the hallway.

  “Don’t kill me, please.” She says. “I was mad.”

  I sigh. “I should kill you.”

  “Did he come here?”

  “Yep.”

  “So where is he now?” She asks, looking around as if I’m hiding him somewhere.

  “He saw this.” I point to my face. “Where do you think he is?”

  She grins. “Beating the fuck into that piece of shit?”

  “Milly!” I throw a cushion at her. “He’ll probably get himself fucking arrested for assault.”

  “And you care? So does that mean you made up?”

  I throw my head back against the sofa cushions. “It’s complicated.”

  She drops onto the sofa next to me, resting her cheek against the back of the cushion, and brushing my hair behind my ear. “Nah, you love him. Love makes things uncomplicated.”

  “Is that why you went to him?”

  “Fuck no.” She snorts. “I went to him because I was pissed that he left and I wanted him to know what I thought of him. I might even have tried to kick him where it hurts if he didn’t scare me so much.”

  “Okay, you’re forgiven.” She might be the best friend a girl has ever had.

  “Sweet, I’m going to order take out. Want some?”

  “Sure.”

  I jolt awake when I feel something brush my cheek. Looking up, I find Rhett standing over me. I’m lying on the sofa with Larry curled up by my feet.

  “What did you do?” I whisper.

  I search his face, looking for any trace of a fight, but there is none until he drags his hand through his hair and I notice the red and purple marks across his knuckles.

  I sit up and take his hand, inspecting the split skin. “Rhett…”

  He perches on the edge of the sofa and pulls his hand away, cupping my face as he touches his forehead to mine. “No one touches you, Duchess.” He says through clenched teeth. I can feel the tension radiating off him and that dangerous side of him is very close to the surface.

  “How did you find him?” I whisper, as though giving the words volume might set him off.

  He stands and walks towards the kitchen. “I have my sources.” Unbuttoning his shirt, he goes into the kitchen, taking a beer and an ice pack from the fridge. He comes back and sits on the end of the sofa, pulling my feet onto his lap. “Okay, talk.”

  I frown. “About what?”

  He places the icepack across the knuckles of his right hand. “How about you start by telling me how you managed to get yourself arrested?”

  I sigh and tilt my head back, focusing on a spot on the ceiling. “My fucktard parents released a statement saying I had gone into rehab.” I pause. “And then they fucking call me over there to tell me I have to lay low for two weeks, so their story pans out.”

  He presses his lips together and nods slowly. “Why now?”

  I snort. “Exactly. For once in my life, I actually wasn’t taking drugs. Isn’t that some fucked up irony for you? Apparently the press got bored and The Sun released an ancient picture of me high, with my minge out.” He cocks and eyebrow. “Yeah, don’t ask.”

  “So you got arrested.”

  See when he says it out loud it sounds stupid. “I was just so pissed.”

  He nods slowly. “Okay, I get that, to an extent, so why prove them right? Why get that fucked up?” He glances sideways at me. “I thought you’d overdosed, Blake. It scared the fuck out of me.”

  “I’m sorry, I just…I hate them, and I just handled it badly I guess.”

  He drags a hand through his hair. “Why?” His eyes meet mine. “You’ve never actually told me why you hate them so much.”

  “Oh, fuck, that’s a long story.”

  He takes a sip of his beer. “I’ve got time.”

  “Okay. Fine. Well, I used to be good, as in the perfect politician’s daughter. I had good grades, went to his social bullshit, I even dated the guy they wanted me to date, Jacob Fraser. I wanted to go to University, but it turns out that they wanted me to become Mrs. Fraser and pull influence with hubby, help my father’s campaign.” I fiddle with one of the sofa cushions, and he patiently listens. “I had never said no, and then one night at a party, Jacob got on one knee. I was eighteen. I freaked out. Felix and Milly were there. Felix always used to work the parties, dealing to the rich kids while their daddies were playing power games. I pretty much had a mental breakdown, and that was the first night I ever took cocaine. It changed everything.” I lift my eyes to him, expecting judgement, but there is none. “I got high and walked back into that party. My dad was so pissed.” I smile, remembering it. I’d taken my ‘sensible’ dress and butchered it. I hacked the skirt off until it barely skimmed my arse cheeks and the excess material….I tied it around my head like fucking Rambo. I’m not even joking. My mother burst into tears, my father looked like he was about to lose his shit, and Jacob looked at me like I was insane. I didn’t give a fuck. I was like a motherfucking phoenix rising from the ashes of my controlled, contained, shitty life, sporting two erect middle fingers.

  “The next year was bad. They pushed and I pushed back. Then one day, I came home and my father had given away my dog, Peppy. He was a gift for my sixteenth birthday, and I loved him more than anything.” I smile thinking about the day I got him. He was so cute. “He thought it would force me back in line, but it didn’t. I was upset, so I got high, got in my car, and wrapped it around a lamp post. And that was the final straw. As soon as I was no longer about to die, my mother came to the ICU and told me I was an embarrassment to the family name and they were sending me away so the press didn’t hear about it.”

  Rhett leans forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. “That’s rough.”

  I nod. “They have fucked me at every turn, my education, my career, even my fucking dog. And then they tell me that they don’t care what I do. I could fucking overdose as long as the press didn’t see it. And I tell myself that I don’t care about the fact they don’t give a shit, and for the most part, I don’t, but even after all that…”

  “They’re your parents.” He says.

  I nod. “You sound like you speak from experience.”

  His gaze drops to the icepack on his hand. “Not really. My parents are both dead. My dad was a felon and my mom was a junkie. For as long as I can remember it’s been me and my brother, Luca.”

  That’s so sad, but I guess at least they had each other. From the way his eyes changed when he said his name, I can see he loves his brother. That bond, I envy it. “I’m sorry.”

  He shakes his head. “Don’t be. Shit happens. They weren’t nice people.”

  “Do you think it’s wrong to want their love?” I ask quietly, and believe me, I would never admit that to anyone but him, not even Milly.

  A soft smile touches his lips. “No, but you can spend your life waiting for their approval and hoping you’ll get it. You can take every drug under the sun, get photographed with me every day of the week, drink, party, and fuck yourself blind, but it won’t change anything, and you shouldn’t want it to.” He strokes his hand over my shin. “If they don’t want you then fuck them. But live your fucking life Blake, make it so that they don’t matter. Because as long as they do, you’ll never be happy. Trust me on this.”

  “Fuck, you’re supposed to be a hot bad boy. When did you become helpful?”

 
; He laughs. “I can stop.” He pushes up off the sofa and grabs both my ankles, dragging me down the cushions until I’m flat on my back with my top shoved up.

  He crawls between my knees and brushes his lips across mine. “I fucking want you, Duchess. No one else matters.” My heart skitters wildly. He sits up and pulls on the bottoms of my trackies, dragging them down my legs, leaving me naked from the waist down. “But I want your pussy more.” He skims his hands from my ankles up to the backs of my knees. “Don’t scream. Wouldn’t want to wake Milly up.” That wicked smirk crosses his lips just before he shoves my knees into my chest and dives face first into my pussy. Oh, fuck!

  His tongue drags over my clit and I have to fist my hand and bite down on my knuckles to stop myself from crying out. He pins my legs in place, leaving me completely exposed to him as he tortures me with his mouth.

  Rhett Torres is a fucking magician with his tongue. He thrusts it inside me and a moan slips past my lips, making him chuckle and blow hot breaths across my pussy. Holy fuck, he’s going to kill me. I glance down between my legs and those gold eyes lock with mine. He makes a slow show of sticking his tongue out and gently flicking it over my clit. Oh, god, his face looks even better between my legs. He winks—fucking winks at me before he slams two fingers inside me. I cry out. I can’t help it. I don’t even fucking care if Milly wakes up, comes in here, and makes a new Kim K sex tape. I’d sink much lower in exchange for this right here.

  My hands fly to his hair and then shit gets serious. My hips roll as his fingers pound into me, his tongue relentlessly circling my clit. I throw my head back on a silent moan as every muscle in my body tenses and an orgasm rips through me. He pushes me past orgasm to the point where I’m flinching away from each tiny lash of his tongue. I thrash, trying to wrench my legs from his grip and squeeze them closed, and he laughs, biting my inner thigh before finally releasing me. My chest heaves. I smile, riding that blissful high.

  I hold up my finger. “Give me five minutes.”

  He bends down, scooping me off the sofa. “It’s okay, Duchess, you can just lay there for this.” He laughs, and it rumbles through his chest.