by L. A. Sable
I want the moment to last as long as possible, savor it, because as soon as it ends we have to go back to hating each other.
And then his hands push under the loose hem of my pajama top, sliding over the sensitive skin of my belly. I freeze with shock at the sudden and intimate contact, but that isn’t enough for me to stop him. Because I want whatever is coming next with a desperation that makes me hate myself.
I’m not wearing a bra so his fingers are unimpeded as they move over the bumps of my ribcage and higher. When he teases one peaked nipple with the tip of his finger and then immediately pinches it hard between that finger and his thumb, my eyes nearly roll back into my head.
Our kiss turns from sweet to steamy in the blink of an eye. Suddenly, his mouth attacks mine with a kiss that is more an act of aggression than tenderness. My fingers push into the silky strands of his hair that is somehow even softer than I imagined and fist the strands hard enough it draws a small sound from him.
We’re not simply two ships passing in the night. Instead, we’re two storm systems combining into a devastating force that will destroy everything around us.
All the hurt and pain that he’s caused me is poured into this kiss as I bite at his lips and pull hard enough on his hair to tear out the strands. But he doesn’t pull away, instead forcing me harder against the door until I can feel every hill and valley of his body pressed against mine.
The kiss is finally broken when we can no longer go another second without precious oxygen. His forehead rests against mine, close enough that barely an inch separates our lips. He stares down at me like he’s never seen me before, as if I’m some mystical creature appearing to him in a dream. Or a nightmare. His eyes are the bright green of the sky moments before the tornado forms, and they threaten destruction.
Then his eyes narrow further, making them seem black in the low light as he stares down at me. There is no hesitation left in him.
He kisses me hard enough that it stings my lips. “Tell me to stop and I will.”
Instead of waiting for an answer, his hand pushes down past the elastic waist of my pajama pants. Fingers stroke over the soaking wet strip of cotton between my thighs as I struggle to form words. When I finally open my mouth to speak, the only sound that comes out is a sharp gasp.
“Make me stop. Call me names, push me away, make me stop this,” he growls sharply against my lips, voice almost pleading despite the fire blazing in his eyes. “Tell me you don’t want this, Lily.”
The sound of my name on his lips sends a spark of pleasure through me that only jumps higher when a roving finger brushes my clit through the sodden fabric of my panties. It’s as if that little bit of flesh is connected directly through my belly to my brain with an electric current, hijacking the part of me capable of making rational decisions.
There are no words for the way that I feel when his hands touch my bare skin.
“I don’t want this,” I say, briefly enjoying the brief flash of sadness that crosses his face, a petty revenge for what he’s put me through because he refuses to be honest with himself. But when he starts to pull away, I stop him by wrapping my arms around his neck and dragging his lips to meet mine. “I need it.”
My hips lift at the same moment that he pushes a long finger inside of me and I melt against him. His free arm lowers to wrap around my back, the only thing that keeps me upright as I moan against his mouth. When he moves his finger in and out of me and one thumb shifts to rub my throbbing clit, a scream is ripped from deep in my throat.
He swallows the sound like darkness swallowing the light as day turns to night.
I’ve masturbated before, quick and shameful moments in the dark with one hand over my mouth so Trish wouldn’t hear from the next room, but it’s never felt like this. Despite the harshness of his mouth on mine, his hand moves with almost languid slowness, drawing out the moment as two fingers pump in and out of me. He adds a third and my hips buck at the aching stretch.
The more feverish my movements, the calmer it seems to make him as if the frenzy that I’m feeling is a balm to his soul. Finally taking pity on me, he grinds the palm of his hand against my oversensitive flesh, pulling the orgasm from my body in a way that bows my spine.
Dazed, I barely notice as he effortlessly lifts me in his arms and carries me to the messy bed. Papers and books are shoved to the floor, heedless of their importance, as he lays me down. His body hovers over mine for a long moment, supporting his weight with the elbows that sink into the bed on either side of my head.
And then he just waits, staring down at me with an expression so stern I can almost imagine him as some vengeful god come down from the heavens intent on exacting tribute.
My hands rise to stroke over his rigid abs and pecs that twitch in reaction when my fingers graze over one nipple. He lets me explore him, but doesn’t make a move to do anything else.
Of their own volition, my hips lift to press against the firm bulge of his erection. But he stays frozen above me even as his breathing comes in harsher and harder pants with each passing second.
And I realize that he’s waiting, even if I’m not sure exactly for what.
I have no illusions about how I’ll feel about this in the morning. Asher and I are on opposite sides of a war that I don’t understand. He may not be my true enemy, but he’s something so close to it that the two are practically indistinguishable. I will hate myself for it, but that isn’t enough for me to stop the runaway train that’s already blown out of the station, gone off the rails and is heading for the nearest cliff.
Tension sings through every muscle as he holds himself above me, just enough that I can see down the lines of our body to the raging erection tenting the crotch of his pajama pants. He wants this, but he’s still hesitating.
At first I wonder if he’s hoping that I’ll beg him, give that little sop to his ego. But his expression isn’t one of manipulation, instead he seems almost afraid.
“It’s going to be okay,” I whisper, unsure if I’m trying to reassure him or myself.
Something in him seems to crack and then shatter to pieces.
Clothes are ripped away and kicked off so frantically that I can’t tell which of us is the more aggressive one. I’m moaning and panting beneath him as he rains kisses on my face and neck, interspersed with tiny bites that aren’t quite hard enough to break the skin.
My hand skips over the firm skin of his chest and down, marveling at the smooth heat of his flesh. Those fingers touch the head of his cock first and the sound he makes is one of a man who has spent days lost of sea and finally sees the shining light of an approaching ship. And when I wrap those same fingers around him and stroke the impressive length of him, using the beads of pre-cum that leak from the tip to ease the friction, his eyes practically roll up into the back of his head.
“Fuck…Lily.”
I love the sound of my name on his lips, even though I know that I shouldn’t, that this is the first step down a path that leads somewhere. But I can’t stop myself, I don’t think either of us can.
He kisses me desperately, like I’m something to be devoured. Any conception of reality has narrowed to what is happening on this bed right now, between the two of us. Real life will come sweeping back in for us soon, but I want to hold it off for as long as I can.
Asher pulls back, shifting away the grasping hands that I have on him. A soft smirk drifts across his face and I wonder if he’s going to end this before it’s even really begun. Maybe this will be when the evil mask he wears like a second skin comes slamming back into place and we go back to being enemies.
But he only shifts away far enough to reach the bedside table. He rummages for a moment and then I hear the distinctive metallic crinkle of a condom wrapper. The first streak of shame moves through me when I realize that if he hadn’t remembered to use protection, I would have forgotten.
God, what am I doing?
The moment that he takes my mouth in another searing kiss, any rational th
ought flees in the face of overwhelming sensation. His hands make quick work on the condom, slipping it on himself with the ease of long practice. One of his hands slips beneath my writhing hips and positions himself against my dripping entrance. He stares down at me with eyes full of a strange intensity.
And in the next moment, he thrusts inside of me.
For a flashing moment, the intrusion is painful. This isn’t my first time, but I don’t exactly run around with lots of guys. I’ve had exactly one boyfriend in my life and we broke up over a year ago. And Asher is bigger than average, I think, as if he needs another reason to be full of himself.
But the pain vanishes almost as soon as it began, replaced by an overwhelming sensation of fullness that sends a shiver coursing up my spine. He lifts my hips higher, angling in way that drives him deeper and my legs rise of their own volition to wrap around his hips.
It’s sensory overload, too much pleasure and nerve-tingling sensation. I feel like I’m either dying or being born, it’s impossible to know the difference.
We move together as if we were designed to fit together. My hips rise and fall against his in a perfect rhythm as his hands force me closer.
There’s enough light from the little bedside lamp that I can see very expression that crosses his face, each time he closes his eyes or bites his lip. His face is a study in contradiction, so much beauty hiding a deep well of pain and anger. I don’t understand how someone with so much can be so profoundly unhappy.
His cock throbs inside me, pushing at my oversensitive inner walls, which is enough to finally push me over the edge. The orgasm rips through me with enough force to tear me apart, as if I’m being broken down and remade into something new and unrecognizable. I nearly pass out from the strength of it and end up floating in an only partly conscious state as I slowly come back to earth.
He collapses on top of me with a heavy groan, but it isn’t an unwelcome weight. We stay locked together as his forehead comes to rest on the pillow beside my head. His breathing slowly returns to normal but doesn’t make a move to get off of the bed and I wonder if he has fallen asleep.
Reality feels moments from crashing into me and I don’t want to let it, but I don’t have a choice.
My head turns away from him to face the far wall as I try to ignore the steady rhythm of his heart against mine as they beat in near unison. There are a pair of guitars hanging on the wall, but they’re old and beat-up as if they’ve been well used. It’s a little strange to see something like that used as decoration.
“I didn’t know you played,” I say, voice hushed.
He replies without lifting his head from the pillow, voice muffled. “There are a lot of things you don’t know about me. And those used to belong to my dad.”
“Do you miss him?”
“What kind of question is that?” But despite the harsh words, he doesn’t sound angry. It’s as if we’re still caught in that post-orgasmic haze where everything feels distant and muted. “I haven’t seen him in over a year, so what do you think?”
“Are you going to tell me what happened with him?”
“Jesus, you are relentless.” Asher does lever himself up then and glares down at me, expression dark. “There is so much more going on here then you know. I tried to keep you out of it, but you won’t stop pushing. You won’t just let it go and save yourself.”
“Maybe I’m not just out for myself. You know, because I actually have a soul.” I snap right back at him. It’s ridiculous how much that seems to be the general way of things with the students at Black Lake — every man for himself. If it’s meant to be a microcosm of the rest of society, no wonder the world is such a fucked up place. “We had a deal.”
“You play like such a good girl, but here you are fucking a guy for information.”
“I didn’t fuck you for information. I did it because…” I trail off, not trusting myself to finish that sentence.
“Because you wanted to,” he says for me, green eyes so sharp they pierce right through me. “Does that make it easier for you, or harder?”
Instead of answering, I roll of the bed and start yanking my clothes back on. “Just tell me if Trish can trust your father or not.”
“Of course, she can’t trust him. She shouldn’t trust any of us. My father is only out for himself and he learned everything he knows at the feet of a master, just like I did.”
A shiver runs through me at the coldness in his tone, despite the warmth of the room. “You mean Carter?”
“I tried to warn you away, tried to scare you away. But if you don’t have the sense to know when it’s time to run, then I can’t help you.” Asher gets up then and starts pulling on his clothes. The sudden loss of his weight and heat leaves me feeling bereft. I have to bite my tongue to stop myself from begging him to come back. “You can’t trust a Bellamy. Remember that, or you’ll end up in trouble.”
And I can’t help but wonder to what extent he includes himself in that warning.
I gather up my clothes slowly, not hesitating because I want to stay but because it’s somehow difficult to coordinate my movements, as if my mind is in a confused haze. It takes every ounce of mental energy that I have to tug my pajama shirt and pants haphazardly into place then take one shaking step after another towards the door.
Neither of us says anything else as I slip out of his room and head back to mine. There’s light visible under the guest room door where Charlie is sleeping and I can only hope that she left it on after falling asleep.
The sky outside my window is still dark, but dawn is mere hours away. And then everyone will be up, filling the house with noise and movement while I try to make sense of my new reality.
If I wasn’t so sticky and sore between my thighs, I could almost convince myself that I imagined all of it. But no, I fucked Asher Bellamy. The guy whose family I’m related to by marriage and who has spent the last two months doing his level best to make my life a living hell.
What the fuck was I thinking?
But that’s the truth of it, I wasn’t thinking. Nothing rational exists between us, it’s all emotion and instinct.
Hate isn’t that far removed from other sorts of passion.
Chapter 16
I’ve kept myself sane by pretending that last night never happened. Asher seems to be engaging in the same mental gymnastics because he barely says a word to me as all of us sit down for breakfast, averting his eyes whenever our gazes happen to meet.
The rest of the weekend passes without significant incident, although I find myself dodging the guys and hanging out with Charlie in my room.
I finally spill the beans to her as we ride back in the town car to campus. I’d briefly met the drive who seemed nice enough, but I make a point of closing the divider before I say a word. The man works for the Bellamy family after all. I have no idea how Carter would take the knowledge that his new step-daughter slept with his grandson in his own house.
It sounds pretty damn bad when you put it like that and I can’t stop another streak of shame from moving through me.
And things don’t exactly get better as Charlie stares at me with wide eyes and her mouth agape.
“You cannot be fucking serious?”
“Please don’t make me feel worse about it.”
Her face is blank and I can’t read whatever emotion swirls in her eyes. “But, why? I thought you guys hated each other.”
“We did. I mean, we do.”
“You do realize that makes no sense, right?”
Collapsing back against the sumptuous leather seats, I wave my hand around the interior of the town car. There’s a little glass cabinet across from us with a set of glassware in sunken holders and various bottle of liquor. “Nothing about my life has made sense from the day Trish married Carter. I’m a girl from the Bronx, look where I am right now.”
“I just can’t believe you would do that, after everything that’s happened.”
I can’t help but feel a little defensive a
t the judgmental tone in her voice. “It’s not that big a deal. Asher won’t say anything.”
“There are no such things as secrets at Black Lake Prep.” Her hands are clenched tightly together in her lap, enough that her knuckles turn white. “I’ve worked really hard to help you survive here and now you’re just about to throw all of it away.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Every single thing you do has consequences,” Charlie says. She turns to stare out the window so I can no longer see her face. “I just hope that you can live with whatever yours will be for this.”
I don’t understand why she seems so bent out of shape about it. Obviously, screwing Asher was a mistake. But it’s my mistake, not hers. “Why do you even care? Do you like him, or something?”
Charlie turns her head back so quickly that it’s a wonder the movement doesn’t give her whiplash. Anger flashes in her eyes before she manages to school her expression. “No, I don’t have designs on Asher Bellamy. Not all of us are so desperate to bag a Diamond.”
Her words feel like a punch to the gut. “I can’t believe you just said that to me. I’m not trying to bag anyone.”
“I’m not jealous,” she snaps. “I’m just sick of watching you make a fool of yourself.”
“Wow.”
“I’m just saying that if you’re not careful people will start to think you’re trying to live up to that nickname Asher loves so much.”
And now I’m the one getting pissed off. “I’m not a fucking gold digger.”
“I know that.” Charlie sighs and turns back to the window, body tense. “Look, I’m sorry, okay. Let’s just not talk about it anymore.”
The rest of the ride passes in tense silence while I try to figure out what we’re even arguing about here. Maybe Charlie really is carrying a secret torch for Asher, that’s the only explanation that I can think of for the way she’s acting.
Part of me wants to tell her that she’s welcome to him, but that thought doesn’t really sit well me with in the way I’d like it to. As much as I recognize that Asher would be the worst thing to ever happen to me, I don’t want to see him with somebody else.