The night after our run-in at the pool, I went back, because he was right—apparently, I really am a silly little masochist. I told myself it was because I refused to let him bully me out of my favorite hobby, but deep down in the blackest part of my soul, I think I was hoping he’d be there. It was a relief, both mentally and emotionally, when he wasn’t.
Unfortunately, neither was Liam.
I was surprised at how disappointed I was that he wasn’t there. The pool seemed too quiet without him splashing nearby, and when I took my breaks in between sets, I hung on the lane rope in silence, feeling strangely lonely.
When I returned the next night, there was still no Liam. Or the night after that. I began to look for him around campus as inconspicuously as I could so that it didn’t appear as though I were searching for Saint instead. In our English class, whenever I glanced his way, he was always looking anywhere but at me. I began to think he was purposefully ignoring me.
The thought … hurt.
A week passed, and I finally accepted that Liam wasn’t coming back to swim with me. The realization comes to me as I’m sitting on the edge of the pool, staring down into the water, feeling sorry for myself. I don’t really feel like swimming today, but still came in hopes that he might be here. He’s not, of course, which makes me feel foolish and pathetic. He’d made his loyalties perfectly clear when he’d shot down my request for help, but then when he’d saved me from the fire at the beach, I began to hope that maybe—just maybe—some small part of him actually cared.
I let out a sigh and wonder if I should just go back to my dorm and call it a night.
The sudden noise of the doors swinging open behind me has my heart racing with excitement as I whirl around to see who’s interrupted my alone time.
“Lia—?” His name dies on my lips when I see Saint striding toward me with an arrogant grin. I quickly push to my feet to face him, refusing to be at a disadvantage with him.
He stops in front of me and tilts his head, one light brown brow rising.
“You look disappointed, Ellis,” he rasps, then clutches dramatically at his chest. “You’re killing me.”
“What are you doing here?” He hasn’t bothered me here all week. He hasn’t really bothered me anywhere on campus, and I’d hoped my strategy to ignore him was working.
“How else am I supposed to get your attention? You’ve really left me no choice but to hunt you down. I don’t like having to hunt down anything.”
“Why?” Why me? Why is he so obsessed with making me miserable?
He chuckles. “I told you, you’re mine to do with as I please. I don’t need another reason.”
I want to scream at him that he does fucking need another reason for making my life a living hell, but I keep my lips sealed. It’s what he wants, after all. For me to make a scene and show him just how deep his claws are sunk into me.
I won’t let you win, you bastard.
He glances around the room before turning his gaze back on me.
“Seems … quiet in here.”
My nostrils flare with my agitated breaths. “What does that mean? Were you expecting a marching band or something?”
Casting me a tight smile, he begins walking in a slow circle around me. “You must be lonely here since your fuck buddy stopped coming in for his nightly jackoff.”
My heart begins pounding so loudly, I hear it in my ears. “What the hell are you talking about?” I demand. Has Liam been spreading rumors about me?
Saint stops moving when he’s standing behind and leans down so his mouth is right at my ear. “Did it feel good? Getting fucked by him? Did he make you come, Ellis? Did you scream his name while he—”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” I spin around in my rage to face him, and too late realize he’s still leaning down close to me. My breath hitches. We’re mere centimeters apart from each other, and I stiffen, horrified by how tempted I am to close the distance between our bodies.
He’s glaring death at me, and I don’t understand why he’s so angry, no more than I understand the electricity pulsing in my veins thanks to his proximity. He doesn’t move back. He stays close as he demands, “What do you miss more? Liam’s cock? His tongue? What about his fingers?”
I let out a squeak when his hand reaches around and cups one of my butt cheeks, his fingers digging under my swimsuit. His touch is rough and possessive. I almost lose my balance and fall into his chest. I’m overwhelmed by everything he’s saying and doing, and it takes me several seconds to come up with any type of response.
“I-I’m not … I’m not sleeping with Liam,” I stutter, then wince at how breathless I sound.
“Liar.” His voice rumbles like distant thunder, and I shiver.
“If he’s been telling people—”
“He hasn’t,” he cuts me off. “I’m just not an idiot.”
I lick my lips and try to understand what is happening here. Why is he doing this to me? Why’s he so pissed off at the idea of me and Liam together? Because he hates me so much? Because he doesn’t want his friend tainting himself with the trash he wants gone?
Then why’s he touching me like this?
“A-are you … jealous, Saint?”
My question is a whisper that shocks us both. He stares down at me with wide eyes, and I’m frozen in place as I wait for him to say something in response.
At last, his eyes narrow to icy slits.
“Why the fuck would I be jealous of Liam railing your skinny ass?”
“I don’t know, Saint. Why would you be jealous?” I feel strangely bold as I meet his gaze. I don’t know why, but maybe it has something to do with his hand on my ass and his lips hovering over mine. He’s tense, like he’s holding himself back from something, and it’s taking a considerable amount of strength to do so.
“You’re a little cock-tease, aren’t you, little masochist?”
He’s avoiding answering me, insulting me instead. I’m onto his game, though. I’m beginning to see the cracks in his armor. If I chip at them long enough, will I shatter him?
“Is that why you fuck with me?” I murmur, letting my hand fall to his thigh. His whole body goes rigid at my touch, and his jaw tightens. “You want me all to yourself?”
He rips his hand from my ass only to wrap his fingers around my throat. He doesn’t choke me, but it’s just like the times he’s grabbed my hair. He’s trying to remind me who’s really in charge here.
I refuse to cower in front of him, though. Instead of shrinking away from his grip, I inch my hand higher up his leg. His fingers tighten ever so slightly, and we’re stuck in a wicked game of chicken as we push each other. When his thumb strokes my bottom lip, my mouth falls open slightly.
“It’d be better for you to stay away from Liam,” he snarls. “I don’t share well, and until I’m done with you, no one else is allowed to touch you, and you’re not allowed to put your trailer trash mouth on anyone else.”
“You can’t tell me what to do,” I insist, but a voice whispers in the back of my mind that he can.
He tilts my chin up, and for one terrible but thrilling moment, I think he might actually do it. He might actually kiss me.