What in the world is wrong with him?
“You sound downright jealous, Savage,” he taunts.
“And you sound like an asshole, Lancaster,” I toss back at him.
His gaze dims. “You have a smart mouth.”
“So do you.” My voice is cool and I fold my arms so he won’t see my shaking hands.
A sigh escapes him and he paces around the room. I think of our first night together. How it was a realization.
We were alike. In the scariest way possible.
When he still hasn’t said anything, I speak up.
“Why did you summon me?”
He stops his pacing, turning to look at me. “Summon you? Is that what you call it?”
“You gave me no choice.”
“You always have a choice.” He approaches me slowly, stopping directly in front of me. He’s wearing black sweatpants and a white T-shirt. His hair is still damp, and he smells fresh and clean, as if he just came out of the shower. I want to shove my face into his neck and inhale him, but I restrain myself. “You don’t have to come here.”
I lift my chin, my gaze meeting his. “That’s not true.”
“It is. Like I said, you always have a choice. But you want to be here. With me.”
I don’t say a word.
“I fucked you earlier. Was that not enough?” He raises a brow.
“You’re the one who demanded I come to you,” I remind him. “So maybe you should answer that question yourself.”
His chest rises and falls, his breathing shallow. His frustration is a living, breathing thing, swirling around us, and I wonder what’s bothering him.
What did I do to him? What happened earlier at the crumbling building was no different from any of our other experiences together. I don’t know how many more times I have to do this for him until he’ll return my journal to me.
Maybe it’s not even about the journal anymore. Maybe it’s about something else.
Something more.
“Drop your pants and bend over the chair,” he demands and I startle, shocked by his request.
“Why?” I ask quietly, not able to contain the tremble in my voice. My ass is killing me. I picked out tiny bits of rocks that were embedded in my skin in the shower earlier, and I have a bruise on my right butt cheek that’s going to make sitting on those hard desk chairs in class extra difficult for the next few days.
All thanks to the way he brutally fucked me against that ledge. And while I could accuse him of hurting me and taking me against my will, we both know none of that is true. I wanted it.
I wanted him.
“Just do it,” he says.
“Why?” I ask again. If he threatens to spank me or whatever other deviant thing he has in mind, I’m going to have to refuse him.
I won’t be able to take it, no matter how much I want to.
“I want to see…” His voice drifts and he throws his head back, staring at the ceiling. “I want to see what I did to you earlier.”
“Oh.” My heart squeezes. I’m confused, but I go along with what he asks, going to the chair that’s pushed in close to his desk. I shove my leggings and thong down all in one push, so they puddle around my feet and I slowly bend over, showing him the damage.
He sucks in a breath, and I feel his hand come close. I wince, bracing myself, but his touch is surprisingly gentle. He traces a scratch. Another one. He touches a particularly deep one and I hiss. He draws the perimeter of my bruise. He exerts no pressure, his fingers a soft caress upon my skin and I close my eyes, savoring it.
This means nothing, I tell myself. He just wants to see his destruction. Revel in it. And that’s okay. He doesn’t feel bad for what he did to me, and I guess he shouldn’t. I agreed. He just wants to look at it. Maybe he even wants to take a photo of my scraped and bruised flesh as a keepsake.
“I hurt you,” he says, his voice raw.
“You’ve hurt me before,” I remind him, ducking my head when his fingers come closer to the spot between my legs.
“I’ve never marked you like this.” He smooths his hand over my butt, the touch somehow more intimate than usual. “Are you okay?”
I remind my riotous thoughts to calm down. He doesn’t care.
He doesn’t. Care.
“I’m fine.” I open my eyes and stare at his desk. There’s a stack of papers sitting on top of it. A haphazard pile of textbooks. A familiar, battered black journal tucked at the bottom of the stack.
My journal.
I stand up straight and turn on him, not caring that I’m basically half-naked. “I want my journal.”
He blinks, and it’s as if his face transforms into an impenetrable mask. “No.”
“Give it back to me.” Anger rises and my voice is fierce. “Haven’t I done enough?”
“No,” he says, stepping closer. “You haven’t. You always seem to forget your place when it comes to me.”
“Trust me, I haven’t forgotten,” I spit at him, hating the disdain that drips in his words. “We’ve been doing this—whatever it is for a while now. I think I’ve paid back my debt.”
I don’t even know why I owe him anymore. What we do is like a game. I’m just a toy he enjoys playing with before he sets me back on the shelf and forgets all about me.
“You haven’t even come close to repaying what you owe me.” He cups my chin, reminding me of how he touched me earlier. Everything within me comes alive at first contact and I’m trembling. My nipples harden beneath my T-shirt. I didn’t wear a bra.
I’d hoped for something to happen between us. I’m that sick.
That needy.
He tilts my head back, his examining gaze trailing over my face. “I did some online searching earlier. Regarding your mother.”
I press my lips together so I don’t say anything.
“You look so much like her, it’s eerie. I see why my father fucked her for so long.” He leans in to breathe the next words across my mouth. “And why I fuck you.”
I blink at him. Where is this coming from? We haven’t talked about our parents in a while. In Whit’s eyes, I’m still the whore daughter of the whore mother who destroyed his family.
“You only do this with me to get back at your father?”
I don’t believe him.
“Your mother ruined my parents’ marriage,” he reminds me.
“I think that marriage was ruined long before my mother came along,” I retort.
His face hardens. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Neither do you.” I pause. “I want my journal back.”
“No.”
“I’ve done enough with you.”
“You’ve barely scratched the surface.”
“Fine.” I yank my face out of his grip and take off my T-shirt. Kick my leggings and thong away from my ankles. Until I’m standing before him completely naked. “Is this what you want?”
He says nothing, but I see the hunger simmer in his gaze. Mine drops to the front of his joggers. I can see the outline of his cock. He wants me.
Nothing new there.
Lifting my chin, I march over to his bed and sprawl across it. My legs spread wide so he can see all of me. I’m wet, but I don’t care. We’re beyond humiliation now. I lie there, spread-eagled and vulnerable just for him. My ass smarts, but I ignore it. I want him to fuck me.