I grit my teeth, my stomach clenching. “You’re disgusting,” I spit.
“Maybe, but don’t pretend it doesn’t make you wet.” One of his hands presses against my belly, then slowly slides down to the waistband of the jeans I’d changed into after class.
My heart flip-flops, and my breathing grows shallow as he undoes the button of my pants and pulls the zipper down. He holds my gaze, as if daring me to look away or tell him to stop. I know I should. I should shove his hand away and tell him to fuck off, but I can’t deny how much I want his touch. It’s terrible of me, it really is. The last thing in the world I should want is his hands on me, but I’m helpless against him. My body wants this, and right now, it’s in charge, not my reason.
Once he’s opened my pants, he slips his hand inside, past my underwear.
“What did you do to Jon Eric?” I ask breathlessly, making one last ditch effort to reclaim control of this situation.
“Scream for me, and I’ll tell you,” he growls, his finger dipping between my legs.
I gasp at the shot of pleasure that pulses through me. “I don’t want to play your games, Saint.”
But even I’m not convinced by my words.
His lips curl into a cocky half-grin. “Then ask me to stop, Mallory. Tell me to stop touching you, and I will.”
I stare into his eyes, and there’s a challenge gleaming in his gaze. He wants me to back down. To chicken out and walk away, but I couldn’t even if I wanted to. His fingers begin lazily petting my pussy as he waits for me to reply.
“Fuck you, Saint,” I breath.
His grin widens. “As you wish.”
With a jerk of his hand, he shoves my jeans and panties further down my legs and then cups me with his whole palm. My head falls back against the lockers as he slides first one, then two fingers into me. With his other hand, he pushes up my shirt and tugs my bra down to free my breasts.
He licks along my throat as he pinches one of my nipples and pumps his fingers in and out of me. It feels so good, I can’t stop my hips from undulating, desperate for more of his touch.
“Saint,” I breath, bringing my hand up to hook my fingers in his hair.
“Scream for me,” he says again. “Scream my name when you come and remind yourself who you belong to. Who owns you, little masochist?”
I shake my head, refusing to say the words.
His thumb brushes my clit as he works his fingers faster and faster.
“Say it, Mallory. Out loud. Who owns you? Who will always own you, no matter where you go?”
He’s relentless, tormenting me as he pleasures me. My muscles tighten as I begin the ascent toward my peak. It’s been so long—so damn long—I know that when I tip over the edge, it’s going to be devastating. And yet, I want it so badly. I’m moaning uncontrollably, lost in the sensations he’s pulling from my body.
Just as I’m about to reach that point of utter bliss, however, his hand stills.
“What?” I rasp. “What’re you doing?”
His lips are at my ear when he answers, “You don’t get to come until you do what I say. Be my good girl and tell me who you belong to.”
I growl in frustration and try to press myself harder against his hand, but he holds himself back so I can’t even grind against him.
“Fuck, Saint, please…” I hate that I’m begging him, but my orgasm is right there!
“You want it? You know what you need to do.”
I could just walk away, I know that. Go back to my room and finish myself off. That thought seems too disappointing, however, and I’m tired of being let down. I don’t want my fingers, I want his, and the fucker knows it.
Damn it. He’s sucking me right back into his stupid games, and I’m too weak to resist letting him win.
“You, Saint,” I growl, glaring at him. “You own me, fucker. Now let me come!”
“Good girl,” he smirks and slips his fingers back inside me. He begins pumping relentlessly, his thumb rubbing tight circles over my clit, and I’m wound so tight, it’s only seconds before I’m exploding in his arms.
I scream his name, just like he wanted me to, and he drags my orgasm out of me until I’m sore and can’t take it anymore.
When I come back down to earth, I slump against the lockers, panting and sweating. I wince as Saint slowly removes his fingers, and as he holds my gaze, he puts them in his mouth and sucks them clean.
Then he licks his lips and grins. “Fuck, I missed the way you taste.”
My heart thumps wildly at the sight, at his words, and even though I’ve just come, I feel a tingling deep in my core already. I grit my teeth, however, and raise my chin, pretending his touch hasn’t affected me as much as it did.
”A deal’s a deal,” I hiss. “Tell me what you did to Jon Eric.”
Chuckling, Saint steps away from me, and I feel suddenly cold and exposed. I yank my shirt back in place and hurry to button my pants as I wait for his response.
“I’ve got no idea what happened to that fat fuck,” he says.
I gape at him. “Wh-what?”
He snatches a shirt from the bench, draws it over his head, then shrugs. “I don’t know where he is.”
Anger and shame burn through me as I stare at him in disbelief. “You … you lied to me.”
He shakes his head. “Technically, I didn’t, but you weren’t exactly complaining when you were drenching my fingers, were you?”
I step into him and slam my fist into his chest, but that only makes him laugh harder. “You sonofabitch. I ha—”
“Yeah, yeah, I get it. You hate me. The feeling is mutual, Ellis.” He brushes my hands away, his lips curving into an amused smirk. “Still, no matter how you feel about me, we both know no one can make you come as hard as I can.”
“You’re evil,” I snarl.
“And we’re done here,” he replies, waving his hand at me. “You can go.”
“Don’t ever touch me again,” I growl, turning to storm away.
Just before I turn the corner to hurry from the locker room, Saint says, “Mallory, one more thing.”
I stop and glance at him, even though he doesn’t deserve any further attention from me.
“What?” I spit.
His expression suddenly darkens, and his tone turns ice cold as he responds, “I don’t know what happened to Jon Eric, but I hope it was terrible. And I hope what happens to Porter is worse.”
His words and the look in his eyes send a shiver crawling down my spine. He turns his back to me and as he begins to dig through his locker, I regain my ability to think straight and turn to run from the locker room before he can change his mind and pull me back in for another round of his fucked-up mind games.
I’m still angry and on edge from my encounter with Saint that night when I go to the pool. I’m also deeply ashamed of myself. How do I keep letting this happen? How do I keep giving him so much power over me?
I have terrible taste in men, I eventually decide. First, I fall for Dylan, who I thought was so charming and mature. In reality, he’s a short-tempered creep with a stubborn revenge streak that could ruin my life. Then, I lose myself to Saint. Unlike Dylan, however, I never thought Saint was charming, or good in anyway. I’ve always known he’s a bad guy, which makes our on-again-off-again bullshit relationship that much more fucked up.