by Ivy Fox
However, now that she believes herself safe from his threats, Addison has the nerve to scoff at Rome’s warning, making me wonder if the Queen Bee of Pembroke High is so bored with her life that she deems death a more exciting alternative.
“It was one thing when you were fucking my father, but fucking with Holland is going to land you in a world of hurt. I swear on my mother’s soul, if I find out you were behind this, I will ruin you!”
“Rome,” Ollie reprimands cautiously, tilting his head to the current onlookers.
And that’s when we realize that Reid isn’t the only one who jumped on stage to come to Addison’s rescue. Her mom and Senator Hurst are now beside her, too, complete shock ingrained in their expressions at Rome’s disgusting revelation of their daughter being romantically involved with the great Judge Grayson.
“You’re lying,” Reid croaks before turning his attention to Asher for confirmation that what Rome just said couldn’t possibly be true.
Unfortunately for him, when Ash nods, head bowed, everyone here becomes aware that his sister carried out an affair with her ex-boyfriend’s father behind his back.
Everyone is on bated breath, waiting to get more seedy dirt on the perverse relationship, when we hear Elle yelling from the auditorium’s exit, saying that Holland’s ambulance has already left to Liberty General. Throughout the commotion, I didn’t even see her move along with the EMTs as they took Holland away.
I ball my hands into fists when I see she’s not alone.
Saint is right there next to her.
Stealing my spot and my girl in just one move.
Thirty minutes later, I’m still fuming with unrestrained rage, hurriedly walking down the long hospital corridor in search of my girl.
But she’s not the one I find first.
He is.
Saint.
He’s here.
He’s here for my heart.
For my Elle.
Fury—like none I have ever felt before—possesses me, making me run straight at him.
“The fuck are you still doing here?!” I growl, shoving him in his chest.
“The fuck do you think?!” he mimics, pushing me back with the same uninhibited force. “I’m here for Holland.”
“Like you give a shit about Holland,” I sneer, while Saint’s nostrils flare in disgust at my remark.
“Don’t tell me who I do or do not care about, Boy Scout. You fucking lost that right.”
When I feel curious stares on us, I realize this is not a conversation we should be having out in the open like this. This is a hospital, for crying out loud, not one of those reality TV shows you binge-watch, expecting for things to implode. If I continue this convo with Saint, I can’t guarantee that one of us won’t lose it and start throwing punches. And if that happens, someone is bound to call security and kick us out for sure. Then Elle will end up having no one in her corner.
I look left and right until I find an emergency exit. I pull Saint by the arm and push the door closed once we’re alone in the stairwell.
“I’m getting really sick and tired of you manhandling me, Blondie. That shit is only sexy in the sack, not in fucking real life,” he grunts, taking three strides back to make sure we keep a wide berth from one another. “I’ve been trying to play nice with you, but one day I’ll push back, and you won’t like it.”
“I don’t give a fuck. That’s not why I brought you over here.”
“No? Then what is?”
“I want you to tell the truth to my face.” I slap my cheek to drive the point home. “Holland isn’t the only reason why you’re here, is it?”
“You’re right. She’s not.” He straightens his spine, jutting out his square jaw. “Princess is pretty shaken up. Someone needs to be here for her.”
“And who says that someone should be you? I’m the one who has always been by her side whenever she needed someone. Me!” I yell, yanking on my hair so hard, a few blond strands come out at their roots.
“You’re fucking losing it, Boy Scout. You know that, right?” he goads with a snarl.
I bow my head down, so I’m not tempted to look him in the eye. If I do, it will only feed my ravenous desire to tear him limb from limb.
“You have no idea what she needs. How to comfort her. I do,” I explain on a ragged breath.
“Oh, that’s right. I totally forgot you two have been linked at the hip since forever. That’s why you think you’re such an expert on what Princess needs, right?”
“Stop baiting me, Saint.” I shake my head, my eyes still glued to the vinyl tile floor, my hands already squeezing into two fists at my sides.
“It’s an easy mistake to make. You two have been in sync for so long, it’s easy to think you can fall back into old habits. But you’ve been trying for over a month now, and nothing is working in your favor, is it?”
“I said stop it, Santiago.”
“It must eat you up inside that you’re the odd man out. That you two no longer have your little silent conversations just by looking into each other’s eyes. That when she looks at you, all she sees is a stranger. A stranger who has no idea what really goes through her mind. What she wants. What she truly craves.”
“Stop it, Saint. I’m fucking warning you.”
I know he’s doing this on purpose. Coercing me to lose my godforsaken mind and hit him. Because while I might have lost my way with Elle, never finding the right words that would penetrate her closed-off heart, Saint and I have created a new language of our own—one that involves fists, sweat, and blood. And by the way my cock is hardening, one of these fights will end with me nine inches deep inside him.
“Remember that night you told me you wanted to lick the tears off her cheek?” he whispers softly, his words feeling like pure velvet around my cock. “Do you want me to tell you how sweet they tasted on my tongue? Because I can. Unlike you, I know the real Elle. She’s embedded herself under my skin, and not you or any other motherfucker can tell me what she needs. Because you don’t know. I do.”
Rage blinds me, and before I know it, I’ve slammed him up against the wall.
“You couldn’t leave her alone, could you? You just had to take what’s mine!”
“Newsflash, Boy Scout. She was never yours. You never claimed her, remember? You were too chickenshit to make up your goddamn mind, so I made it for you!”
“I hate you!” I growl, denying the ache in my heart.
“Good. I don’t give a fuck anymore. I’m tired of your mind games. You’re cold one minute and hot the next. It’s giving me fucking whiplash, and I’m over it.”
“That makes two of us.”
“When did I ever fuck with you?”
“You’re doing it right now. You’re fucking with my head on purpose.”
“Good. It’s about time you know how it feels. How do you like a taste of your own medicine? Tastes bitter, doesn’t it? That’s what you get for playing with people’s hearts.”
“I wasn’t trying to play with yours. I was trying to protect it.”
“Liar!” The words have barely ripped from his throat when he slams his fist into my face, making my eyes grow wide in surprise.
I place two fingers on my busted-up lip and see the blood trickling down them. It’s warm to the touch, and suddenly I don’t feel so lost anymore. I feel a burst of energy run through me, making me swing my own fist into his jaw. And before we can make heads or tails of it, we launch at each other, trying to do as much damage on the outside as we feel on the inside.
Every swing feels like a blessed escape.
Every punch and cut the release I have been craving for weeks now.
His fist lands on my busted lip again, the acrid taste of copper filling my mouth has me smiling from ear to ear. He’s bigger than me, stronger, and if he wanted, he could deliver a blow hard enough for me to drop to the floor. Yet, it’s my thirst for this type of pain that makes me a worthy opponent. I d
on’t back down. I let him punish my body while I try to rearrange his. We only stop when I have him pinned to the wall, his arms clutched above his head in my grip. We’re out of breath, panting hard as we stare daggers at one another. But all it takes is his black eyes falling to my busted lip for me to crash my mouth onto his. My cock strains against my pants, the heat of his hard-on pressed against mine making me delirious. Our hands are restless, trying to take our clothes off as we deepen the maddening kiss.
Just like my love for Saint, even kissing him hurts.
Yet, I muster through, unable to stop my need for more, my need for him. Our tongues thrash with one another, blood and saliva all mingled into one perfect concoction.
“Boy Scout,” he mewls into my mouth while I shove down his pants and boxers just enough for my hand to grip his cock.
He hisses at my touch while he pulls my own boxers down, wrapping his hand around the base of my steel shaft. My eyes instantly fall to the back of my head with his hard grip.
But it’s not enough.
I need to be closer to him.
I need to feel his body.
Own it.
Cherish it and ruin it, all in the same breath.
I break our kiss to pull his white-collar shirt off, kissing his chest as I make my way down to his navel.
“Fuck,” he growls when my tongue swipes over his crown.
In one fluid move, I take him into the back of my throat, his fingers entwined in my hair to set the pace. I let him use my mouth for his own pleasure as it fuels my own depraved desires, heightening them to the point of pain. Every moan that falls from his lips tastes just as sweet to my taste buds as his swollen cock does. I look up at him, and for a second, I don’t see the hate he touted to feel.
All I see is love.
My heart swells when he slams his fists against the wall, yelling that he’s about to cum. On that note, I let go of his cock and stand up, his half-mast eyes growing wide in confusion. I spin him around, face-first against the wall, much like I did that time in the locker room showers, and kick his feet apart.
“Boy Scout?” he asks nervously, aware of my unspoken intentions.
I spit into my hand and start playing with his puckered hole, snaking my other arm around his waist until his cock is firmly in my grasp. Slowly I begin to jack him off as I lean into the crook of his neck, my ragged breath creating goosebumps on his skin.
“I’m going to fuck the hate out of you, and you’re going to thank me for it.”
The moan he tries to stifle only adds to my lust-filled urge to split him open and dive so deep inside him that, no matter how hard he tries, he’ll never be able to eradicate me from his soul.
I’ll be forever in his system, my love and hate running through his veins, pumping my desire into his heart and branding him mine.
“Do you still hate me?” I ask, the tone of my voice a live wire of need.
“Yes.”
“But you’re going to let me fuck you anyway, aren’t you?”
He lets his temple fall to the wall, closing his eyes in shame.
“Yes.”
“That’s what I thought.”
I sink my teeth into his shoulder, stretching him out with my digits. Saint bites down on his inner cheek, trying to contain his wails for my intrusion, while I keep pumping his dick in my hand, offering a slice of pleasure with the pain. Once his muscles relax, and his breathing picks up, I remove my fingers from his ass and tease his crack with the tip of my cock, my precum and spit the only lubricant I need. I feel his body tense up again, and I wait for the dreaded words asking me to stop to leave his luscious mouth. When he makes no attempt to deny me entrance, I breech his ring, Saint’s lids shutting down in pain, while mine close in utter ecstasy. He continues to breathe through his discomfort, and although I should take pleasure in his suffering, that’s the last thing I want.
I let go of his hip and pull his chin to the side to face me.
“Look at me.”
His eyelids open just a fraction, fear and excitement of the unknown bleeding through the small slits.
With my gaze never leaving his, I softly lick his bottom lip until he gasps from the tender gesture, letting my tongue invade his mouth. This kiss is different from the ones we shared just a minute ago.
It’s sweet. Loving.
It’s a promise.
A silent promise that I will only take what he gives me.
That through his pain, I’ll give him pleasure, too.
He melts into the kiss, placing his hand over mine to aid in stroking his cock. He keeps his eyes on me at all times as I move another centimeter into him.
“Fuck.”
“Do you want me to go slower?” I ask with a gruff, deep voice.
“No, Boy Scout. Just rip the fucking band-aid off already.”
I nod, my soft, sullen gaze thanking him for the offering of his body, when just months ago, I had his heart. Sweat coats his brow, and the yearning in his beautiful, black abyss urges me to continue. I push myself inside him in one quick thrust, his hole squeezing my cock so deliciously it’s a wonder I don’t combust.
“Fuck. You feel so fucking good,” I praise into his mouth, not moving an inch until his shoulders relax.
Once his body tells me it’s ready for my onslaught, I slam my cock into him, over and over again until it touches that pressure point inside him that has him grunting in ecstasy. The instant he begins to seek me out, his hips rolling back into me, begging to be fucked hard and passionately, I know I won’t be able to last long. Not like this. Not when this is as close as I have been able to be with Saint for what feels like an eternity now.
“Saint.” I pant, so close to falling over the precipice that I’m not even sure where he begins and I end anymore.
“Boy Scout,” he whispers into my ear, with the same loving adoration in his voice that my heart has been deprived of for so long.
It’s too much.
It’s too fucking much.
And with one last fierce kiss, I cum inside him, his own release now dripping down my fingers.
It’s hot, and it’s messy.
But then again, so is our relationship.
With my face hidden in the crook of his neck, my grip on his hips tightens, not wanting to let this moment pass.
Because once it does, we will have to face the stark truth of the current reality we’re living in.
He might have given me his body, but his heart is no longer mine to possess.
It’s hers.
He hasn’t admitted it to me yet, but I know love when I see it.
I know the spark in your eye that you get from loving a girl like Elle.
And to my bitter resentment, Saint now holds that gleam in his eyes that I used to pride myself in having.
As if he heard the tumultuous thoughts running through my head, he pushes me away and begins to clean himself up to the best of his ability. Taking a page from his book, I begin to put my clothes back on while sneaking glances at him.
‘I’m sorry,’ I want to tell him.
I need you.
Don’t give up on me.
Please.
Don’t let me live like this without you.
I can’t stand it.
All these words are lodged in my throat, burning a hole through it, but not one of them dare come out. And to my overwhelming sorrow, Saint refuses to say a word to me in return either. In complete mournful silence, we leave the stairwell, only to come face to face with the object of our affection and conflict.
Elle takes one long look at us and grimaces. She stares at our ruffled hair, our sweaty brows, and our swollen lips, and puts two and two together.
“Elle?” I plead anxiously, my gaze bouncing off of her and Saint.
“Go home. The both of you. Just… just go home.”
Chapter 9
Elle
Christmas miracles usually don’t in
volve death.
But in our family, that’s exactly what we wished for.
It’s the present under the Christmas tree that my brothers and I have been patiently waiting to unwrap for months now.
My father is finally dead.
I should feel something just thinking those words, shouldn’t I?
I mean, it’s what’s expected of me. Yet, I don’t feel a thing.
But then again, I haven’t felt anything for a while now.
I listen to Rome make the preparations for our father’s wake, and feel numb to it all. I just want him buried and gone—to forget the vile, wretched man ever existed in the first place. How different my life would have been if he had never existed. Maybe my mother would have found someone who actually cared about her. She’d still be alive, healthy, and happy, and my brothers and I would have had a father that actually loved us.
Instead, I’m down to zero parents now.
One couldn’t handle being imprisoned in her golden cage for another minute, and the other, karma finally decided to step in and snuffed the life out of him.
I stifle a nervous laugh at the thought.
The great Judge Malcolm Grayson’s downfall finally arrived when he got drunk, slipped, and hit his head one fateful night. That’s what got him in the end—an extra glass of whiskey and a side table. How anticlimactic that that’s the way he went out.
Truth be told, I always assumed one of us would finish him. Either me or Rome, most likely, since the twins have too much of our mother in them to be that ruthless. And from recent revelations, my older brother had more motive than most to want to rid the world of such a man.
I still can’t believe he slept with Addison, of all people. That my father was the reason behind Rome breaking it off with her his senior year of high school. What kind of man sleeps with his son’s girlfriend anyway? I knew he was a monster, but I never truly understood how deep his depravity went. A part of me actually feels sorry for Addison. He must have messed with her head pretty badly if she willingly gave herself up to such a loathsome creature. But I’ve got more important burdens to bear than waste my time feeling sorry for a girl who wouldn’t think twice about hurting the ones I love.
