Riot House (Crooked Sinners Book 1)

by Callie Hart

  Wren steps closer, the soles of his boots scuffing against what sounds like tile, and his warm breath disturbs my hair, skating across my cheek. “I figured this would be easier for you,” he says softly. “For me, too.”

  “Easier how?”

  “Because it’s less difficult being honest without having to worry about someone’s reactions, right? You can tell me the truth, and I can tell you the truth. It won’t be as frightening as doing it in the light of day.”

  Oh. Damn. What the hell does he want to say to me? I close my eyes—an unnecessary action that serves no purpose other than making me feel better. “Okaaay. This sounds serious. Should I be worried?”

  He chuckles. “Perhaps.”

  “Then rip off the Band-Aid, Jacobi. Let’s get this show on the road.”

  More laughter. “So willing to walk into the fire. Definitely one of the things I enjoy most about you.”

  “One of the things? There are other things you like about me?” This talking in the dark thing is already working a treat. I would never have said that with the lights on. I’m not that playful, especially not with dangerous creatures who have the power to do severe and irreparable damage.

  I go very still when I feel the feather-soft brush of Wren’s mouth against my cheek. He hasn’t shaved this morning; his stubble scrapes against my skin, and I shiver against the heady sensation, barely breathing around it. “Yes,” he whispers. “Plenty of things. I’ll make you a list.”

  Oh, fuck me running. This is going to get interesting. I was worried that he dragged me into this...whatever kind of room this is...to tell me that he wants nothing to do with me. I’m not worried about that anymore. He places his hands on my hips, sliding his palms around to the small of my back, drawing me closer, so that our bodies are in alignment, my hands still firmly planted on his chest.

  “First, I want you to tell me the truth,” he says. “Did Pax do anything to upset you? Did he threaten you?”

  “He implied that I accepted payment in return for sex a couple of times, but apart from that, no.”

  Wren grunts unhappily. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t do that again.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ve been accused of way worse. I have a thick skin.”

  “No, you don’t. Your skin’s like fucking silk.” He groans, deep and low, running the bridge of his nose along the line of my jaw, breathing in deeply like he’s trying to inhale my very essence. “You don’t need to worry about Pax. I’ll take care of him. The second thing I wanna know…is if you’re ready yet?”

  “Ready for what?”

  “To lay your cards on the table. To tell me that you want me. All of me. All of the time. For there to be no more confusion about what this is.”

  My chest tightens as if there’s a belt synching closed around it. “Straight to the point, huh?”

  “I told you. I like things to be black and white. Clear cut. No room for misunderstanding. You said you preferred things that way, too.”

  “I do.”

  “Then tell me what you think this is.”

  “I—” Well, shit. This would be a lot less mortifying if he went first. He’ll think I’m a coward if I don’t give him an answer, though, I will be a coward, and I’ve spent too many years convincing myself that I’m strong to let myself down now. “I do want you. I want all of you for myself. And...” Lord Almighty, this one’s going to make me feel like a stupid, naive little girl, but here goes nothing, “I want to be your girlfriend.”

  Silence.

  Roaring, deafening silence.

  I can feel the smugness radiating off him, though, very real and very present. After a beat, he presses his hands more firmly into my back, pulling me up against him so that I feel the hardness of him between our bodies; his dick is erect, and from the way it pulses against my stomach, it wants some attention. “Do you have any idea what being my girlfriend would be like, Little E?” he growls.

  Uh...words. I need words. Where did I put my ability to form coherent sentences? The same place I put my ability to think coherent thoughts, by the looks of things. “You’re probably...very possessive,” I manage.

  “You have no idea. And?”

  “And you probably like to hoard all of the power in a relationship.”

  “I like being in control of any situation,” he admits. “But I am willing to share on occasion.”

  “You probably like to fight?”

  “Nothing wrong with healthy disagreement. Nothing wrong with calling someone on their shit if they’re misbehaving, either.”

  “You’d probably want everything your way.”

  “I’m capable of compromise.”

  “Okay...”

  “Keep going.”

  “That’s all I can think of.”

  There’s another faint brush of lips, against my own lips this time, the contact so gentle and teasing that I make a needy whimpering sound when he deprives me of his mouth. “Then let me fill in the rest,” he rumbles. “I’m arrogant. I like to fuck. I’m intense as hell sometimes. It’s all or nothing with me. That’s just who I am. I don’t do things in half measures. There are days that you’ll hate me more than you’ll love me. And you will love me, Elodie. It’s already too late for that. I’ll love you, and you’ll love me, and there won’t be any turning back for either of us. So let me ask you again. Do you have an idea of what it will be like now? And do you still want that, knowing that it might not always be perfect? That it might be hard sometimes?”

  My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth. I can’t fucking speak. He’s so raw, and fierce, and dominant in everything he says and does. The picture of the future with him that he’s just painted is terrifying and bewildering and so fucking exciting that I know I should be less sure about the answer I want to give. But I am certain. Damn it all to hell, this is the stupidest thing I’ll ever do in my life, but I say the words.

  “Yes, Wren. I still want it.”

  His hands tighten into fists behind me, clawing at my shirt. Suddenly, he’s pushing me backward, lifting me off my feet, and there’s a wall at my back. He snarls like a hungry wolf, crushing his mouth down on mine, and my mind becomes a void. His tongue probes my mouth, sweeping and tangling with mine, and it’s all I can do to remember to breathe. He’s everywhere. The smell of him floods my head, all citrus and fresh sea air, and bright cedar. I’m so fucking dizzy on him, and I don’t even register what I’m doing until he hisses into my ear.

  “Careful, E. You’re almost down to the bone.”

  Fuck. I’ve wrapped my arms around him, and I’m digging my fingernails into his back, through the thin material of his hoody. “Shit, sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I like it. But if you’re gonna mark me as your property, at least take my fucking clothes off first.”

  A wave of heat slams into me, burning in my chest, my stomach, and between my legs. I’m like an animal, possessed and wild as I scramble to take hold of his hoody. I have it off him in record time.

  We undress each other in the dark, frantic and desperate, sharing breath and moaning each other’s names as we kiss, and touch, and knead at each other’s skin.

  I don’t know where I am, literally, and I do not care. All that matters are Wren’s demanding hands on my body and the strained urgency in his voice as he gives me a command. “Down on your knees for me, Little E. I wanna find out how good that perfect mouth feels.”

  I may have had sex before, but this is something that I’ve never done. Still, I’m not one to shy away from new challenges. Especially ones I want to participate in. I drop down, kneeling for him, knowing I’m relinquishing control to him, but strangely unafraid. His hands wind into my hair as he gently cradles my head. Then the tip of his cock is pressing against my lips, parting them and pushing inside.

  “Holy...shit!” Wren hisses. “Fuck, Elodie, that feels...” Whether he trails off because it feels too good or because I’m doing a terrible job, I have no fucking clue. I lave at the hardness he slides
into my mouth, enjoying the silken, rigid texture of his erection, and Wren begins to shake. The videos I watched on Youtube last year— ‘How to give your man good head,’ and ‘Best blowjob tips,’ and ‘How to make him come in thirty seconds flat,’ —seem to be paying off, though. He shudders as I apply a little more pressure with my mouth, tentatively sucking, and a slew of curse words spill out of him.

  “Jesus. God...damn, Little E. That....that feels fucking incredible.”

  Pleased doesn’t even cover it. Wren Jacobi, the scourge of Wolf Hall Academy, the bane of countless women’s existences, harbinger of misery and suffering, is at my mercy now. I have him. I thought I was signing over my control when I obeyed his breathless command, but that isn’t even remotely true. I’m at the wheel right now. I’m steering this thing, and with a simple flick of my tongue I know I can bring him to his knees.

  He’s so fucking hard. Harder with every passing second. His hands tighten in my hair, holding onto me with a steel-like grip, but somehow I know that, if I want to pull the plug on this at any point, I still have the power to do that.

  “Elodie. God, Elodie...” he pants. Not Little E this time. I haven’t given his little nickname for me much thought, but I like the sound of my full name on his lips. He utters it like a sacred prayer, as if he’s worshipping me as I worship him, and my head swims with the sound of it. I’m just finding my rhythm, figuring out how badly I can make him shake by utilizing my tongue in different ways, when he jerks back, pulling himself out of my mouth with a wet pop.

  “Black hell, E. It’s too much. Too good,” he gasps. “Get on your back. I wanna fucking taste you again. That pretty little cunt of yours is all I’ve been able to think about.”

  I thank the universe, God, and everything holy that it’s dark now. My heart surges like a piston as I lay back onto the cold, hard floor. Wren’s fingers dig into my thighs, pushing them apart, and then he falls on me like a demon. He’s had way more practice than me; he proved that quite eloquently the other night when he made me come with his mouth. I’m still unprepared for how good it feels when he sweeps over me with the flat of his tongue, though. I tense, my breath hissing out between my teeth as I attempt to relax into the intense sensation building up inside of me.

  “Goddddddd,” he groans. “You’re so fucking sweet. I can’t get enough.” He buries his tongue into my pussy again, and he doesn’t just use his tongue this time. He uses his entire face, the bridge of his nose, everything, rubbing himself into my slick flesh so hungrily that heat explodes across my face. I’m ashamed, wet, mortified, and so turned on that I can’t wrap my head around what’s happening. He moans, feasting on me like an animal, and I lock my legs around his head, pulling him down on me even harder.

  A staggering, overwhelming need blossoms in the pit of my stomach when he slides his fingers inside me, slowly pumping them as he licks. It’s so much at once, too much emotion and desire and feeling, that I realize tears are sliding from my eyes and over my temples. I’m gasping for air in wet, desperate gasps that only seem to urge him on; he fucks me with two fingers, stretching me, exploring, stroking a point deep inside me that I didn’t even know existed, until I’m vibrating, shaking against the floor, my arms and legs tingling to the point of pain, and I feel like I’m gonna...

  “Fuck. Hold on, Little E. I wanna feel you come all over my cock.”

  Wren pulls away, leaving me whimpering and so close to falling apart. I’m only left to suffer for a second, though. He settles between my legs, thrusting himself deep inside me in one swift, breathtaking movement, and my blood sings in my ears. It sounds like wind rushing past me as I stumble and fall, descending into a bottomless pit of madness.

  “Wren! Oh, shit! I’m going to—I think I’m gonna—” Even now, with him on top of me, driving himself into me over and over again, biting down on my collar bone, lighting the inside of my head up with invisible fireworks, I can’t bring myself to admit that I’m about to come out loud.

  Wren feels it, though. He claims my mouth so savagely that I probably would have come from the kiss alone. “Good girl. Good girl,” he whispers hoarsely. “Let it happen. Don’t fucking fight it.”

  That’s all I need to hear. I release the tight leash I’ve been holding over myself, and my very soul shatters apart, stealing the oxygen out of my lungs, and my fractured thoughts right out of my head.

  “WREN!” I shout his name, I know I do, but there’s no stopping it. I can’t help it. He locks himself around me, holding me tightly in his arms as he grinds himself against me, his cock filling me to the hilt. I come, shaking and trembling, lights flashing in my eyes, and he snarls into the crook of my neck.

  “Steady,” he whispers. “Steady, steady, shhh, good girl. Hold on tight. I’m not done with you yet.”

  He slows for a beat. Long enough to rain soft kisses down on my temple and the top of my head, gathering my hair and sweeping it out my face, stroking his fingers over my cheeks and my lips.

  “Your fucking mouth, Elodie,” he moans. “The things I wanna do to your mouth.”

  He slips his fingers past my lips, pressing down on my tongue, and a low and terrible rumble works its way out of him, reverberating in my ear. “One of these days. God, just you fucking wait...”

  He picks up the pace again, his hips grinding against mine, one of his hands palming my breasts and rolling my nipple, pinching so hard that I let out a sharp cry. I cling onto him, addicted to the shifting and bunching of the muscles in his back as they tense under my hands. In this moment, he is a force of fucking nature, more powerful and frightening than the lightning and thunder that split the air apart the night I met him in the gazebo.

  He’s fierce and demanding, nipping at my mouth with his teeth.

  His hands are rough, taking what they want from my body, bringing me closer and closer...

  The smell of him, the heat of him, the weight of him, the very sound of him raging as he draws closer to his own climax...

  I can’t get enough of him.

  There’s nothing else for me to do but hold onto him tight and ride out the storm.

  We come together, fingers tightening, teeth gouging, bodies tangled together, breath frantic, and it’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever fucking experienced. The hectic flow of my blood begins to slow, my muscles easing one by one, relaxing as Wren sags on top of me, and we spend a second catching our breath. And then Wren does something unexpected.

  He places his mouth on mine and kisses me with the utmost care. No tongue. No urgency. Just a gentle moment, where he kisses me, and the fucking world stands still.

  I’ve had so many expectations of him in my head that this...I don’t know what to do with this.

  Because never in my wildest dreams did I ever think that Wren Jacobi could be gentle.

  29

  ELODIE

  At the beginning of any new life in any new place, time passes infinitely slowly. Every small detail of your surroundings is interesting, or annoying, or beautiful or puzzling, and requires your full attention. But after a while, there are fewer and fewer new things to notice and everything becomes familiar. The same thing that’s happened at every other place I’ve ever lived happens at Wolf Hall, too. I know what to expect when I turn a corner. I know the shape of the trees outside my window, and even the shape of the trees in the distance at the far side of the academy’s boundary line, where the forest begins and reaches toward the horizon. I know the unique smell of the beeswax wood polish Jana, the academy’s seventy-year-old housekeeper, uses to hand polish the wood paneling every Wednesday. I know the hollow echo of voices that bounce around the high-ceiling hallways and classrooms whenever the bell rings. I know the honeyed quality of the light that pours in through the library windows, and I know the texture of the wooden desk beneath my fingertips in my French class.

  Two weeks pass, and gradually Wolf Hall begins to feel like a home of sorts. And every opportunity we get, Wren and I meet in the library’s conveniently s
ound-proofed microfiche room—turns out that’s what was behind Wren’s secret hidden door—or the attic, and even in my room once or twice, when I knew for sure that Carina wasn’t going to barge in unannounced.

  Wren’s ever himself, but I learn more and more of him every day; unexpected doors open to me, revealing something about him, details no one else knows, that I hoard to myself, the information more precious than gold or rubies.

  He hates the texture of peanut butter in his mouth.

  Whenever he smells the ocean, he thinks about losing one of his front teeth when he was eight.

  He thinks the word sesquipedalian is the best word in the English language, which is ironic because it means ‘given to using long words,’—which he most certainly is.

  He secretly loves dogs but won’t admit to loving anything if he doesn’t have to.

  Birds intrigue him.

  Sailing, swimming, and reading make him feel alive.

  We talk for hours. I know him now, but in the same vein, it often feels like I’ve barely scratched the surface when it comes to Things To Know About Wren.

  We trade secrets and kisses and breath, and we hide away from the world, making sure no one knows when we’re together. I don’t mind the sneaking around or the thrill that chases up my spine when we come close to being caught. It just seems normal.

  The last weekend in February rolls around, and out of nowhere, the weather picks up. The grey skies clear, and the rain quits relentlessly lashing at the academy’s walls, and the temperature even manages to lift the mercury a little, rising into the sixties. It’s been so long since I’ve seen the sun that the change in the weather, temporary though it might be, raises my spirits and makes me so giddy that Carina asks me if I’m doing drugs.