by Sadie Moss
He looks entranced.
Hungry.
Possessive.
With a growl, he yanks me back into his arms, and his lips descend on me again, working their way down my throat, across my collarbone, over the swell of my breasts. He keeps moving downward, pressing me back against a shelving unit as his mouth trails down my stomach. His hands are way ahead of his lips, already working the button of my jeans, sliding the zipper down, pushing them over the swell of my hips until my light purple panties are exposed.
He drags his nose across the already damp fabric, and my knees almost buckle. I fist his hair in both hands, fighting to keep my drooping eyelids open. I feel a little drunk, to be honest—the massive emotional swings of the past hour coupled with his touch are making me feel dazed and desperate.
But I’m coherent enough to remember this isn’t an abandoned classroom on an upper level of Wellwood Hall. We’re in the infirmary, in a storage closet, and I know there are people in this building.
“Dmitri!” I gasp, forcing my brain to function long enough for my mouth to form words. “Door!”
He pulls his face away from my pussy, and I miss the heat of his breath immediately.
“Fuck.”
He looks over his shoulder at the door and then back to me, and the gleam in his eyes makes me shiver. He doesn’t seem worried about someone busting in on us, exactly; he looks more like he hates the idea of anyone else seeing me like this. Like this moment is his and his alone.
Without another word, he stands and strides to the door. It’s got a simple lock on the handle, and he turns it with slow deliberation.
Jesus Christ.
I never thought watching somebody lock a door would turn me on so fucking much—but I swear, that’s one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen.
Because I know what it means.
As the locking mechanism slides into place with a soft click, Dmitri’s gaze snaps back to me. I’m still leaning against the shelves, arms draped over them to help support my weight as I stand here—shirtless and disheveled, with my pants pushed halfway off my hips and what I’m guessing is a visible wet spot on the crotch of my panties.
I’m sure I look like a mess, but Dmitri seems to love everything about it. His dark eyes blaze with fire as he stalks back toward me. He catches my face in one large hand, and before I can prepare for it, his lips are on mine again.
We kiss wildly, our low grunts and moans filling the small space as we tear at each other’s clothes.
Look, maybe one day I’ll make a real effort to cut back on having sex in public places—but today is not that fucking day.
I grab the condom from the little front pocket of my jeans before Dmitri yanks my pants all the way down my legs, pulling my shoes off and tossing everything aside in a pile. He’s still got his pants on, but his shirt is off, his broad chest and sculpted muscles on full display. He shoves his pants halfway down his thighs, and his cock springs free, long and thick and so hard it looks almost painful.
How long has he been wanting this? Craving this?
Probably about as long as I have.
My fingers shake as I try to open the condom wrapper. I’m nervous for some reason, and so turned on I can barely see straight.
Dmitri’s large hand closes over mine, stopping my frantic movements. His gaze locks on my face as he takes the condom from me in a deliberate motion, tearing it open quickly before sliding it on with quick strokes of his fist.
Then he kisses me so deeply my toes curl against the hard, cool floor. When he pulls back, he tilts my head up to look at him.
“We need to keep quiet, Princess. Do you think you can do that?”
Um, with the way he’s looking at me? With the way my clit is throbbing like it has its own heartbeat? With the way sharp gasps are already falling from my lips without my permission?
Fuck no.
“Yes,” I promise, nodding my head vigorously.
He smirks, like he knows that’s a damn bald-faced lie.
Then he grabs my hips and spins me around. My fingers scrabble for a handhold on the shelves as I feel his warm hand sliding down my back, all the way from my neck to the base of my spine. I lose his touch for a second just before his palm connects with my ass in a sharp slap.
It’s not hard. It doesn’t really hurt, but the sound and the slight sting against my flesh make me cry out softly—and I’m already breaking my word about staying quiet.
Dmitri chuckles, a low, dark sound that makes my pussy clench. Then he grabs onto my hips and plunges into me, bottoming out in one thrust. If I weren’t already soaking wet, it might be too much. But I am, I’m so wet for him, and the feel of him inside me, of his hips pressed flush against my ass, is everything I need right now. I let out another involuntary sound, and Dmitri growls behind me.
“Bad Princess.”
There’s humor in his voice, and I know he loves every noise that falls from my lips, that he considers each one a personal victory.
But we do need to try to be quiet, so when he slips a hand over my mouth as he begins to pump in and out of me, I lean into his touch, spilling my soft noises into the warm skin of his palm, biting and panting as fire licks through my body. He’s got his other hand on my hip, gripping hard, using that leverage to thrust into me faster and deeper.
Oh god, oh fuck, oh yes.
“You got that fucking right,” Dmitri grunts on a whisper, and I realize I didn’t just think those words, I muttered them against his hand.
I’m barreling toward an orgasm that I’m only thirty percent sure I’ll survive when suddenly, Dmitri stops. He pulls all the way out of me, but before I can groan out my frustration, he’s spinning me around to face him again, hauling me up into his arms.
“I need to see you. I have to fucking look at you.”
The words are barely out of his mouth before he slams into me again, holding me up as I wrap my legs around his waist.
I don’t know what he sees on my face in this moment, but the look on his makes my breath catch.
It’s… worship.
Fierce need.
Maybe even love.
It’s too much—the emotion in his eyes, the feel of him inside me, his body fused to mine, his arms supporting me—and I whimper loudly, unable to contain all the sensations rocketing around inside me.
He shakes his head, breathing hard and fast. “I need you to be quiet for me, Princess. I know you can. Just hold onto me.”
So I do, wrapping my arms and legs around him tight and burying my face in his neck as he braces me against one of the shelving units and fucks me like we both need this to survive.
It’s not exactly comfortable—the cool, unforgiving metal of the shelves digs into my low back and my shoulders with every hard thrust—but those little discomforts hardly matter compared to the pleasure crashing through my body like a raging river.
“Dmitri,” I mutter, trying to warn him. The orgasm that was creeping up on me when he pulled out before is back, and it feels like maybe it’s brought reinforcements. I’m about to come like a fucking freight train, and I honestly don’t know if I can keep my mouth shut when I do. “Dmitri!”
“Oh God, I can feel it, Elliot. I can fucking feel it. Are you ready, baby?”
I nod, muttering some kind of choked response into the skin of his neck. He fists my hair close to the roots, lifting my head up, and then that same hand moves to cover my mouth again. His other arm still supports my weight, and his thrusts slow, becoming so deep and hard I swear I can feel them everywhere.
Our faces are only inches apart, and I can’t look away from his eyes. He’s watching me, absorbing every detail of what he’s doing to me, and the shelves rattle and shake behind me with the force of each of his thrusts.
One more.
One more deep drive, and I lose it.
I cry out against his hand, my inner muscles spasming and clenching around him as sweet ecstasy floods my body.
He groans and trem
bles, pressing his lips together so hard they turn white as he holds in his own cry of release, and I feel him throb and pulse inside me. Our bodies shudder against each other as our gazes stay locked, like we’re sharing a secret between us, passing a message back and forth.
Finally, my muscles go limp, and I feel him relax too. His hand slips away from my mouth as we both let out a long exhale.
“Holy… fucking… shit.”
Those words, I do keep quiet. They’re barely a whisper, but they make Dmitri smile anyway.
He brushes my wild hair back from my face, dipping his head to kiss me again like he can’t quite get enough. Like he’ll never get enough.
“You got that right.”
Chapter 23
We kiss for a while longer, as his cock starts to soften a little. The sex we just had was so intense, driven by months and months of pent up need, that it feels kind of amazing to kiss like this, slow and deep and lazy, while he’s still inside me.
Finally, he breaks away, securing the condom and pulling out before setting me gently on my feet. He ties it off and drops it in a trash bin near the door, and I can’t help checking out his ass as he does. He’s got a great fucking ass, and I’ve never seen it bare before, so I want to soak up the view before he pulls his pants back up.
His dark gaze flicks to mine over his shoulder, peering at me from beneath his lashes, but I don’t even pretend I wasn’t just checking him out.
Instead, I grin cheekily. “Nice butt.”
A smile tugs his lips up at the corners as he arches a brow at me. “Glad you approve.”
“Oh, I definitely do.”
We still haven’t discussed exactly what this means. Whether we’re officially together now—what the labels are and all that. I know we probably should, just for clarity’s sake, but… Dmitri and I have always been the two who communicate without our words.
And besides, regardless of what we decide to call it, something has definitely shifted, and I don’t think it’ll ever go back to the way it was.
All the tension between us, that feeling of a gulf, of distance, of anger… it’s gone. Almost like it never existed. I just feel relaxed and close to him.
Something’s softened about him as well. Not that he’ll ever be Mr. Sunshine and Rainbows. Dmitri’s still Dmitri and I wouldn’t want him to suddenly become this smiling, soft romantic—that’s not who he is. I want him to keep demanding the best of me, pushing me, being cranky, and showing me with his actions how much he cares.
But it’s like there’s a weight gone from him now, and as he touches me in the aftermath, as we put ourselves back together, it feels like… like we’re freer now. We’re easy and relaxed, as if this is what we always should have been. Like all the tension since we met was because we were holding back from this, and now that we’ve given in, it’s all just fallen into place like puzzle pieces.
Dmitri helps me clean myself up, gently tucks my hair behind my ear, fetches my clothes, and basically… takes care of me, the way he always has.
I can sense that he’s no longer holding back. Now that we’ve both admitted our feelings and acted on them too, he’s letting himself be all that he can be, wants to be, with me.
It’s such a relief I can’t even stand it. I feel like I can breathe properly for the first time in months. As if I had a corset or something constricting my chest, holding me in—and now that it’s gone, each lungful of air feels like freedom.
We finish cleaning up, and Dmitri takes my hand, grumbling about how we have to do this on a bed next time because there’s not enough room in a fucking storage closet—as if this whole thing wasn’t his damn idea in the first place—and we exit the small room, only to run smack into Roman.
The ebony-haired man catches me by the shoulders, looks at me, looks at Dmitri… and promptly turns away, ducking his head.
What the hell?
I start to move toward him, a little concerned. Did I hurt him? Is he—? Then I realize his shoulders are shaking.
Keeping my feet planted right where they are, I fold my arms and glare. “This isn’t funny.”
Roman makes a choked noise and holds up a finger, asking me to wait. After another moment, he turns back, his face mostly under control. “I’m sorry, but it’s very funny.”
“Let me know the next time you two hook up,” Dmitri says dryly. “I’ll be sure to stand outside the door and laugh when you’re finished.”
The other man arches a brow. “I can dock your grades, you know.”
“But you won’t.” Dmitri smirks, and I have to laugh.
Then I remember where Roman just was, and the post-sex haze of happiness dissipates like fog in a strong wind. There’s so much we’re up against. So much shit to figure out. “Wait! How—how did Hardwick take it? Is he going to close the school?”
I’m honestly worried the person doing this might be one of the students, and that closing the academy will mean the culprit gets off campus and can flee, but maybe it’s worth it if no more students are hurt. If Roman or Asher or Dmitri lose their magic too, I don’t know if I’ll be able to handle it.
Roman’s face slides from amusement to frustration in a split second, his brows furrowing and his jaw clenching. “Hardwick won’t close the school.”
“What?”
“Why the fuck not?” Dmitri demands.
“It’s not exactly his fault,” Roman amends, but he still sounds plenty pissed. “It’s the board. He’s under an extreme amount of pressure from them and from the donors not to close the school. With Johnson’s outburst and all the negative propaganda about Unpredictables that’s been going around…” He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Don’t get me wrong, we’ve still got some very vocal supporters. More people than I might’ve expected.”
“That’s good,” I say, but I can barely muster up any optimism in my voice.
Vocal support is all fine and great, but if there are people out there who’ll do anything to bring us down, will it be enough?
Roman seems to be thinking along the same lines I am, because he sighs. “Yes, it is. It’s still creating a divide in the magical community though, and… we can’t just assume our side will win out. We have to do whatever we can to show that we’re staying strong and steady. You did a lot for us actually, Elliot.” He gives me a small, proud smile. “Your work in the Trials? The whole magical world saw that. You impressed them. And that’s huge.”
Dmitri’s hand slides into mine, giving it a gentle squeeze as Roman continues.
“But people are starting to claim these incidents are proof that Unpredictables can’t be trained, or shouldn’t be trained, that this school is a failed experiment. If we close down now, even temporarily, it’ll be like a nail in the coffin. They’ll start calling for us all to be stripped of our magic.”
“What kind of bullshit—” The words fly out of my mouth before I can stop them. “What the actual hell? This isn’t our fault! We didn’t do anything—”
“I know,” Roman says quickly. His voice is tense, and I can tell he agrees with me but is trying not to fly off the handle. “Trust me, I know. It’s putting students’ lives at risk to keep this damn place open right now, but if we let everyone go, it’ll be as good as admitting that Griffin Academy never should’ve existed in the first place.”
“Is it because they think a student did this?” Dmitri’s eyes flash.
“What else could it be?” Roman shakes his head. “You think the janitor was doing it?”
“The janitor’s closet was right by the tower where Cam was attacked,” Dmitri scoffs a little, like he’s making a joke but is too pissed off to do it properly.
I get that. I’m pretty damn pissed myself. Especially now that Cam’s been attacked. He’s always taken such joy in his magic. I’ve struggled with accepting it, and especially with accepting my Unpredictable status. So has Dmitri, I know. But Cam’s just so full of… exuberance. Magic is his connection to his parents, who were magical scien
tists. It’s his connection to their community and culture.
Out of all the people who could’ve been attacked, why did it have to be him? Why did it have to be the most joyful of us?
I can’t believe this bullshit. They’ll put the lives of students at risk just to prove a point. And I get what Roman’s saying about Hardwick being in a tight spot—I don’t blame the dean. If he’s going to keep this safe haven afloat, he has to look at the bigger picture, play the politics of the situation. So no, I’m not angry at him. I’m angry at the people in the magical community who think pushing a political agenda one way or another is an excuse to toy with our lives.
Judging by Johnson’s attitude, and the attitude of others, they don’t care about our lives at all. Not if we’re Unpredictable.
“We have to do something!” I blurt.
“Like what?”
Dmitri’s shoulders slump. He doesn’t sound like he’s snarking at me, but like he’s frustrated and would genuinely love to hear any suggestions I have.
That brings me up short.
What can we do? Break into the rooms of all the students and see if they have a journal where they’ve written mwahaha, today I stole another person’s magic?
Yeah, right.
We can’t just go invading everyone’s privacy, and I doubt we’d actually find anything. In fact, the only odd thing I can think of on campus…
…is that damn bird.
We were about halfway up the tower when the attack happened, but we never made it onto the roof. Cam was in front, the one highest up the stairs. The one closest to the roof. Was he attacked because we were getting too close to something important? I have no idea what kind of bird is up there. I just know when I saw it flying toward Wellwood Hall this afternoon, something about it looked and felt strange. Wrong.
It’s a risk—and a big one—to try going up to the roof again, considering what happened last time. But what other choice do we have?
“I think we need to go up to the tower.”
Dmitri raises his eyebrows at me. “Because it went so well last time?”
“Why were you up in that specific tower anyway?” Roman asks.
