The Cruelest Chaos (Unsainted Book 3)

by KV Rose

  “The problem is this is all weird.”

  He cocks a brow. “Weird?”

  I throw up my hands. “I kind of feel like a whore.”

  “You want me to pay you so you can really feel like one?”

  I mean, it’s not a bad idea but… I shake my head. “No, I just don’t know what we’re doing here.” I’m not by any means in love with him, but I already feel myself becoming attached. It’s part of my problem. It’s why I let Shane fuck me.

  It’s why I like when my mom screams at me just as much as I hate it. Lapping up affection. And this, days with this crazy, crazy boy…it’s making me feel a little unstable all over again.

  “We’re two adults having good sex.”

  “Right.” I roll my eyes.

  “Forget it. Maybe you’re too young for this.” He stands to his feet, tosses the remote on the couch across from the bed. I can’t keep my eyes off of his body. The way his anger hardens everything about him. Everything.

  He catches me looking and laughs, adjusting himself through his sweats. “Oh, are you worried I’ll get someone else to handle this for me if you don’t?” His voice sounds hoarse, and he doesn’t take his hand off of his erection. “Because I will.” It’s an honest statement, even if he’s trying to bait me.

  My chest tightens. I squeeze my eyes closed. “No.” Why did I ask such a stupid question? About what this is?

  “Or do you just want my hands on you right now? My mouth?”

  I open my eyes. Find he’s standing right in front of me. I hold my breath as I tilt my head up to look at him, into those light blue eyes that make me feel dizzy.

  His hands go to my upper arms, easily circling around them. His gaze dips down, and I know he sees my nipples chaffing against his shirt.

  I like how he looks at me. I didn’t always. Not from other boys.

  My body changed before most girls in my classes did. I grew breasts before anyone else was wearing a bra. For a while, they never stopped growing. For a while, my mother made me hide behind baggy sweatshirts and loose tees. Then she saw her boyfriends looking and thought it might make them stick around a while longer. The clothes she bought me from the thrift shop got tighter.

  She regretted that after Shane, I’m sure.

  Maverick runs his hands up and down my arms, goosebumps in the wake of his touch, bringing me back to the present. “You’re very pretty,” he tells me, his eyes locking on mine.

  I wet my lips, a heaviness in my stomach.

  Maverick’s hands go up to my shoulders, to my neck. He doesn’t squeeze, just rests his palms on the side of my throat. His touch is cold, sending a chill down my spine. I shiver, involuntarily, and he smiles.

  “Do you want to go home?” he asks.

  I press my thighs together in his baggy sweats, desperate for some friction, despite all the sex we’ve had this week already. I shake my head. I don’t want to go home.

  This is comfortable. This is…like a movie. This is just like my mother.

  “It’s okay,” he whispers as if he can read my mind, his hands sliding down my back, pressing me against his hard body. I can feel his cock on my stomach. He bends his head down, so he’s whispering in my ear, his hands massaging up and down my back. “It’s okay to want it, Ella. The things you want. It’s okay for you to stay here with me.”

  I close my eyes, inhale his scent. My breasts brush against his chest. I want to wrap my arms around him, but I don’t. It’s easier when it hurts. When it’s gentle, it’s…

  I can’t get attached. I can’t do that again.

  “There’s nothing wrong with you,” he continues, telling me what I need to hear. “You’re not sick, or twisted or wrong, Ella.”

  But I am.

  He pulls me closer, wraps his arms around me and holds me against him. “You’re allowed to like it.”

  My arms still hang by my sides. I hear his words, but I don’t believe them. At the same time…I want this. I want his affection. His anger.

  I want more of it.

  I’m sick. I’m twisted. I’m wrong.

  I don’t care.

  Slowly, I lift my arms. Gently, I wrap them around his back, aware of the wounds he won’t speak of there. He seems to stiffen at my touch, as if he’s expecting me to scratch him again. Draw blood.

  But after a few seconds, he relaxes.

  “How do you want it?” he asks me quietly, his mouth still at my ear.

  I keep my eyes closed, just feeling him. Breathing him in. I’ve only ever had it one way, really. I don’t want to change that. I say the same words I said to him in the forest beneath that beautiful moon. “Make it hurt.”

  I hear him swallow.

  “Let go,” I urge him, running my hands lower. I wonder if he needs to hear what he just told me. He’s not sick or twisted or wrong. He presses closer to me. “Just let go, Maverick.”

  “I’m sorry, Ella,” he whispers against my skin. “This is just a game, right?”

  I’m about to ask him what he’s talking about, but I don’t need to. He pulls me off the bed and backs me against the wall so fast, I don’t have a single thought from one position to the next. His hands are on my shoulders and there’s anger back in those beautiful eyes.

  “Sit,” he commands me, stepping back, letting me go.

  I hesitate, for one single second, and his eyes narrow.

  I can do this.

  I sit.

  “Lie down,” he orders, standing over me, watching me carefully.

  I lie on my back.

  He crouches down, pulls off my sweatpants. I ball my hands into fists, keep them by my sides. He tosses my borrowed pants away, and my ass is against the cold floor.

  He walks in a circle around me. “Bend your knees.”

  My face warms, but I do as he asks. He comes to stand by my feet, observing me.

  My knees are together, but it doesn’t matter. I know he can see me.

  Even still, he nudges my knees apart with his own knee, spreading me wide. My inner thighs ache, but I stay that way, hands by my side.

  I close my eyes.

  I feel the floor shift, and his hands are on my thighs, spreading me even wider. The cold air hits me there, and a second later, so does his breath. He blows against me, spreads me apart with his fingers.

  My clit aches, and I keep my eyes closed, not wanting to like it.

  But I do.

  And when his tongue runs down the length of me, I whimper, my knees falling inward, toward his head. But his hand on my thigh keeps me spread open, and he licks me again, softly.

  Agonizingly slow.

  Then he blows against me again, the cool air making my hips arch.

  He presses a hand on my belly, under my shirt, keeping me still.

  His tongue works my swollen clit, and one finger teases my entrance. I try to move, to shift his finger closer, but he presses harder on my belly. Then he kisses me, his lips coming together, tongue flicking through.

  I feel heat building in my belly, right underneath his hand.

  I squeeze my eyes shut tighter. He presses two fingers into me and I whimper as he glides in and out of me, my pussy clenching against him.

  He groans as he licks me, his tongue swirling one way and then the other. Soon, I’m just drowning in the feel of him. My thighs tighten, my pussy, too, and even he can’t hold me down when I come. My butt lifts off the floor and I moan his name, Maverick, and he doesn’t stop. Doesn’t slow until I come back down, literally and figuratively.

  I’m panting, one hand I realize is on my breast. I don’t let go, but he kisses me one more time and then pulls his fingers out and lifts his head.

  I open my eyes.

  They lock with his.

  His face is wet with me, and I can’t stop the smile on my face. My knees are still wide, and he glances down at me. I resist the urge to squirm under his gaze.

  When he meets my eyes again, he simply says, “My turn.”

  And then he flips
me over before I can say a word, pulling me up with one arm around me to set me on my knees. He shoves my shirt up, a few seconds later, I feel his cock against my ass. He circles the tip of it against me, precum warm and wet on my skin.

  He’s got one hand on my lower back, the other I assume on himself.

  “Arch your back more,” he instructs me.

  I do, but I’m holding my breath.

  Just thinking about where this might go makes my entire body tense. And Maverick is not the kind of guy to ask for permission.

  He dips his head down, bites my ass. “Relax,” he says softly.

  I’m anything but relaxed. Not there.

  I close my eyes, try to do as he asks.

  He’s spreading my thighs wider, and I hear him spit on me, right on my still-throbbing pussy.

  He slaps my ass, hard, and I cry out, eyes flying open as I brace myself on my palms on the cold, hard floor.

  “You still want it to hurt?” he asks me, his spit dripping down from my already-soaked pussy.

  I bite my lip. Nod my head.

  He slaps my ass again. “That wasn’t an answer. Use your fucking mouth before I use it for you, Ella.”

  I gasp at his words, but I realize it’s not from being hurt or upset. It’s something worse. I…like it.

  “Yes,” I tell him quickly, before he can slap me again. “Yes, I want it to hurt.”

  “That’s better, baby.”

  And then, without warning, he guides his cock into me and slams it all the way to the hilt, forcing me to fall forward on my arms.

  His hand goes to my hair, threading it through his fingers and jerking my head up. My neck is arched, and I can barely breathe.

  He fucks me hard, unrelenting. Then his bare chest is against my back and I know he’s taken his shirt off and I want to see but he’s speaking in my ear, distracting me. “Do you like that, pretty girl?”

  I can’t speak, but my eyes feel like they’re going to roll back in my head with his words and how deep he’s inside of me. I try to swallow, try to open my mouth, but then he spits on the side of my face, warm and wet against my skin.

  He doesn’t slow down, but he runs his mouth along my cheek, spreading his saliva all over my face. It isn’t a kiss, but in this game, it’s as close to it as I’m probably going to get.

  He grips my hip, bows his head and groans against my shoulder. “Goddamn, Ella,” he whispers, and I feel a rush of power at his words.

  His chest is heaving against my back, his cock buried so far inside of me, I think that when he pulls out, I’m going to feel empty.

  I’m going to be empty.

  “You’re a little slut, you know that,” he whispers against my shoulder, his thrusts more frantic, jarring me, my tits bouncing beneath my shirt—his shirt—every time he pounds into me.

  I try to nod my head but his grip on my hair is too tight.

  “Tell me,” he murmurs. “Tell me you’re my little slut.”

  He loosens his grip, and I repeat his words back to him, and in this moment, I mean them. “I’m yours,” I whisper, my voice hoarse, eyes still closed as I drown in the feel of him drowning in me.

  “My what?” he growls, his teeth against my shoulder.

  “I’m your little slut.”

  “Fuck.” His body shudders on top of mine and he slows, letting go of my hair entirely, his hand going to my shoulder as he shoves me back against him. I work with him, slamming my ass back against his hips, milking him for everything he has as he comes inside of me.

  When he stills, I rest on my forearms, my brow to the cold floor.

  He pulls back, slides out halfway. I can only imagine what he’s seeing; his thick cock covered in me. He pulls out further, until he’s all the way out, but he keeps the tip of his cock against me, and I know he’s seeing the cum between us, connecting us.

  “Fuck, Ella,” he whispers, almost to himself.

  He runs his hand over my ass. I make to sit back on my heels, but he keeps me exactly where I am.

  “I want to see it,” he whispers. “I want to see me run out of you.”

  I bite my lip, force myself to stay where I am, completely exposed for him.

  I keep myself this way, let myself relax.

  The more relaxed I am, the easier it’ll come out.

  But Maverick seems desperate. He swipes his fingers inside of me, as if he’ll scoop out his cum himself.

  I hear his sharp intake of breath as I try to push, helping it come along. Then I feel the warmth of him as it trickles down my lips.

  “Fuck,” he says, gripping my ass, hard.

  I say nothing but I can’t fight the small smile he can’t see.

  After a moment, I sit back on my heels as his touch leaves me.

  When I turn to look at him, on his knees behind me, his eyes are on mine. He smiles at me.

  Then he pushes to his feet, grabs his sweatpants, every muscle in his toned body flexing. “Come shower,” he commands me, offering his hand as he pulls his sweats back on.

  I take his hand. His eyes wander over my body and he smiles, but then he turns.

  And I see it again.

  All of his wounds.

  Including my scratches.

  “Maverick,” I choke out.

  He stops, still not looking at me.

  “Who did that to you?”

  His hand squeezes mine painfully. But then he exhales, pulls me toward the bathroom. “I did it to myself, baby.”

  Chapter Nine

  Saturday, I go home. Mom’s car is there, but her bedroom door is shut, and I hear her bed creaking behind it.

  I watch Maverick’s car back out of the driveway and I want to run outside. Tell him to take me with him. Tell him he can start paying me, and I’ll just be his plaything.

  But no.

  I won’t be my mom.

  And besides, that’s what she expects of me. It’s what she already thinks of me. That I’m a whore.

  So I let him leave, shut the door and head to my bedroom.

  It was my idea to go home anyway. I have no idea what it is we’re doing, how a chase in the forest and him following me at work turned into me staying with him for nearly a week, but it feels weird being without him now.

  I press the heel of my hand to my eye, sink down onto my twin bed, so much smaller than his King-sized one. God, my entire bedroom is the size of his guest bathroom.

  This is not good.

  A year after what happened with Shane and clearly, I haven’t learned my lesson. Clearly, I’m so fucking desperate for affection that I’ll let myself be used by anyone that gives me the slightest amount of attention, good or bad.

  I know these things.

  Marnie, the therapist at The Ark, has worked with me on them. I no longer wish I was dead. No longer wish my mom would just kill me instead of looking at me with disgust every time I’m in the room. No longer think about Shane every damn day, and all the ways I did wrong.

  I’m better. I’m fine.

  I didn’t love Shane anyway, Marnie tells me. He was just…there. He was just like a father I never had, although that comparison makes me feel sick to my stomach. Teenage girls don’t fuck their fathers.

  Just their mother’s boyfriends, apparently.

  I wrap my comforter around myself, pull out my phone, connect it to the neighbor’s spotty wireless internet, and put on a rom com until I fall asleep.

  Romantic comedies never have devils in them.

  It’s why they’re so easy for me to watch. I don’t get attached to the good guys.

  I get up Sunday morning before the sun. And before my mother. After a shower, brushing out my hair for fucking half an hour, only to toss it up in a sloppy, wet bun.

  I head down the hall.

  And stop short.

  There’s a man in there, sitting on the sagging couch. He’s got his shirt off, a beer in his hand, and I can see in the ruined blinds behind him that the sun is just fucking rising. Did this guy stay up
all night? Who gets up at sunrise to drink a fucking beer? Even my mother doesn’t do that.

  He grins at me, scratching at his hairy belly. “Morning.”

  My stomach twists into knots and I glance at the front door of the trailer, even though I have no idea why. Maverick left last night. He’s not coming back this early, and not so soon. As I shift my gaze back to the stranger, it occurs to me that last night was Saturday night and most people do things on Saturday nights.

  Including other people.

  I push that thought aside. Maverick isn’t mine. I’m not his. And I’ve got a man-sized problem sitting on the couch in my living room.

  “Kim asleep?” I ask the guy, tugging at the crème-colored skirt I’m wearing. It’s down to my knees and I’ve got on a worn black turtleneck tucked into it, but I wish I was in a fucking snowsuit in front of this guy.

  He scrubs a hand over his stubble, and I wonder where my mother found him. He winks at me as he tips the can up to his lips. I suppress a shudder, and the sudden desire to smash the can over his head.

  “Yeah, she’s passed out. You must be Ella.”

  How sweet. My mother spoke about me. I nod my head, dart a glance at the kitchen. I’m sure there’s nothing in there and I’m not all that hungry after spending days with Maverick, but if there is food in there, I want to get to it before this idiot does.

  He must see my gaze because he lets out a chuckle. “There’s an egg and cheese in there,” he says, rotating his neck as if he put in a hard day’s work last night. “Feel free to grab it.”

  My mouth waters at those words. I might not have been hungry but I’m damn sure not going to pass up free food. Maverick and I didn’t make plans for him to come back. I hope he does, but I’m not going to wait around for him.

  I don’t wait around for men anymore. Not after Shane left and let me deal with the fallout from my mother all on my own.

  I nod my head once at the guy and head to the kitchen. I guess I should thank him. Maybe I’ve judged him prematurely because he’s here, with my mother.

  But just as I step onto the linoleum floor in the kitchen, just a few feet from the living room where he still sits, he says, “Your dad around?”