He’s smart enough to step in front of the girl before I’m able to grab a fistful of her stringy blonde hair, but stupid enough to put himself within my reach.
“Spit it out,” I say, squeezing his cheeks between my fingers and thumb. “Spit it out or I swear, Teller, you’ll never see me again.”
Green eyes glow, staring intently at my face. He doesn’t break my grip or move away; he just stares as everything I was certain of dissolves to nothing.
“Sissy, let him go.” Emerson’s soothing voice lessens the ache in my chest. He places a large hand on my shoulder, standing at my back where he’s always been.
Tears fall from my eyes, and I release Teller’s face. “You’re disgusting.”
He spits the tablet at my feet.
When I turn around, Maby, Husher, and Nicolette don’t say a word, but their expressions say it all: we told you so.
Checking their shoulders on the way out, no one stops me from leaving, and besides the five people I’m here with, and one skinny drink server who’s lucky she still has all her teeth in her mouth, no one knows my world imploded.
I exit the first door I stumble upon, steering me to a florescent-lit hallway with white tile floors and dirty walls. Music from the club is reduced to a muffled hum, and the air is cold enough to form goose bumps on my exposed flesh. Heading toward the service elevator, my heels tap on the glossy floor beneath my feet, and I suddenly feel exposed in this ridiculous dress.
Just like our time here has exposed what an idiot I am.
“Ella, stop.” Teller’s voice carries through the white space, but I keep walking. The door slams heavily behind him.
“Get your hands off of me,” I say, yanking my elbow free from his clutch. Shoving my palms into his chest, I send him five paces back. “I don’t even want to look at you.”
“Dammit, Gabriella, let me explain.” He holds his hands to the back of his head before dropping them and taking a step toward me. “Please, baby.”
“You didn’t have anything to say to me out there.” I nod toward the door, tears flowing freely down my cheeks.
Teller drops his eyes and licks his lips. “I didn’t want to argue with you in front of everyone. I didn’t want us to end up like that again.”
I scoff, turning away from dysfunction. My heart’s too broken to hurt any more than it does, and I can’t stomach his bullshit a moment longer. I’ve listened to it long enough. I’ve listened to it for seven years. “That’s something you should have thought about when you let that girl all over you the second I wasn’t around.”
He shakes his head, eyes red-rimmed and glossy in the fractured light. “I’m sorry. I—I don’t know what I was thinking, Ella. She came out of nowhere and asked if I wanted to feel good, and—”
“You’re pathetic,” I say, backing away toward the elevator. “Stay away from me, Teller. I’m done.”
My back’s against the wall, and I’m caged between his arms before the words leave my mouth. Teller takes my face in his hand, forcing me to look into bright eyes gone dark, and I want to claw them out. Fueled by adrenaline coursing through my bloodstream, I grab his wrist and pierce my nails into his marked skin until beads of blood appear. We smile, dosed on the imbalance in our brains that makes this exciting.
This is what they warned us about.
This is what I was afraid of.
And now it’s too late.
“How does it feel to know you’ll never fuck me, Teller? We’ll never get this right. We never had a chance.” I want him to hurt like I hurt, and suffer like I’m suffering. I want him to drop to his knees and beg for my forgiveness so I can spit on his face like he spit on mine the second that girl put her finger in his mouth.
“You are mine,” he seethes with anger, tightening his hold on my chin.
A single tear streams from the corner of my eye into my hair, but excitement numbs heartbreak and intensifies the rush. I’m lit, high, stoned on breaking him, and we’re just getting started.
“Prove it,” I say, grinning like a maniac.
He drops his forehead to mine, breathing in and out of his nose. Teller vibrates with pent-up aggression, slumbering since the last time we found ourselves ready to kill each other. “Watch what you say to me, Gabriella.”
“I said prove it.” Craving pools between my legs, and my chest heaves with quick breathing. My lips tingle, and the tips of my fingers and toes lose feeling. “If you want me, Teller, take me.”
“You don’t know what you’re asking for.” His mouth is at my throat, hovering over an erratic pulse, and he presses his body flush against mine.
This is us, crazy out of our minds, obsessed with the thrill, and willing to break each other just to lick madness.
“Stop being a fucking pussy and do it already.” The warmth from his body is enticing, mouthwatering, and so within reach I can sink my teeth into it. I lick blood from his wrist and watch his pupils expand.
“I won’t be able to stop.” His harsh words skim my face but affect nothing but the ache in my sex.
“Like you couldn’t stop Amanda from riding your dick?” I laugh, dropping my head against the wall so I can see his entire face.
My laughter only becomes more uncontrollable when his fist whooshes past my head, splitting drywall and old scars. Paint chips and powder sprinkles my shoulder and dusts my hair, but I don’t so much as flinch. It’s another syringe filled with my favorite type of drug: Teller Reddy.
Does he think he’s the only one hurting? My heart’s bleeding out.
Grabbing a handful of his dark hair, I lower his head until we’re face-to-face. Black painted fingernails dig into his scalp, and my arm is numb from lack of circulation, but I don’t let go of control. Teller consumes me. Teller devours me. Teller demolishes me. Every fiber of my being screams for me to never let him out of my sight. It’s an animalistic need neither one of us controls, even after all these years, even after everything we’ve been through. I want to hurt him as much as I want to savor him.
I jerk and shove and scream, pushing his face away from me, only to grab his shirt and pull him back. Buttons fly off under my hands, and thread stretches and snaps. Teller takes every slap, every dig, every word I don’t mean, so I keep hitting and scratching, filtering frustration on a body that’s taken it before, like a mad person, a psychopath.
Until he breaks.
“You better be sure you want it, baby, because I’m about to make sure you can never belong to anyone else again.” The smirk curving his lips is to die for. Literally. “That’s a mistake I won’t make twice.”
“You don’t have the balls.” I spit, begging with my eyes for him to just do it.
I reach under my skirt and pull down my panties, kicking them to the side in a dare. Teller’s smirk bends into a full-blown smile, and he circles his hand around my throat, shoving me against the wall, knocking half a breath from me. His free hand swoops down my thigh, curving under my knee to hitch it over his waist.
“Last chance to change your mind,” he warns, unbuckling his belt.
Spike studs brush against my skin with sharp tips, scratching my delicate skin. Biting my bottom lip, I welcome the simple ache, rocking my hips to feel a little more. It takes focus away from my heart that beats so erratically, I’m certain it’s going to burst inside of my chest.
“I’m not yours until you make me.” At the sound of his zipper going down, I wrap my other leg around his waist, hooking it on my ankle.
Teller releases my throat, placing his hand on the busted wall beside my head for leverage, and I feel hardness slip between my folds. Before either one of us can say another word, seven years of anticipation disappear, and he pushes into me.
I cry out in pain and pleasure.
Pain, because the spikes on his belt dig into my inner thighs every time he thrusts forward. Pain, because his hands bruise my skin, holding me harder. Pain, because this is not how it’s supposed to be.
Pleasure, because som
ewhere in the back of my mind, behind all this bullshit, it feels right.
“Say it, Ella. Tell me you’re mine,” he demands breathlessly.
“Fuck you,” I moan, meeting him stroke for stroke.
Thrusting harder, deeper, and longer, spikes carve into me, breaking skin and bleeding out. Moving bodies, gasps for air, and the struggle to get closer fills the empty hallway where anyone can intrude in any moment. I’ve never felt so good and so bad at the same time in my life. I both hate and want him, push and pull, right and wrong. It’s disgusting, but I wanted him to finally claim me. I wanted this.
“Come on, Teller. You can do better than this.” I can’t bring myself to meet his eyes, afraid of what I’ll find. My head falls forward against his shoulder, overcome with fire licking passion. His grip on my hips tightens as he crashes where we’re connected, and I feel every inch of him sliding in and out of me. Tingles envelop my body, and pain from his belt dragging up and down my thighs disappears, leaving only the feeling of him.
The sound of my skin slapping on his, the warmth of his breath on my neck, and his words, mine, my girl, over and over only make me want more. Teller fills me up, and we’re complete, even in this fucked-up situation—he sees the crazy in me and likes it.
My body’s on fire, and I can’t get enough…
Ripping his shirt open, what buttons he has left scatter, hitting walls and rolling down the dirty tile. I lift his undershirt and scratch my nails down his chest and stomach, over designs that took hours and skill to complete, hoping it hurts. Hoping they’re ruined.
With his skin under my nails, I grab the collar of his white undershirt and pull. Cotton stretches and misshapes, but despite how hard I yank it won’t rip, but it doesn’t stop me from trying hard enough to leave a mark on the back of his neck.
Exposing his collarbone, I put my mouth on him, slowly at first, careful in spite of the wreckage we’re inflicting on our bodies. The taste of him on my tongue resurrects a flicker of affection, a softness, a reminder that he’s the most important person in my life and we shouldn’t be doing this.
Then his fingers dig into my bottom, and my back crashes into the wall. I cry out in pain, but give it back tenfold, sinking my teeth into the top of his shoulder.
His thrusts become faster, his moaning louder, and I bite harder. The taste of blood does nothing to stop the assault I inflict on his skin. It only makes me sink deeper.
“Fuck,” he groans into my neck. His cock hardens inside of me.
He pulls my head back by my hair, ripping my teeth from his skin. Blood and saliva drip down my chin, and he licks it away.
“You don’t scare me,” he says, smirking before he returns the onslaught on my neck.
I dig the heels of my shoes into the back of his legs, and circle my arms around his neck, holding him closer, wanting him to suck harder. Blood vessels break, bruising skin, turning it purple and blue. Screaming only makes him kiss harder, moving across my neck until there’s no question who I belong to.
After a while the pain fades, like everything else.
Now
She’s mine, and everyone’s going to know it after this.
From the soft spot below her ear to her thin collarbone, I suck, and suck, and suck, forcing blood to the surface of Ella’s skin. Mouth-sized bruises discolor her throat, like graffiti on porcelain, a work of art only I can appreciate.
“Harder,” she begs breathlessly, sliding up and down my cock. “Harder, harder, harder.”
Delicate skin will easily tear if I bite too hard, kiss too hard, need too hard, but it doesn’t stop me from marring every spot my lips touch. There’s not a rational brainwave in my head, flooded by indulgence and the need to stake my claim. I’ll fuck her until she gets the point. I’ll fuck her until the words leave her mouth. We’ve pushed each other too far, and this was a long time coming.
Hurting, marking, and fucking her all at the same time are more powerful than anything I’ve ever experienced.
Ella’s arms are wrapped around my neck, and her nails spear my shoulders, like the stiletto heels digging into my calves. She’s dripping wet around me, tight like I knew she would be, warm like I imagined time and time again. The smell of her sex is in every breath I manage, and I can taste fear on my tongue, mixed with sweat and perfume, throwing me over the deep end.
Anger courses through my veins, laced with legitimate terror. She wanted to leave me again, like not belonging to me has ever been a choice, like I would once again sit back and watch her fall for someone else. As if it wouldn’t kill me. As if she could actually do it. She’ll have bruises on her thighs from how hard I’m grabbing them, her neck will take weeks to heal, and her head will be sore from how hard I’m pulling her hair, and I should care, but I don’t.
I’m consumed.
“Come on, Teller. I’m so close. I’m almost there…”
I pull almost all the way out before plummeting back inside, driving my hips into her as hard as I can. As the pressure where we’re connected becomes stronger and stronger, I lose complete sense of reality, and we’re the only two people on the face of the Earth, seeking answers, looking for refuge.
Arrogance diminishes to whimpers, a slow and quiet begging that shifts bitterness to gentleness. Ella kisses the side of my face, panting as she starts to contract around my cock, draining brutality from her body.
She throws her head back and closes her eyes, breathing in and out of her mouth. “Don’t stop. Don’t stop.”
“Say it, Gabriella. You better fucking say it.” I need to hear the words before I finish. I’m right fucking there, and by the way she’s pulsating around me, so is she. “Now, baby.”
“I’m yours. I’m yours, Teller,” she whispers.
We hold tight as indescribable pleasure rocks our cores, stealing breath from our lungs and sight from our eyes. I bury my face in her neck, kissing her softly, listening to every moan that leaves her lips because of me. Thrusting in as deep as our bodies will allow, pressing her into the wall, I fill her to the brim, rocking my hips. It might never end.
It does.
And when it happens, I’m devastated.
Everything stops but the rush of our breathing and the hammering of our hearts as recklessness subsides and reality files in, stacking on top of us. Ella’s legs fall from my waist, stepping unsteadily to the floor, but she keeps her arms circled around my neck to keep from collapsing.
“Are you okay?” I ask, breathless. My still-hard dick rests against her stomach between us, and I hurry to put myself back into my jeans.
Ella shakes her head, letting go of my shoulders to grasp the front of my shirt with bleeding fingers and hands that shake. I follow her wrists to her elbows, then to her shoulders and neck. Six large red and purple bruises stain her normally pale skin—a line of spite from her throat to the fullness of her breasts. Sickened by my ability to ruin beauty, my stomach turns at what I’ve done.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, sadness falling from her dark brown eyes. “I’m so sorry, Teller.”
Wrenching her hands from my shirt, I hold her wrists and take a step back to inspect the damage I’ve done. Starting from the top of her head, down her face, past her neck, down, down, down to her thighs.
There’s no air.
No mercy to this suffocation.
No way out.
The harm I inflicted on her throat is nothing compared to what my belt did to her legs. Gashes from her knees to skin hidden under her dress bleeds, inflamed and torn, like a savage attack on someone threatening your life. My back hits the wall across from her, and I’d give anything for it to open up and swallow me whole.
“Please, don’t leave me,” devastation says, sliding down the wall to her bottom.
I fall to my hands and knees, dropping my head between my shoulders and cry out, “What the fuck have I done?”
She’s there, wrapping her arms around my neck, kissing the top of my head and apologizing. “I’m so sorry. I
’m so sorry.”
Cradling her hands in my face, I kiss the tears away and say, “I did this, baby. It was me. It was me.”
I blanket my button-up around her shoulders and lift the key to my broken heart into my arms, carrying her down the hallway to the service elevator that thankfully takes us to the top floor. She keeps her eyes closed for the entire ride, with her lashes wet from crying and a flushed complexion.
The loft smells like hairspray and spilled champagne, dimly lit by the lamp we left on and the lights shining in from the hotel across the street. I take her into the bathroom and set her on the counter, prying her fingers from my undershirt when she won’t let me go.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I say, unsure if it’s a lie or not.
Streaks of blood from the wounds on her thighs have dried down to her ankles, and the bruises on her neck are more purple and blue than red, deepening in color as seconds pass. She’s a pathetic sight, fatigued and broken, with mascara under her eyes and red lipstick smeared outside the lines of her lips.
Ella dips her face to her hands and cries, “God, Teller, we really fucked up this time.”
Running a towel under warm water, I clean ruined makeup and sticky tears from her face, careful around her eyes and making it worse around her mouth. Shimmering blush and thick foundation rub away, exposing a clutter of freckles across her straight nose.
“Have you even seen what I’ve done to you?” she asks. “Look in the mirror.”
I purposely keep my gaze from the reflection, unconcerned with my own wellbeing, and unable to come face-to-face with the person I’ve become—the kind of man who does harm to the people he cares about for his own sick satisfaction.
Rinsing the towel under scalding water, I burn my hands wringing it out and carefully pat the scratches on her inner thighs, turning the white cloth pink. Ella hisses, but as the dry blood comes clean, I get a better look at the wounds the spikes in my belt caused. Most are superficial, slight scratches and red marks that will fade by the end of the night, but a few are deep and bleeding even as I hold the towel over them.
Closer (Closer #1) Page 15
