by Callie Hart
The piercing sting has transformed into a dull throb now, no longer a bright pinch of pain. It’s manageable, even a little warming inside me. Nothing I can’t handle. For the second time, I tighten my legs around Dash’s waist and I pull him to me.
“Fuck. Carina!” He bares his teeth, growling like one of the wolves we saw flitting like shadows through the boundary of the forest, and I can’t take any more. I want him raw. I want him wild. I don’t want some half measure of him. I want all of him, even if it does mean pain.
I brace myself against him and prepare for what I’m about to ask of him. Not out loud, with words. Words won’t be good enough. He won’t give me what I want if I ask that way. I need to ask with my body, to show him that I can take whatever he’s capable of handing out. I kiss him deep, reveling in the warmth and the weight of him on top of me. How many times have I watched him run? Seen him surge forward, his legs strong, his arms pumping, his body a perfectly designed machine, powering him forward? He’s all packed, lean muscle, broad and strong, and I can’t get enough of him as I hold onto him, rolling and writhing against him.
“Carrie.” Again, the warning. I’m done with warnings. I’m done with rules. I’m done with being told what’s good and what’s bad for me. I’m capable of knowing my own mind…knowing what I want…and I want this.
“Stop saving me.” I said this to him yesterday in the library. It was a plea then, but now it’s a command. Dash must hear the finality in my tone, because he looks down at me wearing a querying, searching expression that steals my breath. And then he smiles a heart-stoppingly savage smile.
“Alright. You asked for it, love.”
He let’s go. Anything gentle or cautious about him vanishes. He becomes a force of nature. A storm within a storm. With firm, rough hands, he crushes me to him. He holds me down. He restrains me with his own body, and his mouth, and his cock, as he slams himself into me again and again.
This is better than gentle. This is the truth. This is how Dashiell Lovett fucks. “Carina. Carina. Fucking hell, Carrie. Fuck.” He chants my name like it’s both prayer and curse. “You’re perfect. You’re beautiful. You’re incredible. You’re mine.”
I’ve never felt like I’ve belonged to anyone before. My mother couldn’t protect me. My father didn’t even want to know me. Kevin and Jason wanted me to own me, but I wouldn’t let them have me. Alderman made a point of giving me back to myself. But when Dash whispers those words, reverent and possessive, I hand myself over willingly.
Soon, he’s tensing all over again, shaking as he grinds against me. “Jesus Christ, Carrie. Fuck. Oh my god.” He pulls out, stroking his hand up and down the length of his cock, and I watch, fascinated, as he tumbles over the edge. Hot jets of come erupt out of him, spilling on my stomach and between my thighs. He throws his head back, exposing his throat like he’s laying himself bare in front of me…and it’s the hottest, most maddeningly sexy thing I have ever witnessed in all my life.
“Holy shit, Dash.”
He pants, falling sideways, his eyes shuttering closed, but only for a second. He’s up and kneeling between my legs again in a heartbeat.
“What are you doing?” I try to draw my legs closed, but he won’t let me. Snatching up the boxers he ripped off his body earlier, he carefully wipes his come from my body. I’m not sure if I’m supposed to be mortified by this, or if the hot want that pulses through my body as he cleans me is normal.
His eyes find mine, and I register the dark, dangerous edge in them. “Oh, we’re not done, love,” he purrs. “Not by a long shot. It’s normal that you didn’t come your first time. You will, though. I’m gonna fucking make sure of it. I’m gonna show you how. I’ll train you, sweetheart. For tonight, I’ll settle for you coming on my tongue.”
He sinks down, and the sudden wet heat between my legs makes me yelp. I’ve planned how this was going to go in my head. The moment my future lover suggested going down on me, I was going to politely decline and tell him that it wasn’t necessary because I ‘wasn’t into that.’ That was the plan. But Dashiell didn’t ask, and the moment he begins to stroke at my clit with the tip of his tongue, I realize that I am very much into it. Very into it indeed.
“Holy—oh my g—fu—DASH!”
I’ve masturbated plenty. I’ve cried his name out loud while I’ve done it, too, but it’s never felt like this. It’s never felt like the world is ending and being rebuilt at the same fucking time. He licks and flicks at my clit, growling like he’s losing his mind, and I lose mine right along with him.
“Christ, Carrie. You taste so fucking good.” He bites the inside of my thigh, hard, and I gasp. He doesn’t stop, though. He bites again, and then again on the other thigh, and I rock against him, burying my hands in his hair, angling myself up to meet him, so desperate for the pressure of his tongue again.
“Oh, that’s fucking beautiful,” he grinds out. “Needy little Carrie. You like it when I eat your pussy?”
“Yes. Yes! God!”
“Show it to me, then. Open your legs for me. Spread yourself wide.”
Holy fucking shit. I’m going to die of embarrassment later, but for now the shame doesn’t come close to canceling out my want. I open my legs for him, showing him what he wants, and he hums with satisfaction. “Just in case you still don’t know what’s going on between your legs,” Dash says, his voice rough as sandpaper, “you’re wet as hell and your cunt is the most beautiful shade of pink I’ve ever fucking seen.” He falls on me again, alternating between his fingers and his tongue, licking and exploring every inch of me. I’m so out of control that I rock against his face, asking for more, more, more, and he fucking gives it to me. When I come, I try to roll away from him, trying to save him from the wetness spreading between my legs, but he grabs me and pins me savagely to the mattress by my hips.
“I don’t think so, love. That’s mine. I fucking earned it.”
He licks me clean, and I shudder and shiver against him while he does it.
19
DASH
On a scale of one to ten, how stupid are you?
I wake with my bare back pressed up against the freezing cold wall of Carrie’s bedroom. Her bed’s tiny, so there isn’t much room. She’s small, though, curled up against me, her head resting on my arm, the curve of her naked ass nestled right up against my morning wood.
On a scale of one to ten, how much shit are you in right now?
My breath stirs her hair. It’s been tickling my chin and my mouth for the past hour, but I haven’t moved a muscle. The arm that she’s lying on went dead somewhere around dawn, but again, I haven’t even twitched.
If you were to rate your level of ‘screwed’ on a scale of one through five, one being totally not screwed at all, five being so screwed that you’ll be dealing with the consequences of last night until the end of time, how would you rate your current situation?
I did my best to deny it, but come on. Who was I fucking kidding? This was always going to happen. It was only a matter of time. Despite all of the shit that I tried to convince myself—I’m totally in control; I’m not interested in her; Carrie Mendoza is nothing more than a thorn in my side—I was fully aware that I was going to wind up in this position eventually. Okay, maybe not this exact position. I figured we’d wind up sleeping in my bed, which is way more comfortable than a goddamn single, but whatever. I knew.
So why, then, is this turn of events so fucking surprising? Why, listening to the hushed in-and-out of Carrie’s shallow breathing, am I totally non-fucking-plussed by how this came about?
On a scale of one to ten, how unbearable will your friends be when they discover that you not only slept with the girl you claimed you didn’t care about, but that you have, in actual fact, developed some hardcore feelings for her?
It must be close to seven in the morning. There has been movement out in the hallway for a while now—other girls on the floor, heading for the bathroom, bustling along the corridor, and talking. Carrie’s s
lept through it all. I’ll wake her soon. I’ll have to wait until all of the other students go down to class before I can sneak out of here. I’ll probably roll in late, but not—
Carina’s bedroom door flies open and a girl with flaming red hair charges in.
There’s no time to duck and hide. No time to do anything. Carrie wakes up instantly, scrambling for the sheets. Luckily, she was already covered up—it’s fucking freezing in here. I made sure she was warm, even though it meant that I wasn’t—and none of her was on show. “Presley! Fuck. Shut the fucking door!” she cries.
The redhead, Presley, looks like she’s just come face-to-face with an alien. Her eyes bug out of her head, her mouth yawning open. And…Christ, she’s wearing nothing but a towel, for fuck’s sake. She uses her foot to kick the door closed behind her. Her eyes dart from Carina to me, then back to Carina. Slowly, they drift down, at which point her cheeks turn bright red and she starts stammering. “Uh…oh. This is embarrassing, but…uh…I can see Dashiell Lovett’s balls right now…and…uh…”
“God, turn around, Presley!” Carrie sounds horrified. Personally, I think this whole thing’s turning out to be kind of entertaining.
Presley turns forty-five degrees to face the window, opening and closing her mouth, blinking like she has sand in her eyes. “Uh…I just came to tell you that, well, that everyone’s talking about it.”
Carrie leaps out of bed, grabbing up her nightshirt, and fights her way inside it. Doesn’t bother buttoning it. She wraps the nightshirt around herself and then throws my clothes at me in a very unladylike fashion. “Talking about what?”
“Fitz. Fitz’s room,” she says, still blinking. “Uh…his room was broken into last night and a bunch of his furniture was destroyed. Or something.” Presley shrugs, which is a mistake on her part. The action loosens her towel, and she has to grab for it before it falls to the floor. I chuckle quietly.
Carrie spins on me, glaring.
“What?” I pop my hips up so I can pull up my boxers. “Sorry. I just never thought I’d find myself in this wing of the academy with two half-naked girls.”
She punches me in the arm. Actually punches me. “Someone broke into Fitz’s room last night? And smashed the place up?”
“Oh. Oh yeah. Wow. Who would have done such a thing?”
“Are you really trying to pretend that you had nothing to do with that?”
“Wouldn’t dream of it. But I’m not one to confess my sins in front of strangers.” I jerk my head in Presley’s direction. “You know how shy I can be.”
“Hah! Shy? Shy? You’re insane. Pre—Presley! Oh my god, stop!”
I look over at the girl in time to catch her staring at me. At my naked torso in particular. Thankfully I’ve already put my pants on, otherwise my balls would have been the least of her worries. She’d have been copping an eyeful of the hard-on that’s currently trying to escape my underwear. Carrie’s friend is crimson when her eyes flit up to meet mine.
“Sorry—I uh—I’m just not sure where I’m supposed to look.”
“Maybe you should go and get dressed?” Carina suggests. “Head back to your room. I’ll come by and we can go down to class together in a minute.”
Presley nods. “Yeah. Of course. Sure.” She slips out of the door, clutching at her towel, leaving Carina and I alone again.
Carrie rounds on me like a hellcat. “You smashed up Fitz’s office?”
“Yep.” I can’t wear the hoody I wore last night. I’ve never worn a hoody to class before. Showing up in one this morning would be really fucking dumb, considering that the two vandals who broke into the school last night were wearing black fucking hoodies. Lucky for me, last night was cold as hell and I wore a light sweater underneath the stupid thing to keep warm. I put on my t-shirt and the sweater, smoothing my hands over my hair. Carina’s still staring at me. “What? He deserved it. Haven’t you ever wanted to knock the fucker down a peg or two?”
“No! Fitz is the nicest teacher at the academy. How did he possibly deserve that?”
Ahh. Right. I mean…to the other students at Wolf Hall, Fitz probably would seem like a solid guy. He does his best to make our classes fun, and he goes easy on us when we don’t have time to complete our assignments. But he’s tried too hard from the fucking beginning, letting us curse and say whatever we feel like, as if we can be ourselves around him because he’s cool. Because he’s essentially one of us. It’s pathetic.
And that was before all of the shit with Wren, too. Now, I have extra reason not to like the bastard. “We were sending him a message,” I say. “He’s fucking with the house. Pax and I figured it was time he got a little warning about his behavior. That’s all. Sounds like the folks downstairs are blowing the whole thing out of proportion. It was just a desk and a couple of chairs. And the whiteboard. And the grey sofa.”
“Just his desk and—” She takes a deep breath. “God, Dash. Is this some weird ass retribution over him giving you detention?”
A bark of laughter flies out of my mouth before I can swallow it down. Like I’d get so bent out of shape over a petty detention slip.
“You’re gonna have to tell me what’s so funny. I am so confused right now.”
I almost tell her. Wren’s secret nearly slips out of my mouth like its mine to share, but I’m saved by the piercing shriek of the bell, calling students to first period. “Shit. I’d better go,” Carina says. She isn’t done with me yet, though. “Meet me at the observatory tonight? I think we need to talk.”
20
DASH
“This is what I get for being a fucking gentleman.” Pax nurses his right hand, glaring at me like it’s my fault that he’s in so much pain.
“We live on a mountain, man,” I mutter. “Not smart to go grabbing hold of plants without checking if they’re poisonous first.”
“I grabbed hold of it so you could climb down that fucking steam vent. I was being courteous, and now I’ve got fucking leprosy. Is it supposed to blister like that?” He holds his hand right under my nose, displaying a pretty gross looking welt that has, indeed, started to blister.
“Put some fucking cream on it, dude. You’re gonna be fine.”
“No fucking poison sumac in New York.” He rolls his sleeve down, covering up the angry rash. “Never would have happened if we were attending a school in civilization.”
“Be grateful you didn’t go in that undergrowth to take a piss. You ever gotten that shit on your dick? It’s the worst.”
He looks appalled. “Do you have something against your cock, man? You don’t seem to take very good care of it.”
“Alright, class. Yeah, yeah, yeah, alright. I know. Simmer down.” Fitz has entered the room. He goes to throw his fancy leather record bag onto his desk, then chuckles ruefully when he remembers that he doesn’t have one anymore. He hangs the strap of his bag off the corner of a bookcase at the front of the room—one we would have smashed to kindling last night, had we had the time—and turns to face the class. “Looks like some of you had an eventful night last night,” he says. With his hands in his pockets of his faded jeans and the sleeves of his tailored black shirt cuffed up to his elbows, he looks like he made an extra effort to dress down for our lesson today.
“Excuse me.” Damiana Lozano looks thoroughly put out. “Where do you get off, blaming us for this? We wouldn’t destroy our own shit. Not when this is the only classroom where we get to sit on chairs that don’t make our asses go numb. Doesn’t make any sense. It was probably a freshman. Or one of those Edmondson kids, getting us back for fucking that dude’s mom.”
Hah! Hadn’t thought about that. Pax is expressionless, but he lets out a bemused chuckle. From an outsider’s perspective, this could definitely be payback for the boys fucking that kid’s mom. The administration’s going to have a hard time pinning this on us either way.
Wren hasn’t said a word about this infraction. He was sprawled out on his leather couch when I snuck into the room five minutes ago, a
nd he actually seemed entertained by the whole thing. I didn’t go running with them this morning, though, and I didn’t drive up the road with them, either. He must in the very least suspect that I had something to do with this.
“I’m going to choose to believe that it wasn’t any of you guys,” Fitz says. “It’d sting pretty bad if it was. I’ve always thought I’ve shared an understanding with this class. But I will say this. If any of you have an axe to grind—” He looks pointedly at me, “—then I really hope that you’ll come and discuss your issue with me directly in future. I’m not planning on replacing my desk, but the other furniture, the stuff I will replace, isn’t cheap, and I’m paying for it out of my own pocket, so…”
My fucking hero. He can cry me a river. He earns six figures working here, and his costs are all taken care of. He has a great apartment down in Mountain Lakes that I know for a fact is owned by the academy, and he eats here for free Monday through Friday. He can afford to replace a couple or chairs and a whiteboard. My heart doth not bleed for the man.
“Hey. Where the fuck did you sleep last night, anyway?” Pax whispers. “I came back around and looked for you when Hugh went to get Harcourt. Thought the poor bastard was gonna have a heart attack.”
“The attic.” Luckily, I’ve had time to plan my response to this question. It’s only natural that he asked. The attic above the academy is a well-kept secret. You can get up there through the janitor’s closet on the fourth floor of the girl’s wing, or there’s an actual staircase that leads there from the boy’s wing. Pax has been up there once or twice, but not in years. He probably forgot the place existed. He wouldn’t have looked for me there.
He grunts, appearing to accept my explanation. “Anybody see you go up there?”
I shake my head.
Fitz coughs loudly. “I hate to interrupt your little tête à tête, boys, but we’re kind of in the middle of something, so could you please shut the fuck up and pay attention.” His words drip with open venom. Our classmates chuckle nervously under their breath and behind the backs of their hands, wanting to jeer and laugh at a teacher commanding us to shut the fuck up, but they know better than to think they’d get away with it.
