by Callie Hart
I bite down on my lip, shaking my head. “I wanted to. I wanted to come so bad. But I wanted you…”
“You wanted me to do it. You wanted to come on my tongue,” he finishes.
Turning my head to the left, I lift my chin and look up at him. With the moonlight streaming in through the huge windows, he looks like a disreputable angel, too perfect for words. There’s something so human about him at the same time, though. A flawed, vulnerable, side that makes my chest ache. He could be a Nephilim, then. I’ve come across scores of myths about the offspring of both angel and human while reading about stories about the constellations. There’s always a bleeding of folklore, legend and mythology when it comes to the beauty of the night sky, and the beautiful children of the gods and man are always impossible to resist.
With his bright blond hair and the disconcerting changeability of his eye color, his square cut jaw and his artfully sculpted body, there’s no doubt in my mind that it was men like Dash who inspired those kinds of stories. He is irresistible. The poles could reverse, the sun could collapse, and an event horizon could form and tear the planet from its orbit, and the force with which I am pulled toward him would still be infinitely stronger.
Dashiell looks down at me, his penetrating eyes neither brown, nor, blue, nor green, but closer to black in the dim light of my room, as he continues to stroke his fingers over my pussy. He glows with pleasure as he carefully works me open and slides his middle finger inside me so, so, SO slowly that I shake from needing him. “That’s right. Good girl. Open up for me.” He lowers his head and hovers his mouth a millimeter away from mine, so I can feel the heat from his mouth but not the pressure of his lips. This beautiful boy is cruel beyond words. I whimper as he rubs his thumb over my clit in small, tight circles.
“Shh. Don’t worry. I’m gonna make it better,” he mutters. “I’m gonna make you feel good. It’s okay.” He soothes me, speaking in a soft, gentle, coaxing tone as he slips his arm around my chest and holds onto me tight.
The kiss finally comes, blazing hot. I’m so greedy for his mouth—and the finger that he’s pumping inside me—that a hint of shame starts to creep in. What would Alderman say if he knew how desperate and sex starved I’ve become because of this boy? He’d be so disappointed. The shame never really settles in, though. It slides away like silk, fluttering away into nothing, leaves blowing down an empty road, and all that’s left is the fire.
God, it hurts so good.
“Dash. I—fuck, please.”
“Please?” he murmurs. “Are you begging for my dick like a good girl?”
“Yes. Yes!”
He demonstrates his approval by biting my neck, his teeth tugging at my skin just hard enough to tightrope walk the boundary between pleasure and pain. “You’re gonna have to be patient just a little longer, love.” He licks where he’s just bitten, purring in my ear. “Don’t worry. It’s okay. You can take it.”
He has more faith in me than I have in myself. I feel like I’m under too much strain and I’m coming apart at the seams. If he doesn’t flip me over and fuck the living shit out of me in the next sixty seconds, I can’t be held accountable for the brazen, filthy things I will do next. I’ll crawl for him. I’ll do anything he asks, give him anything he asks, so long as he gives me what I need in return.
Dash’s hand keeps moving beneath my panties. I watch him touch me, heat spiraling around in my body, building between my legs. He releases his grip on me just long enough to roughly pull my t-shirt up and yank it unceremoniously over my head. I let him do it. I’ll let him do whatever he wants to me. I’m his plaything, his toy, and I’ve never been happier about surrendering control.
He pulls me back against his chest again, so that I’m lying in the cradle of his body, held by him, surrounded by him as he strokes his free hand over my skin. My stomach; my hips; my thighs; my breasts: Dash moves from one to the next, leaving a trail of fire behind him as he goes. I’m cold with so much skin bare, but the warmth of Dash’s hands heats me from the inside out.
“I want my come on these tits,” Dash rumbles. “I want it painted on your thighs. I want your pussy slick with it, so I know that you’re mine.”
My eyes roll back into my head when he quickens the pace with the circles that he’s drawing on my clitoris. The mounting waves of pleasure that are starting to crash through me grow more and more intense with every second, and my hips act of their own accord, rolling, rocking, rising up to meet his hand, begging for more friction.
“Hmm.” Dash laughs darkly. “You wanna take it for yourself, love? Wanna use my hand to make yourself come?”
I nod dumbly. It’s all I’m capable of. Dash kisses me roughly against the side of my head. “Okay, sweetheart. Fuck my hand. I’ll watch you while you work.”
I’m a mindless creature, desperate for release. It’s not just the pressure of wanting and needing Dash that’s been building up inside of me, creating a backlog of emotion. It’s everything that went down at the party. It’s everything that happened when I was a child. It’s Mara, running away and leaving us all worried for days. It’s Alderman, and everything that’s expected of me. It’s Fitz, and Wren, and Pax, and my own crippling self-doubt. The force of pressure that’s been building inside of me has been accumulating for years, now, and I’m so frustrated that the release I feel coming is exactly what I need.
I roll my hips, clinging to Dash’s arm, and his mouth opens slightly, his teeth pressing into his bottom lip. Such a turn on, watching him bite his own lip. He’s so damn hot, I can’t bear it. His eyes are full of sin. He watches me, and I watch him do it. His eyes are unfocused, his breathing uneven, hitching in and out of him. It won’t be long now. I can feel it—the hot, tight pressure building between my legs, rising into my core. I’ll come soon, with his fingers inside me and the heel of his palm working against my clit, and the whole world will implode.
Dash palms my breast, his dazed, lust-filled expression making him look almost sleepy. “Fuck.” I see the shape of the word on his mouth, and a body-wide shiver rips through me. God, this is…it’s…
I rock against his hand, my pace quickening, and Dash lets out a raw, pained groan. “Fuck, I can’t. I’m sorry. I have to.” Quick as lightning, he shifts from behind me, and then his pants are shoved down over his hips, and he’s settling himself between my legs, and then he’s—oh—holy shit, he’s pushing inside me.
He’s so damn thick. I’m full of him, still stretching to accommodate the size of him when he begins to rock against me. “Jesus, fuck, Carrie,” he snarls. “You’re so goddamn beautiful.” He braces himself, one arm on either side of my head, and he holds me in place, kissing me deeply while he fucks me. The weight of him. The smell of him. His breathless whispering in my ear. The faint saltiness of his sweat on my tongue. The very sight of him, his powerful muscles shifting under beautiful, tanned skin. God, he overwhelms every sense I have, rendering me incapable of registering anything other than him.
When I come, I cling to him, and it’s all too much. I’m so overcome by him and the emotion swelling within me, that I weirdly feel like I’m about to burst into tears. Or laugh. I don’t even know how I’m going to react; I’m too scared to even breathe.
Dash tightens his arms around me, his body tensing as he comes, too. “God, Stella. Hold on.” He thrusts deep and hard, gritting his teeth, and my climax intensifies three-fold. He growls as he fucks me, his fingers gouging into my skin, his teeth finding the hollow at my neck, and my vision strobes.
The come down is just as sweet as the ascent. I feel like I’m floating, drifting, sinking down into the mattress. Dash rests on top of me for a moment, catching his breath, and the two of us just be.
These are the moments I live for. These blissful silences, entangled in the dark, feed my soul in a way I never imagined possible. After a while, Dash props himself up on one elbow, shifting so he can look down at me. He brushes my sweat damp curls out of my face, humming quietly. He traces his fin
gertips over my forehead, down my temple, down the bridge of my nose. And then, very softly, he says, “I’d like to tell you something.”
My pulse kicks up a gear. “Is it important?”
He smiles a small smile, his voice very quiet. “Terribly.”
“Then I suppose you’d better go ahead.”
His hand rests gently against my neck, his thumb stroking reverently along the line of my jaw. “I am so in love with you, Carina Mendoza. I feel like I might die.”
32
DASH
I love you, too.
I don’t deserve the words, but she gives them to me anyway. We talk about things we should have talked about a long time ago. “I was thinking…I was hoping that you might want to come with me? To England? If you don’t wanna go to Oxford, then there are plenty of other amazing places to study. And I know the weather’s shit and the food’s even worse, but—” I searched her face. “It’s beautiful, too. There are some really special places that I’d love to show you. And Europe’s right there. Do you have any idea how easy it is to catch a train from London to Paris?”
She’d just stared at me, dumbfounded.
“Say something. I’m breaking out into a nervous sweat over here. Would that be okay with you? Would you come? The visa thing wouldn’t be an issue. And you’re so smart. There’s no way you wouldn’t get in—”
The smile that spread across her face was blinding. “Yes! Oh my god, yes! That would be more than okay with me.
She cried, and I held her in my arms, gripped by a ridiculous fear. She was happy. So fucking happy that the burden of my responsibility became very apparent, very quickly.
I can’t fuck this up. I’ll never forgive myself if I do. And Carrie deserves better than being ignored in the hallways. I owe her more than that. She deserves someone who’ll put their arm around her in public and be proud of the fact that she’ll even let them. She deserves everyone to know that she’s loved and protected, and I want to be the one to give that to her. So I make the decision. I’m going to tell Wren. Pax already knows. He isn’t going to be happy that I’m choosing to forge ahead with this thing, but I’ll handle the consequences. It’s time to end the subterfuge and the deceit.
She’s sleeping now.
As I get dressed and leave her room, I replay her words and the feverish look in her eyes as she’d spoken to me before she fell asleep. “I love you, too, Dash. God, I tried not to fall for you, but I couldn’t stop. I can’t live without you now.”
I love you, too.
Last year, I thought the four most important words in the English language were ‘just one more hit.’ I haven’t smoked weed in months, though. I’ve barely had anything to drink. Carrie’s been all I’ve needed. Now, she’s all I’ll ever need.
I pull her bedroom door closed behind me as quietly as possible, turning, still lost in the replay of her telling me that she returned my feelings, only to walk into a solid brick wall of muscle. I’m so startled that my brain short circuits at first. I think: Hugh, the security guard, followed by, Fuck! But then I look up—There are very few people at Wolf Hall that I ever have to look up at—and realize my mistake. The lethal looking man I’ve just collided with is a complete stranger and has no business being on Wolf Hall Grounds.
His skin is a light, tawny brown. His eyes are so blue, they’re the color of icebergs, cold and assessing. His charcoal grey suit is extraordinarily well made and must have cost a small fortune. Maybe in his mid-thirties, he looks like a high-powered investment banker, but there’s a worrying edge to him. Something off, that doesn’t feel right. When he closes a hand around my throat and yanks me away from the door, I realize that it’s because he has death in his eyes.
“Lord Lovett, I presume?” He shoves me away, letting me go. I keep my feet underneath me, though I do stagger back a couple of steps. He took me by surprise. I’m not a brawler like Pax, but I know how to put a guy on his ass when I need to. I’m ready for him when he prowls forward and goes to grab me by the scruff of my collar.
I don’t fucking think so, asshole.
I’m not some dog, to be jerked around on a leash.
I slap his hand aside and square up to him, angling my shoulders, hands made into fists as I wait to see what he’s going to do next. He smirks, fiddling with a cufflink for a moment before he feints forward, trying to trick me into retreating some more. I don’t, though. I step into him, ducking, launching a right hook that takes the fucker by surprise. The blow lands right on his jaw; I didn’t hit him hard enough to put him on the ground. The punch was designed to serve as a deterrent, to make him back the fuck up. Ring his bell a little. I think it served its purpose when the guy quits stalking forward and straightens up, holding his fingers to his mouth. When he lowers his hand, his fingers stained with blood, he grins, his teeth coated red. “Well, well, well. I heard you were a bit of a pretty boy. Spoiled as fuck. I wasn’t prepared for you actually being able to fight.”
Quicker than a flash of light, his hand whips out, a fist of his own, and he clocks me on my temple. My vision sways, darkening around the edges, but I don’t go down. I jump back, shaking my head, ready to go toe-to-toe with this motherfucker.
Then, I see the gun in his hand.
Then, I see his finger on the trigger.
His ice-cold eyes narrow into furious slits. “With me, asshole. Now.”
The Vanquish is a sleek black bullet, idling in the academy’s driveway. The guy prods me in the back with the muzzle of the gun, wordlessly ordering me to get into the passenger seat. “You’re kidding, right? If I get into that car, what’s to stop you from killing me?”
“Who said anything about killing you?” the stranger in the slick suit says.
I hold my ground, literally digging my heels into the gravel when he shoves me toward the car again. “I assumed that’s what the gun was for.”
His laughter is acidic. “Guns aren’t just good for killing. They’re good for causing an infinite amount of pain, too. I figured I’d start on your kneecaps and go from there.”
“You should know, if this is about money, my father isn’t the type of man who’d pay out ransom to a kidnapper. He really doesn’t like me all that much.”
He laughs louder, the sound full of genuine amusement. “Kid. That is a three-hundred-thousand-dollar car you’re refusing to get into. I have more money than I’ll ever need. Now move, before I lose my temper.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Try me.”
I’m stubborn. I’ve always been stubborn. I contemplate turning around and calling his bluff just to see what he’ll do…but then I remember Carina upstairs, and the selfish part of me, the part that definitely wants to see her again, forces me to back down. I open up the passenger side door and climb inside the car. The motherfucker in the suit gets in.
“Are you gonna tell me what this is about?”
He throws the car into gear and guns the engine, tearing away from the academy. “Shut your mouth.”
I clamp my mouth shut. Not to give him what he wants, fuck this guy, but because I need to use the next few minutes to think. I have my cellphone in my pocket. I could try to covertly call Pax or Wren, but it’s the middle of the night. Wren’s probably passed out cold. Pax could be awake, but he’ll be high, or drunk, or listening to raging metal. He’s notoriously bad at answering his phone at the best of times. No way he’s picking up to me now. So, I’ll throat punch this piece of shit when he drags me out of the car, then. I’ll break his fucking nose. I’ll hit him so hard that he’ll simultaneously shit and piss himse—
“Whatever you’re planning in that pretty head of yours…don’t. It won’t end well.” The guy gives me a disparaging sideways look.
I snarl. “Yeah. Cool. I’ll work on developing Stockholm Syndrome, then. You and me can go live in a bunker somewhere. I’ll blow you every morning. You can call me cupcake. I’ll call you sugar. I’ll forget that you kidnapped me at gunpoint and accept my new reality
. We’ll buy a house and adopt a couple of ki—”
PAIN!
It’s swift and it’s decisive. I bend over, clutching my hand to my chest, startled to find that there’s a scalpel protruding out of the back of it.
“Got quite the ugly mouth on you, don’t you,” the guy says. His voice is calm. Bored. He stares out of the windshield, eyes on the road as we speed down the mountain. His gaze flickers over to the shining steel implement buried in my flesh. “Lemme know when you’re done with that. I borrowed it from a friend.”
Shaking, horrified, I pull the scalpel out of my hand, dropping it, and it clatters down into the footwell between my feet. The neat little incision in my skin, tucked between bone and tendon, is barely a centimeter long, but it goes deep. The blade was sharp. So sharp that the wound doesn’t even bleed at first. But when it does, it gushes…
“Here.” The guy swings expertly through a bend, controlling the vehicle with one fucking hand as he offers me a towel. What the fuck? I snatch it from him, wrapping it around my hand, hissing. “What the fuck is WRONG with you?”
“You’re familiar with Pavlov’s dog,” he says.
“WHAT?!”
“Pavlov worked with canines. Wanted to ascertain how easily they could be trained. He had this bell, and every time he rang the bell, he fed his dog. He repeated this action over and over again, until eventually he’d ring the bell and the dog would start to salivate. He’d conditioned it to know that when that bell rung—”
“I KNOW ABOUT PAVLOV’S DOG, ASSHOLE!”
The guy doesn’t respond to my fury. “Then you understand what I’m driving at. Now, this might be very presumptuous of me, and forgive me if I’m wrong,” he says, holding up a finger, “but I assume you’re smarter than a dog. I’m hoping that you’ll be able to make this association without me having to repeat myself two of three times. When I tell you to shut your fucking mouth, you fucking shut it, or there will be consequences that you do not like.”
