My brain stutters to a halt. “What?”
“He organized all the sabotage,” Raiden continues, his voice even and certain. “He cut the coolant line. He set the fire this morning. He almost burned the painting, by the way. The one I left for you. I bought it and… I wanted to give it back.”
I stare at him, my mind reeling. Chase? The friendly volunteer? The guy who hit on me? It makes no sense. “But… why? And how do you know all this?”
“Marlon—the guy from the team you saw last night—has a younger brother and he is an engineering geek. He hacked the campus security footage for me. We got Chase on camera slicing the trip wire right before he set the fire. I’ve known for a while it was him. The problem was proving it without tipping him off.” Raiden’s jaw tightens. “I was trying to build a case, to gather more evidence, because I was afraid if you just accused him, he’d talk his way out of it. But then he set the damn fire, and my patience ran out. I decided getting you out of there was more important.”
A bitter taste fills my mouth. “I was horrible to him last night,” I say quietly, remembering how I’d used him to make Raiden jealous. “Maybe he… maybe I deserved it.”
“Don’t,” Raiden says, his voice turning sharp and harsh. “Don’t you dare talk that fucking nonsense. You’re not to blame for anything. That asshole was obsessed. He overheard your little coming out speech to your friends, and he was planning to cause a scene at the party tonight. A big one. Something to ‘save you’ from the scary hockey jock and make himself look like the hero.” His eyes blaze. “He knew. He knew I liked you, and he was trying to sabotage us from the start.”
I process the information, the sheer manipulative crazy of it all. It’s a lot to take in. My mind circles back to the one detail that still feels out of place. “The painting,” I say timidly. “Why did you buy my painting?”
He looks away for a second, a flicker of something almost shy crossing his features. He touches my face again, his thumb stroking my cheek. “I just… I didn’t know how to make you happy,” he admits, his voice rough with emotion. “I actually saw it in the gallery window when I was walking by, can you believe it? I really didn’t know at first that it is your painting. It looked so… sad. And beautiful. Like you. And I heard you needed the money for tuition. I just wanted you to have it back. So you wouldn’t have to sell your art if you didn’t want to.”
The raw, clumsy sincerity of his words hits me right in the chest. “You should have just given it to me,” I whisper.
He raises an eyebrow, a hint of the old, sarcastic Raiden returning. “Oh, right. So you could have thrown it in my face and accused me of trying to buy you?”
I bite my lip to keep from laughing, then fail completely. A small chuckle escapes me. “Okay, fair point.” I look down at my hands, feeling a wave of shame for how I treated him, for how I stormed out of that utility closet. “I’m sorry, Raiden. For… for yesterday.”
“Stop,” he says gruffly. “Don’t apologize.” He pulls me closer, his arms a steel band around me. “I know I ruined yourChristmas. But I’m going to make it up to you, at least a little. I already talked to your friends. I’ve arranged for a mini-party tomorrow at the rink. Just us, them, and anyone else who’s still around. We’ll have the whole place to ourselves.” He leans in, his lips brushing my ear. “And then we’re going on a little trip, just you and me. If you agree.” He pauses, and his hand slides down to my thigh, squeezing gently. “I’ll teach you how to skate properly. And how to bend your knees, sweet pie,” he whispers, the last words a hot promise that sends a shiver straight through me.
I close my eyes, overwhelmed. I shake my head against his shoulder. “I reacted too emotionally,” I whisper back, my own voice thick. “But you didn’t ruin my Christmas. Right now… Christmas feels pretty wonderful.” A newfound boldness courses through me. I turn my head, my lips finding the strong column of his throat. “Let’s go back to bed.”
Back in the bedroom, with the candles still flickering, I don’t wait for him to take the lead. I push him down onto the mattress and straddle his hips, rubbing against him through our clothes. His eyes darken, his hands coming up to grip my waist.
“What are you doing, Artie?” he asks, his voice strained.
“I want you again,” I whisper, leaning down to kiss the sensitive skin of his neck, right over his pulse. I feel his heart rate kick up. “I want you inside me again.”
“Don’t tease me,” he warns, his voice a low growl.
“I’m not teasing.” I pull back to look him in the eye, my hands flat on his chest. “Stop treating me like a Victorian virgin. I know what I want.”
A humorless snort escapes him. In one powerful, fluid motion, he flips us over. I’m on my back, pinned beneath him, his heavy body a delicious weight. He rips my jeans off with an impatient growl.
“Fine,” he wheezes into my ear, his voice rough with arousal. “But once I’m inside you this time, I’m not leaving. You’re going to be fucking filled up for a long time.”
A desperate, needy moan escapes me. “Okay,” I pant, because his fingers are already slicking me open, stretching me with an agonizing slowness.
When he pushes inside me, he fills me completely, a thick, hot pressure deep inside that feels like coming home. He moves with a wild rhythm, whispering filthy, possessive promises into my ear. He tells me how he’s going to fill me to the brim, how I’ll always drip his cum from now on, how I belong to him.
And with every deep, powerful thrust, I believe him more.
The next time I wake, pale morning light is filtering through the blinds. And he’s still inside me. We must have fallen asleep like that, tangled together, his body still joined with mine. A giddy, joyful laugh escapes me.
I try to wiggle free, needing the bathroom, but his arm tightens around my waist, pulling me back against him. He’s already hard again.
“Don’t even think about it,” he groans into my hair.
I laugh again. “I have to pee, you lunatic.” He still doesn’t let me go, so I squirm until he finally relents with a predatory bite to my shoulder. He finally pulls out with a wet sound that has me blushing, and I scramble out of bed.
When I return, I feel emboldened, filled with a festive, playful confidence. I climb back onto the bed and straddle him, sitting upright on his chest. He looks up at me through half-closed eyelids, a lazy, satisfied lion.
“I can feel your heart beating fast,” I say, pressing my palm flat against his chest. It’s hammering.
“Of course it’s beating fast,” he replies, his voice husky with sleep. “You’re naked and sitting on me.”
