He leans closer, his mouth just off my ear. “You want it rough. You want to lose.”
“Not to you,” I snap, but the lie lands flat.
He tilts his head, catching my eyes with his. For a heartbeat, he searches my face, reading every flicker. I try to freeze him out, but I know what he sees. The pupils blown wide. The flush up my throat. The way my mouth won’t quite close.
“You’re trembling,” he says, voice soft, but there’s nothing gentle in it.
“I’m not—”
He raises his other hand, brushing it up the side of my neck, knuckles dragging a line of goosebumps under my jaw. I hate how my body leans in. I hate how I want to push him down right here, on the frozen gravel, and fuck him until one of us cracks.
I think he knows it.
He’s still smiling, but it’s shifted from amusement to hunger. “Tell me to stop,” he says.
I want to. I want to scream it.
Instead, I say, “You couldn’t handle me.”
He presses his thumb into the pulse at my throat, just enough to make me feel how fast it’s hammering. His eyes never leave mine. “I could ruin you.”
I don’t say yes. I don’t have to.
The next move is his. I’m not sure if I want to run or wait to be devoured.
He doesn’t hesitate.
His hand tightens at my throat, pinning me to the brick so my heels barely scrape the ground. The cold bites through my skin, but his palm is a furnace, calluses rough against the delicate skin of my neck. I keep my chin high. If he wants to see fear, he’ll have to look elsewhere.
Our faces are inches apart. I can taste the violence crackling between us. It’s not cologne—it’s just the ghost of sex yet to be had. I can smell my own arousal and I internally curse. My heart slams against his hand, thudding so loud I’m half convinced he can hear it.
“Last chance to run,” he says.
I spit in his face.
He grins like he’s won something, then crashes his mouth into mine. No prelude. No seduction. Just teeth and pressure and the blunt force of his need.
He doesn’t kiss like a boy, or even a man. He kisses like a storm. I try to bite him, but he’s faster, catching my lower lip between his teeth and pulling until I gasp. My nails dig into his shoulders, searching for a hold, but the muscle there is like iron under skin. When I try to break free, he only presses harder, cutting off my air until the edges of my vision flicker white.
The kiss ends as abruptly as it began. He yanks his head back, eyes black with hunger, mouth wet with my spit. “Still want to play?” he growls.
I try to tell him to fuck off, but the only thing that comes out is a half-choked moan. He’s already moving, hands gripping my arms so tight I know I’ll bruise. He drags me, stumbling, around the side of the building—out of view from the quad, into a shallow alcove facing the woods. The wall here is colder, the wind sharper. A security camera blinks red, but he positions me just beneath its dead zone.
He slams me into the bricks, hard enough that my breath explodes out. His hand finds my throat again, fingers splayed wide, pinning me with a pressure that’s just shy of pain.
“You think I’m scared of your father?” he says, voice low and shaking with restraint. “You think I’m scared of anything?”
I try to answer, but he’s already got his other hand between my legs, fingers rough through the thin mesh of my leggings. The friction is electric. I want to close my legs, but he’s got them spread with his knee, opening me up until I can feel how wet I am, slick and humiliating.
He laughs, not unkindly, just shocked at what he’s found. “You want it rough, huh?” he whispers. “Princess likes to be handled.”
His fingers find the waistband, yank my pants and underwear down in one brutal motion. The air is freezing, but his hand is so hot that the contrast makes my whole body seize. He doesn’t give me time to be embarrassed. He’s on his knees, face buried between my thighs, tongue hot and demanding. It’s not gentle, not careful—it’s feral, all tongue and teeth, a mess of saliva and need. He groans into me, the sound vibrating up through my pelvis and setting my nerves on fire.
I bite my fist to keep from screaming. I feel the scrape of brick against my knuckles, the cold seeping in. My knees shake, and I know if he weren’t holding me up, I’d be on the ground already. I hate that I want this, that my body is betraying everything I’m supposed to be—disciplined, untouchable, above the common.
He stands, lips glistening, and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. There’s a look in his eyes I haven’t seen before, a kind of hunger that’s almost reverence. Almost. But he ruins it with the next move—shoves two fingers deep inside me and grins as I gasp, the stretch and burn nearly too much.
“You’re dripping. God, I love it.”
