I stiffen when he grabs my hips and lifts me up to slide out of me with a quiet hiss. The rush of liquid shouldn’t come as a surprise, yet I never expected it to be…so much.
Now, my entire face is on fire, and I try my best to ignore it—him—and just pray he leaves so I can go back to being numb again. It was nice for the short time it lasted, but I suspect it’s also why Dread challenged me. It’s not so fun to break me down when I have no reaction to it.
“Stay right there.”
I would prefer to die and sink into the floor instead, but staying put suffices. I crack open an eye long enough to see him get to his feet, pull up his pants, and adjust his clothing again before disappearing into my bathroom.
I briefly hear running water, followed by his footsteps. I still don't look at him, even when I feel the warm press of a rag against my thighs.
The silence is thick as he cleans me up. There's the distinct sound of the rag hitting my hamper, and then he scoops me into his arms again. My hand flies to his shoulders for balance as he stands. Before I can ask what the hell he’s doing, he carries me to the bed and plops me on the mattress.
Then, he bends and grabs my underwear and jeans he left on the floor, handing them over to me. I waste no time pulling them on again while he steps over to the desk to look down at my paperwork.
I can feel myself getting defensive, but because I don’t have a good excuse, I just get angrier instead.
“You can leave now,” I snap while rebuttoning my jeans.
When I’m finished, I toss his coat at him, ignoring his grin when it hits his chest, then focus on making my bed from when… whoever… fucked it up, just to give myself something to do. Dread fixed the sheet while I was lying on it earlier, but now I feel compelled to tuck the bedding in so tightly, a quarter could bounce off it.
He watches me silently for a few moments, mirth swirling in his gaze, but I pointedly ignore him.
“You’ve had this room for two seconds, and he already found it. You’re not staying here,” he says casually.
My blood simmers, slowly crawling to a boil as I aggressively fluff my pillow, practically punching it.
“I’m not staying with you,” I tell him.
I hear him approach me, and then I feel him. His presence is so goddamn strong and overwhelming. I just wish I could snuff it out like a metal cup over a flame.
I freeze when his fingers whisper across my nape, brushing my hair over my shoulder. Goosebumps cover my entire body in a second flat, and I suppress the urge to shiver.
However, I don’t contain my exhale that’s rife with irritation.
There’s an extremely prominent ache in my core, a constantreminder he manipulated his way inside me yet again, and as a result, it’s taking effort to move and walk normally. Those two things make it very frustrating that he’s touching me again.
“We’re not going back to my dorm right now. We have somewhere else to go, and then I have practice after,” he says quietly in my ear.
“No,” I clip.
He’s trapping me between the bed and him, making it almost impossible to escape without shoving him away first or kneeing him in the balls. I know from experience that he’s a fucking mammoth, basically impossible for me to move, so the first option is out. As for the second, I'm admittedly extremely terrified of the repercussions, especially when him wanting to fuck me is a slightly better scenario than him wanting to kill me.
But only slightly.
My breath falls short when his fingers come around to my front, lifting the bottom of my shirt just enough to drag them lightly over my bare skin toward the button of my jeans. Clenching my jaw, I close my eyes and work hard to ignore the electricity his touch ignites, the heavy tension weighing down my bones.
“Dread,” I growl in warning.
“If you don’t want to put your coat and shoes on, I’m happy to get you naked instead. I’ll suck on your pretty tits this time, bite them while you bounce on my cock—I know how happy that’d make you.”
It should be biologically impossible for a sore vagina to get wet again. Aren’t our bodies designed to protect us? I don’t understand why something that hurts would demand more of the thing that made it hurt.
Especially when that thing is attached to the actual devil.
“Or how about you just leave?” I bite out.
“Mmm, don’t recall that one being an option.”
My fingers curl into my palms, and my knuckles bleach white from how hard I squeeze them. I’m on the verge of swinging and punching him when my coat appears in front of me.
