Page 16 of Wicked Titan

Looking into his eyes, there’s a wickedness in them that sends a shiver throughout my entire body.

“You’re sick,” I say, not knowing if he can hear my words over the deafening ruckus that has grown around us until the devilish sneer spreads on his face. He heard me. He knows he’s sickening and even enjoys the fact from the looks of it. I long to untangle his disturbed mind, yearning to discover what’s hidden beneath his powerful exterior, but I want to flee from it at the same time. The voices around us grow louder, screaming and yelling, as the fight continues.

Attempting to elbow him away, he remains a solid force in front of me. Ducking to the side as my back stays pressed against the lockers, I catch a glimpse of the fight still in full swing.

“Stop them!” I yell to Asher, but he doesn’t make a move.

Finally, two security guards run towards the commotion with Principal Huntington not far behind. Most of my view of the scene is blocked, but I’m able to see a guard haul Elliot back as Principal Huntington yells at the gathered students to get to class.

On my tippy-toes, I crane my neck looking for Grant, hoping he is okay. I didn’t see much, but what I did see looked like Elliot was a madman and Grant didn’t stand much of a chance.

Asher dashes away, pulling me with him. I struggle against him, attempting to figure out where he’s taking me when I’m abruptly hauled into a dark room smelling of vinegar.

“What the—”

His hand clamps over my mouth, silencing my words as fear of what he has planned next runs through my mind. Though he’s deranged, I don’t think he would take it too far, but the more I’m around him, the more I realize I can’t figure out anything that’s going on in his warped brain. I bite down as hard as I can. His hand moves away as I hear him curse under his breath.

“Don’t touch me.” Bringing my arms in front of me, I jab at his chest as I try to gather my bearings.

Gripping my wrists, he pins my arms above my head against the wall, and I feel him lean to the side. A button clicks before a soft, red glow fills the room, highlighting the sinister gleam in his eyes.

“Why do you let him touch you?” His menacing, demanding voice contradicts his delicate touch. Though one hand keeps my wrists trapped against the wall, his grip isn’t rough but rather secure—lustfully snug, more like. And the fingers of his free hand graze down my cheek in a gentle trail.

“Do you want him to touch you?”

“No. I mean, yeah.” Struggling against his hold, his grip turns tight. I despise the way he has my arms trapped and what the pose is stirring in me as the sensation of his warm fingertips remain on my skin. His contradicting touches, eliciting pain and pleasure at the same time, causing me to question what I’m feeling for him, just like he’s done since the very moment I’d laid eyes on him.

His hand releases my wrists, but I stay pressed against the wall. He threads his fingers into my hair, lightly grasping the silky strands as he brings his lips so close to mine. I can feel his shallow breath as he speaks, “Which one is it? Do you want him or not?”

I swallow, stalling to answer since his solid presence is having such a strong effect on my body. Yelling, screaming, running … anything would be a better choice than standing here, relishing in the closeness of his captivating but callous existence. There must be something just as unbalanced inside me to be enticed by him.

“I don’t want you.” My voice betrays me, escaping in breathless waves, exposing just how much he is affecting me. How can I want someone so much and hate them all at the same time?

A sarcastic chuckle rumbles from his lips, vibrating against mine, as he whispers, “Then why are you still here?”

His grip tightens in my hair a second before his lips crash on mine, devouring all rational thoughts. My mouth greedily explores his, tasting mint and sin. My fingers grasp the stiff material of his jacket, clinging on as his hand moves up my thigh, rubbing over my spandex boyshorts before tightly squeezing my backside.

A low moan leaves my lips as I attempt to regain some clarity before it goes any further because it’s already way past where it should be. It shouldn’t be happening at all.

“Stop.” I force him back, pushing my hands flat against his chest, feeling the hard muscles beneath, clearly picturing it from yesterday.

“Don’t let him touch you again.”

“What?” There it is. My anger has returned in full fury as the beautiful idiot—who’s practically taken me hostage in the darkroom, no less—tells me not to let Grant touch me when he’s basically just mauled me against the wall.

“You’ll regret it if you do.”

“I’ll still regret this more.” I flick my finger, pointing between the two of us.

He moves forward, pressing me back into the wall. “I didn’t feel any regret or hesitation.”

The thing that pisses me off the most—he’s right. “Feel this.”

He anticipates my intent, swiftly shifting to the side, catching my knee as I bring it up to nail him in the crotch.

His fingers curl around my knee, tugging my leg up to hook it around his waist as he presses against me, allowing me to feel the hard bulge in his pants. “That’s a dangerous move, Bennett. You really should think long and hard about your next one.”

The mention of my stepdad’s last name snaps me back to reality. “How did you know about my dad?”