Page 25

I push open my door, my room left exactly as I'd left it the night before—bed unmade, clothes sprawled across the floor, the TV sitting on the wall, unused for years. I drop to my bed, exhaustion flooding through me as I close my eyes, hoping for darkness, hoping for anything but the nightmares to return.

But then I see her. Her arms tucked around her knees. She's beautiful—with her wild, black curls framing her face as they spill over her shoulders and down her back, her big brown eyes glaring at me. But behind that is something else, something I can't explain, which makes my chest ache in a way it never has before.

I smell her before her fingers touch my flesh, her perfume always so distinct, the same scent she's used for years. Her hands move across my stomach, fingers caressing my flesh as she reaches for the waistband of my boxers. I don't move, hoping, praying that if she thinks I'm asleep, she'll give up and leave.

But she never does.

Her hand presses further down, grabbing and groping at my cock until it starts to stir. I hate myself in this moment—the moment where I lose all control of my body the more her hands work against me. So gentle, so soft, making it harder to pretend. She slowly slips her hands underneath the cotton of my boxers, the cold sending a small shiver through me, but I still clamp my eyes closed. She grips my length, holding it in her hand as she etches closer to me, her breath hot against my throat as she nibbles at my earlobe. "You can stop pretending now," she whispers against my neck, trailing soft kisses against my skin, her hand still gripping my cock as she slowly starts to stroke it, teasing me with her tongue as she kisses along my jawline.

"Did I say you could touch me?" I grit my teeth, the words barely escaping as she strokes harder, my cock twitching against her hand. Her thumb kneads at the tip as she smooths the precum over.

"You haven't told me to stop." There's satisfaction oozing in her voice as she tugs at my boxers. I instinctively lift my hips, helping her to pull them down, hating myself, hating her more as she slips beneath the quilt, her mouth ready and my cock throbbing. She wraps her lips around me, her tongue gently swirling around my length. I close my eyes as she begins to work, the pleasure building.

Fuck, I hate her. But it doesn't stop my hands from finding her hair, fisting it as she sucks harder, faster. Her spit drips down my cock as she takes me whole, the noises she makes as she moans against it, gagging as I push her head further down.

It feels too good to stop, it always feels too fucking good.

I grip her hair tighter, pulling her up to face me. She winces slightly, her thumb wiping away the spit and precum from her lips. "You taste so good." Her voice is low and sultry. I watch as her hand moves down her body, cupping her breasts. Her face lights up with pleasure as she caresses her nipples, slowly pinching them between her fingers.

My hands don't stay in place—touching her isn't a want at this point, it's a need. No matter how much I hate it.

My fingers trail up her thighs as her chest starts to rise unevenly, her teeth grazing against her bottom lip as she keeps caressing her breasts. I stop at her entrance, slowly touching her, causing her hips to thrust against my fingers, but I don't move them. Not yet.

"Ace, please." A small whimper escapes her lips as I slowly move my fingers up and down her slit. She's dripping already.

"Beg for it." My voice is cold, my cock throbbing so bad I just want to plunge it inside her, to fill her with me, but I want to draw this out. I want to hear her fucking beg for it first.

"Please, I need it, Ace. I need you so badly." Her begs undo me, and I slowly slide two fingers inside her, my thumb moving to her clit, rubbing small circles against it as I fuck her with my fingers. Her moans are transcendent, filling the silence in the room as she flops back on the bed, her hair tangled in the sheets. My eyes flicker from her face—the way her teeth dig into her bottom lip as she gives in to the pleasure my fingers bring her—to the tattoos that fill her thighs up to her hips. Every thrust of my fingers causes her to tighten, to moan louder, and I know she's getting close.

Shame she won't be finishing.

I pull my fingers out of her, and she lies there for a second, her breath raspy and throat dry. She pulls herself up on her elbows and stares at me with a scowl.

"I was so close." I can hear the disappointment in her voice, but I don't care.

"Get on your knees."

She hesitates for a moment, but then moves over the bed, bending on all fours with her arse in the air. My hand moves to my cock, slowly rubbing it as it throbs in my hand. I move behind her, gripping her hips and slowly push myself into her. Fuck, she feels so good. So right. Almost like home.

Every part of me aches with the need to come. I start thrusting into her, her moans filling the room once more, and I let myself go, losing myself inside her. My teeth grind. I pull my hand back and slap it against her arse, hard enough that it stings my palm. I fist her hair, pulling her up to my chest, cock throbbing against her walls as I grip her breasts, pulling at her nipples as she moans louder, each moan getting me closer and closer.

I don't kiss her, I rarely do. This isn't lovemaking, this is hate fucking.

My fingers grip her tighter, the pleasure building, my breath uncontrollable against her ear as I fuck her faster. I'm so close it hurts.

"I fucking hate you." I force out through a moan, my body shuddering as I fill her, a large breath escaping my lungs as I try to steady my breathing. I push her onto the bed and turn away, leaning over to grab my boxers and walk out to the balcony, my cigarettes already waiting for me.

She follows me, the white bedsheet draped across her body, the cold air hitting my skin as I look out into the rose gardens. So many memories here—granted, most were terrible, but some had been ones I'd keep locked inside forever. Memories of us all as kids, me and the Reigns children running through the rose maze, finding any small comfort in each other. I sigh as she stands behind me, like she's waiting for me to talk to her, when all I want to do is shower and scrub the remnants of her away from me.

She'd been the love of my life since the day I'd arrived. She was my first everything, but now that's only a memory, and the only thing I feel for her is hatred—hatred for ruining my life, for ruining any chance of escape.

"Do you mean it?" she whispers as she steps closer. I know she's asking if I mean it when I tell her I hate her—she asks it every time I fuck her.

"Does it matter?" I mutter back, phlegm building at the back of my throat, so I spit it over the balcony before turning to look at her.

"Why do you do it then?" She's scowling at me now, her arms crossed against her chest. I tut and try to move past her, but her hand finds my chest, stopping me in place.

"We're not doing this again. You're not freezing me out!" Her voice is a little higher as she presses harder. "You can't fuck me and then ignore me, Jax, it isn't fair!"