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“You went to Amelia’s last night,” he spits, his chest beginning to heave with increasing anger.
How the fuck does he know that? Anger punches through my chest. It takes all of two seconds to figure it out. The fucker bugged me. He’s tracking my goddamn phone to see where I am.
“How would you know that, Ryan?” I ask, my voice still deceptively calm. I don’t like my privacy being tampered with. I received so little of it my entire childhood—or rather, absolutely none of it. It’s precious to me. Sacred.
He smirks at me, more than likely noting my growing anger. The shaking starts in the tips of my fingers, travelling up my limbs and throughout the rest of my body like lightening travelling alongside a metal pole.
How curious. He likes that I’m angry.
Do you want a fight from me, sweet Ryan?
I slide out of the bed in one swoop, standing before him in all my naked, pissed off fucking glory.
“Why would you track me?”
“You obviously give me reasons to,” he answers simply. “You’re deflecting your mistake. Instead of focusing on what you did, you’re trying to spin it back on me. Instead of owning up to your mistake and admitting you did wrong, you’d rather try to act like I’m the one in the wrong.”
“You are!” I shout, taking a step towards him. His eyes blacken as evil washes over his face. He takes three large steps towards me, getting directly in my face. A hand shoots out, wrapping around my throat and squeezing.
My nails claw at his hands as he grits through his teeth, “You better watch how the fuck you talk to me. You disobeyed me last night, River. I strictly told you to stay away from that whore, and you didn’t listen. Bad girls get punished. And when you’re done getting punished, I’m taking your phone. You can have it back when you act right.”
Before I can spit in his face, he’s spinning me around and pushing my face into the bed. I struggle against his unforgiving hold. The more I fight, the harder his grip tightens. He scoops both of my wrists in one hand, while he uses the other to push my head into the mattress.
I open my mouth to let out a scream, but the sound is muffled by the bed. The pounding of my heart is strong in my ears, drowning out all the noises I need to be hearing right now. If I would’ve calmed down, I would’ve been able to hear the rustling of clothing as he drops the basketball shorts he was wearing.
I would’ve been able to prepare myself for the slide of his dick against the crack of my ass. He lets go of my head long enough to spit on his hand and wet his dick. I use that time to scream at the top of my lungs.
A punch to the back of my head nearly knocks me unconscious. My screams cut off while stars explode in my vision.
There’s nothing that could’ve prepared me for the feeling of his dick shoving inside me. Inside my ass.
Fire detonates from that area and outward to the rest of my body. Another scream is ripped from my throat, this one involuntarily. He pays me no mind, continuing to sodomize me. His hand goes back to my head, pushing me down so far my screams are beginning to choke me.
The pain is so intense, I can’t see or feel anything past it. I’m slowly suffocating, and I can’t even feel the panic of it when his dick is eliciting so much pain from my backside. My vision blurs as the pain intensifies. His thrust grow choppy as excitement takes over his body. It’s permeating the air.
He’s loving this.
And as he groans out loudly, shudders wracking his body as he releases inside of me, all I can contemplate is the tool I’ll use to shove into his ass when he’s least expecting it.
Thirteen
River
I FEEL HIS PRESENCE first. Strong and intoxicating. Like the smell of a sharpie when held under your nose. It’s almost ironic when I see said marker whipped out in front of me, halting my steps.
With an irritated huff, I glare at his hand holding the marker. His hands are massive. Long, thick fingers and callouses dotting his knuckles. His tattoos leak to those hands, the colors fading off at his wrist.
I want to touch them. I bet they’re rough. I bet they’d feel so good inside me.
“Go away,” I say, pushing his hand away in the same manner I push those filthy thoughts away. Roughly and with undisguised disgust. I lift my chin and resume my walk to the car.
The sharpie stops me in my tracks again. Angrily, I rip the sharpie out of his hand and throw it at his feet. Flutters assault my insides when my eyes meet his. I hate that I’m attracted to him. I hate that I missed him.
“What do you want, Mako?” I demand, glaring at him.
“I want you to use that,” he says quietly, his baritone voice getting to me. Every fucking time.
I raise an eyebrow. “Use it on what?”
