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Chapter Seven
Neither Heather nor Tristenare home when we pull into the garage. Spotting Lancaster aim his damn camera at the Defender as soon as we come into view, I sink lower in my seat, shielding my face. Who knows what headline my wet-dog appearance will cause?
With the garage door securely lowered, I straighten up and reach for the door handle.
"I want to kill these motherfuckers." Rhys’s tone is low and menacing. Those are his first words since reversing out of the parking spot at school. As much as I relished the silent drive after this day of insults, my sweaty palms were a clear indicator that I was just waiting for Rhys to lose it. Not that it was my fault, or he’d blame me, but he’s already been through enough in the last few weeks. I don’t want to see him make the entire school his enemy.
I turn my head and see emotions ranging from rage to utter helplessness play across his face. It kills him that he can’t be with me during class.
"Did anyone say anything to you?" We only talked about what happened to me, not if he experienced similar treatment.
Rhys's nostrils flare, and his hands grip the steering wheel tighter. "Yes and no."
I narrow my eyes, waiting.
"The guys learned their lesson. Jager won't make eye contact, and Owen even ran the other way and ditched class, but Kat...she's challenging me." Rhys is referring to their position at the top of the school's food chain. "She knows I can't do anything to her...physically."
He’s holding back.
"What did she do?" After what I experienced first-hand in the past few hours, it can't be good.
"She’s been telling everyone and their mother how you threw yourself at me when she and I were together. That she’s suspected for years that something was wrong with you. The first kidnapping fucked you up to the point of your parents not being able to handle it anymore, and the second was all just a ploy to divert from our relationship."
I let it all sink in, and besides my parents not wanting me, it's similar to what I've already heard. My parents didn’t want me because I was too fucked up. My heart rate seems to slow. Is that the real reason, after all? Is that what Heather and Tristen are keeping from me?
Without another word, I exit the Defender and head upstairs. As soon as I'm over the threshold of my room, I begin to strip, leaving pieces of clothing on the floor on my way to the shower.
By the time Rhys enters the bathroom, it's full of steam from my scorching shower. I haven't gone through my purging ritual in a while. Today, though, I need it. I didn't give them the satisfaction of breaking me, but I can't deny that it's been challenging. I trace the small crescent-shaped indentations on the heels of my hands with the tips of my fingers. The dozens of times I balled them into fists throughout the day have left permanent marks.
The glass door opens, and Rhys steps in. It took every ounce of energy to keep my façade in place throughout the day, but I can finally let it slip off. Standing directly under the spray, the water pelts on my skin, and my hair is plastered against the sides of my head. I stare up at him through my wet lashes, and he reaches for me, pulling my body against his. My arms circle his waist, and I press my cheek against his chest.
Rhys tightens his hold. "You did good today."
His praise is my undoing. All the comments and humiliations—some whispered, some not—come back and assault me from all angles: Slut. She's crazy. Whore. Brother-fucker. Lying skank. Bitch. The first tear starts flowing, followed by a second and a third until my body is shaking with gut-wrenching sobs, the running water muffling my cries.
What have I ever done to any of them?
Rhys hugs me tighter and places a kiss on the top of my head, but he doesn't speak. There are no words that can make it better. We remain like this until I run out of tears and the shower starts to cool. He hasn't moved the entire time, and as my body calms, I listen to the low thud of his heartbeat against my ear. The sound stirs a new emotion inside of me, and I loosen my grip. I turn my face to place a chaste kiss on his chest, right above his left pec. It was meant as gratitude for him being there for me once again, but when my lips connect with his skin, he jolts ever so slightly. He didn't expect me to do that. His embrace loosens, and his hands slowly glide down my back until they rest on my hips. My eyes flutter closed as the tips of his fingers press into my flesh, and his thumbs start circling my hip bones.Heat surges to my core, and I feel myself become wet. More, a voice inside my head all but shouts at me.
Where his hands traveled down, I let mine move up his torso, trailing each muscle of his ripped abdomen, over his pecs, until my arms intertwine behind his neck. My hands bury in the wet strands of his hair, and I tug ever so slightly. A low rumble of approval erupts in his throat, and my need to touch him—let him touch me—overwhelms all rational thought.
His breath quickens, and I know if I were to press my ear against his chest right now, his heart would beat anything but steady. I tilt my head up, blinking my eyes open. Rhys's chin is dipped down, and his lids are hooded. He's hardening against my belly, and I lick my lips. I'd be lying if I say his arousal doesn't please me.
When he stepped into the shower with me, neither of us intended for this to become anything other than the means of me working through my emotions. Rhys knows of my little ritual. But as we stand in front of each other, the air around us shifts to something else entirely. I raise myself on my tiptoes and press my lips lightly against his jawline, teasing him with the tip of my tongue. He hasn't shaved, and the scruff on his chin gives him an edge that makes me clench my legs together. Looking at him like this, water dripping down his taut body, chest heaving with desire...I want him.
Noticing my—no doubt, heated—gaze, Rhys inhales sharply, and the gleam in his eyes reminds me of the night of our first kiss right before he flipped me over on the couch and took charge. As if on cue, he shifts and grabs me at the back of my thighs. His hold pinches my skin, and a soft moan escapes me. Instead of it registering in my brain as painful, I react instinctively and wrap my legs around his back, right above his ass. He stares down at me, scanning every inch of my face, while my painfully hard nipples are pressed against him. What the hell is he waiting for? I rock myself against him, and he arches an eyebrow at my impatience, the corner of his very kissable mouth quirking in a cocky smirk. But despite his attempt at acting nonchalant, the rapid rise and fall of his chest is a dead giveaway to how much he wants this as well. Everything else, the reason we ended up in here, becomes unimportant.
I need this. No, I crave this. Him.
I stretch up, but before my lips reach his, Rhys's mouth is on mine, tongue inside. Finally. With a whimper, I clasp the back of his neck, pressing myself further into him. He groans into my mouth as he grinds himself against me, creating friction against my most sensitive spot that makes me roll my eyes back inside of my head. I stop holding back. My hips begin to move up and down, coating his length with my wetness. Rhys's hold on my thighs tightens to the point of me being convinced that he's leaving marks. I can’t bring myself to care, though. My body vibrates with need, and I try to shift in his grasp so he's aligned with my entrance.
He suddenly pulls back, and I whine in protest. No, no, no!
What is he doing?
"Cal, wait." Rhys gently pushes me back as I try again. He holds my confused gaze. "Condom," he clarifies almost scoldingly.
Oh.
