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I’m clenching around him so tightly now, teetering on the brink of a violent release that could shatter me.
“You’re soaking my cock, just from a few slaps on that pretty little ass,” he taunts. “Tell me, Cora, who do you belong to?”
I bite my lip, fighting the words that threaten to spill from my mouth. I can’t give him what he wants. I can’t—
“Asshole,” I mutter through gritted teeth, even though I’m on the verge of breaking.
He chuckles darkly, running his thumb along the curve of my ass, teasing before sliding lower until it brushes against the sensitive skin of my back hole. “You mean this cute little one? I can’t wait to fuck you here.” His voice is rough like gravel, and the thought alone nearly sends me over the edge.
But then, just as I’m about to fall, just as I’m ready to let go… he stops.
He pulls out of me abruptly, leaving me shaking on the brink of release.
“What the fuck?” I gasp, spinning to face him, my body still quaking from the sudden loss of him.
He steps back, zipping up his pants with deliberate slowness, his eyes never leaving mine. “You don’t come unless you accept it,” he says coldly. “You don’t come unless you accept you’re mine.”
The words cut the air between us like a blade. I know what he wants. I know I’m his. And I know he’s mine. I know it with every fiber of my being. But I can’t say it. Not yet. The words stick in my throat, tangled up in my pride and fear.
“But I’m not yours,” I whisper, the lie slipping weakly from my lips.
For a split second, hurt flashes across his face, but it’s gone before I can fully register it. He nods, the cold mask slipping back into place. His silence is louder than any words he could have spoken.
Without another glance, he turns and opens the door, stepping out into the hallway. He doesn’t slam the door, doesn’t make a scene. He just… leaves. Quietly. As if he’s walking out of my life.
When the door closes softly behind him, I collapse to the floor, my knees finally giving out.
My hands fly to my face, the tears coming before I can stop them.
What have I done?
Chapter twenty-seven
Cora
The dressing room feelsas empty as I do, a hollow silence where there’s usually chatter and laughter. I trudge toward my locker, my body heavy, my mind heavier, replaying the night on a loop.
“Cora, are you okay?”
I whip around, startled, to see Hailee standing by her locker, gathering her things. I hadn’t even noticed her there—too caught up in my own head, drowning in everything I’m trying not to feel.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I mumble, though the words feel thick on my tongue. I’m not fine. I haven’t been since James walked out of that room, leaving me in a wrecked heap of emotions I haven’t been able to process. But I can’t unpack that here, not now.
Hailee frowns, watching me as I slowly get dressed. “What happened? I saw you got picked by Mr. Voyeur. God, he’s ah-mazing.” She fans herself dramatically, her eyes glazing over with some daydream about Daemon she’s clearly entertained before.
A small, bitter laugh slips out. “Yeah, amazing,” I echo. “He, uh… had to leave early.”
Hailee’s eyes snap back to me, her playful expression fading as she takes a closer look. “You sure you’re okay? You look a little down.”
Down? That doesn’t even scratch the surface. I’m gutted. But I don’t want to dump all of that on Hailee. She doesn’t need to know about my tangled mess with James or how my stupid pride always gets in the way of what I want, wrecking everything in the process. Every time I close my eyes, I see the hurt on his face. I hate it.
I force a smile, weak as it is. “Yeah, just tired, I guess.”
But even I don’t believe the lie.
Hailee eyes me for a long moment. Then, her face lights up. “You know what? You should come out with me tonight. I’m meeting some friends in the city. It might help take your mind off things.”
My first instinct is to say no. I’m an introvert at heart, and the idea of making small talk with strangers is my personal definition of hell. What I really want is to go home, curl up in bed with a cup of tea, and disappear into a book. But I know where that will lead—endless hours of replaying my night with James, obsessing over what I should have said, what I should have done differently.