Page 20

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” she says again, her voice breaking on a sob. She stumbles back another step, then sinks down onto my bed, burying her head in her hands.

My blood runs cold. What?

She picks her head up, hands balled into little fists on her thighs.

“Why did you let them do that?” she asks, her words hoarse, eyes red.

I feel like I’m getting whiplash, the way this conversation—this entire night—is going. I should be asking the questions. I should be cornering her.

I close the space between us and stand between her thighs.

She doesn’t shy away from me, so I take it a step further. Put my hands on her shoulders.

“Why did you let them hurt me, Cort?” she whispers, tipping her chin up, holding my gaze. Her eyes are red and bleary.

My fingers dig into her narrow shoulders. “Who?” I ask her, knowing the answer. Knowing I can’t think about what I let them do without wanting to vomit. No matter that I believe it was consensual, I should have protected her.

Her bottom lip trembles. I want to bite it. I try to push that aside.

But she doesn’t answer me with words. She just flops back on the bed so she’s lying on her back, her arms above her head, eyes closed.

Her hoodie and shirt ride up, exposing a pale patch of skin on her lower belly. I lick my lips, forcing myself to stand exactly where I am.

“Lie with me, Cort,” she says quietly, letting her earlier train of thought go. She twists her head to the side but keeps her eyes closed. “Come lie with me.”

I shake my head. My mouth opens, and I’m about to say it. To say exactly what I should say. But then she crosses her arms over her chest, leans up a little, just enough, and yanks her hoodie and her shirt over her head, dropping it backward, off the other side of the bed.

Then she reaches behind her and unhooks the black studded bra she’s wearing, flinging that off the side of the bed, too.

I can’t move as she lies back down.

Her chest is heaving, her pale pink nipples tight little points, probably from the fan spinning overhead.

Her tits are smaller than I remember, which is the first thought I had when I slipped my hand up her hoodie on the sidewalk the other week.

But they’re still big enough for me to grab in my hands and…

I run my tongue over my lip ring and think about sucking on them that night. I left bruises. More than just there, but the bite marks were very clear there. My mother was furious.

“You never leave visible marks on any girl you’re having sex with, Cortland.”

My father said nothing.

Tristan didn’t hear any of that. I never want him to hear any of it.

I push that all aside as Remi’s hands come over her tits and she starts rubbing them. I don’t think she’s trying to be sexy. She doesn’t make a sound, she just seems to like how it feels.

And I know, when she says, “I’m starting my period soon and they hurt ,” she definitely isn’t trying to tempt me, although it is tempting because we know how I like blood.

Seeing her palms squeeze her pale flesh, catching glimpses of her nipples through her slender fingers, my dick is hard all over again.

Then I see something else.

On the inside of her wrist.

It feels like all the air has gone out of the room.

I step closer to the bed and grab her arm, unraveling it from her chest and exposing her tits to me.

But it’s the inside of her wrist I look at as I flip her palm.

I didn’t see them well in the café, but now, underneath the light on above us, they’re very fucking clear.

Vivid red cuts, like they’re fresh.

Scars, too. Pale white, like ribbons.

She tries to yank her arm from my grip, but I circle my fingers tighter, not letting her go.

I’m running down the hall of the hospital.

I see him.

“Tristan?” I whisper in the room, scared to step closer to his bed. Scared his closed eyes and small body and pale skin means…

“Let go,” Remi whispers, and my eyes fly open.

I drop her hand like she burned me.

She looks at the marks on her arm, holding her hand above her head. Her brows pull together, like she’s confused on how they got there.

Then she darts a shy glance my way.

I hold my breath, waiting.

But instead of saying anything, she just brings her hand back to her breasts, letting her eyes flutter closed as she massages herself.

My heart is racing, and my blood heats.

I should get the fuck out and shut the door and sleep downstairs.

I should take her ass home.

She’s fucked up.

In more ways than one.

But so am I.

You did that to me, Remi.

I take a breath, debating. I cornered her in the woods, chased her to the bathroom. Meant to scare her. To make sure she doesn’t fuck with us. Make a big scene or start some petition to get me thrown off the team.

But why did I intervene when I saw her in the bushes tonight? Maya could’ve showed up at anytime. Could have seen me leave with her.

I didn’t give a fuck.

Now what?

“I’m just going to take off your pants, Rems, okay?” I ask her quietly. Her eyes are still closed, her head angled toward the headboard. Her hands go still on her breasts.

“Okay,” she says softly, barely a word at all. Just a breath.

Intoxicated people can consent in North Carolina, as long as they’re voluntarily drunk. I learned all of that last year. She’s underage, which is a crime for her, but it doesn’t really matter. I didn’t give her a drink.

She’s not unconscious.

And I’m just taking her pants off.

I step forward, my thighs hitting the bed, then I slip her button free on her jeans. My fingers tremble as my knuckles graze her bare skin, but I’m thankful her hands are still covering her tits.

Even if it kind of makes it all hotter.

I pull down her zipper, then tug on the waistband of her jeans. Inch by inch, I see her toned thighs, a few freckles along her white skin. She shifts her hips to help me pull her pants all the way down, and I force myself to focus on her knees, her calves, her ankles. Not her black, silk underwear.

Fuck.

I step back, letting her jeans fall to the floor. She sighs, as if she’s content, then turns her head and opens her eyes, staring at me.

“Thanks, Cort,” she says softly.

My eyes go to her panties, and I don’t see any hair around her bikini line.

Something hot flares in me, and it isn’t pleasant. Who has she fucked since me? I hate that thought. It makes me want to puke.

I unbutton my shirt as I keep my eyes on hers and she bites her lip as I pull my shirt off, tossing it on the floor.

I rake my hand through my hair, reach up toward the ceiling fan and catch Rems staring at my arm as my fingers find the dangle for the light.

A slight smile curves my lips and I flex my bicep more than I really need to, pull the cord, casting us in darkness.

I kick off my shoes, my own pants, but leave my undershirt and boxers on.

Then I plant my hands on the bed, crawling over her body.

A little breathless whimper escapes her lips as the mattress dips beneath my weight, and I find the gleam of her eyes in the darkness.

She doesn’t touch me, but she doesn’t move either.

“You doing okay, Rems?” I ask her quietly, lifting a hand to her brow, brushing aside a lock of her hair.

“Are you going to sleep with me?” Her words sound hopeful.

“You wanna sleep?” I ask her, dropping my forehead to hers.

Her hands come to my ribs. I hear her swallow, smell the alcohol on her breath as she answers me. It’s like a warning.

But I’m not too good with those.

I think about the trembling girl I bumped into on the sidewalk when she first realized I was back.

That Remi is terrified of me.

This Remi is compliant.

That should scare me off, but I don’t think she’d be stupid enough to put us through what we went through last year twice.

And when she asks, “Kiss me?” I know I’m not going to do the right thing here. I’ve spent the past year defending myself against being a monster.

It feels kind of good to just give into it. To become what she tried to make me out to be.

My body flushes with heat and I cup her face with my hand, angle my head, and brush my lips against hers.

They’re soft, and even with that alcohol, she tastes good. It’s almost like getting drunk, tasting the vodka on her mouth.

Her nails dig into my ribs.

I’m still on my knees, but I want to be flush against her.

I want to reach between us and push my fingers into her. Remind her what I feel like.

“Who have you slept with?” I ask her, our lips brushing. I hear her sharp intake of breath, and her grip is painful against my ribs, but I don’t care. “Since…” I close my eyes a second, even though she can’t see me in the dark. “Since that night?”

She’s silent, and I hear my pulse pounding in my chest. So loud, I wonder if she knows how nervous I am.

“Never let them see you sweat, Cortland. That’s a sure sign of weakness.” My mother’s words echo in my head, and I feel exactly that—sweat—beading along my temple, but it’s too late to take my question back now.

Still, I find myself tensing, as if I’m bracing for her to slap me or scream.

But with her nails still lodged into my ribs, so painful I swear she must have torn through my shirt, she just says, “No one,” and I can hardly hear those words even as I feel her breath on my mouth.

My core tightens, everything hot all over again. “No one?” I wonder if she can hear the restraint in my words. If she knows what she’s doing to me with that admission.

I hear something in the dark and feel her lips move against mine. I think she’s shaking her head. “No one,” she confirms, and I feel as if I’m going to fucking explode. “Just you.”

I think about the pack. Chase, Brinklin, Storm.

It wasn’t just me. Maybe she’s lying about every other night after, too. But for some reason, I don’t think so.

“Can I touch you, Remi?”

My nose is lined up with hers, our foreheads still touching.

“Yes,” she answers me, then her tongue darts out to my lip ring, running along the metal and over my mouth.

I suppress a groan, drop to my elbow, planted beside her.

With my other hand, I run my palm over her breast, feel her hard little nipple against my skin. She lets out a breathless whimper that sounds almost like a moan.

Don’t be stupid. Those words are in my head, but her skin is so soft and smooth, the curve of her hips so fucking feminine, that by the time my fingers are on her inner thigh, I don’t think anything could stop me.

I nudge the soft material of her underwear to the side with my thumb, and she’s so hot against my skin, I can’t help myself.

I glide my index finger down her cunt, feel how wet she is for me. How she nudges her thighs to the side, her tongue on my lips again.

I push my finger into her pussy, and we’re both moaning.

She’s so hot. Wet and tight, I want to slip another finger inside of her, but I think she was telling the truth. As tight as she is, I don’t even know if she’s fingered herself since that night. I know that’s not how any of this works, but she just feels so perfect.

Her hands slip further down, then slide up underneath my shirt, and feeling her fingers on my hot skin, I want to fill her up more. I want more of me inside of her.

I push another finger beside mine and she whimpers. I’ve always dreamed of doing these things with her. Not like this, with our history so ugly between us, but it still feels good all the same.

“It’s okay, baby,” I assure her, running my mouth over hers as she breathes into me. “I’ll be gentle.”

Her nails rake down my ribs, then come around my back. She shifts her hips and I pull my fingers out slowly, then plunge back into her, claiming her mouth with my own.

I adjust my fingers, use the pad of my thumb to circle her clit. It’s swollen already, and I wonder if she’s ever had an orgasm before.

That night I was too sloppy, too fucking drunk to give her what she deserved.

“Cortland,” she gasps out, and I don’t mind it. My full name, not when I’m inside of her. No one calls me Cortland, unless they don’t know me.

But hearing it on her lips, against my mouth, I love it.

“Yeah, baby?”

“Don’t stop,” she pleads with me. As if I would.

I laugh against her mouth, then turn my head and bury mine in her neck.

I bite her skin, feel her lurch beneath me as her walls tighten around my fingers.

Circling her clit faster, I hear her breathing turn into heavy pants.

Her arms wrap around my back, and just as she starts to moan, I bite her again, harder, sucking her skin between my teeth.

Her nails rake down my back as she gasps my name, and it’s almost enough to send me over the edge.

But I don’t stop pumping my fingers in and out of her slick walls, don’t stop circling her clit until her grip loosens on me and she sounds spent, her breathing labored, less needy.

I lick where I bit her and she shivers as I pick my head up, slowly slide my fingers out of her and bring them to my mouth, between us.

I suck her off of me, and while I miss the taste of iron from that first night, she still tastes so good.

I trail my wet fingers down her neck after I pull them from my mouth, and I kiss her again.

She lets me, her tongue lingering on my lip ring.

“You taste yourself?” I ask her as I pull back, resting my brow to hers.

She says, “Mmhmm,” and it sounds sheepish.

I circle my fingers around her throat, run my tongue over her lips.

“You taste so fucking good when you come all over my fingers, Remi.” I increase the pressure on her throat, and she stills, her grip tight around my back again.

“But make sure it’s just me.” I brush my nose against hers. “Don’t give anyone else this, okay?”

There’s a moment of silence, and I know I can’t hold her to it. I know when the sun comes up, she’s going to regret this, if she even remembers it.

She’s going to hate me all over again.

But it’s worth it in the moment, when she whispers, “Okay, Cortland.”

I wrap my arms around her, pulling her to my chest as I situate us both at the head of the bed, tucking us inside the covers, her back to my chest as I hold her close.

My cock is aching between us, and as her breaths turn steady, and she goes limp in my arms, I can’t help thrusting my hips against her back.

I can’t help reaching down and slipping my dick from my boxers, pumping myself and biting my lip as I come on the sheets between us.

I need to clean it up. I should do something about it. But I’m spent, and she’s here, and I don’t want to move.

Yeah.

In the morning, she’s going to fucking hate me.