Page 70

CHAPTER

FIFTY-ONE

REMI

Cortland comes up behind me as I wait at the door of his house. He wraps his arms around me and kisses my neck. I turn my head to the side, giving him access. A shiver takes over me, and I step back, further into him.

I can feel his erection against my back, and I let my eyes flutter closed as he runs his hands up my hoodie and my shirt, hot fingers on my skin.

He reaches past me, putting the key in the lock of the door, turning it and pushing the door open, leaving the key dangling in the lock as his hands come back to my hips.

“God, you smell so good.” He skims his nose over the back of my neck.

“Really?” I ask him quietly, smiling. “I was just in bed?—”

“It’s just your natural scent. I can’t get enough of it.” He straightens, then pushes me forward, into his house. He pulls out the key, closes the door and flips the lock. It’s dark in here, and I saw Storm’s WRX was in the driveway, but I don’t hear anything in the house.

Cortland’s hands run back up my sides, and he pulls on the hem of my hoodie, and my sleep shirt. “I want this off of you.”

Nerves flutter in my stomach, but in the dark, I lift my hands overhead. He pulls my clothes off, dropping them to the floor, his hands cupping my breasts, his thumbs over my nipples. “I wanna fuck you right here in the living room.”

My heart skips a beat as I think about Storm. “But what about?—”

“It’s nothing he hasn’t seen before,” he says in my ear, as if he’s reading my mind.

“But tonight you’re all mine.” Then his hands come to my hips and he pushes me against the wall at the foot of the stairs.

My palms come flat to the wall, my breath leaving me in a rush.

He’s in a hurry, and he seems… desperate for me.

He runs his palms down my hips, pulling down my sweats and my underwear, too, until they drop to a heap at my ankles, my shoes still on.

His fingers curl around my wrist on one arm, keeping me in place.

“Spread your legs,” he says, and he adjusts himself behind me before I feel his cock against my ass.

I arch my back, widening my stance.

My core is hot, but he just toys with me for a second, running the head of his cock up my slit, causing me to whimper. But underneath my desire, something feels all off.

I turn to face him in the dark, my hands still on the wall, one pinned there by his fingers. “Cortland,” I whisper, my voice hoarse, “is something wrong?”

His fingers tighten around my wrist as he circles himself over my entrance, teasing me. “Not now,” he says, his voice low and throaty.

I narrow my gaze. “Seriously, Cort, is?—”

He groans, cutting me off as his mouth comes over mine. “Just trust me, okay?”

I frown. “What’s wrong?”

He dips his head, staring into my eyes. “I’ll take care of you.”

Those words send warmth flushing through me. “Okay,” I finally say, turning back to face the wall, that confusion, the feeling of something being wrong still eating at me.

I feel the head of his cock against my entrance.

“You okay, baby?” he asks me quietly.

I nod. “Yes,” I tell him, meaning it. With him so close to me, his body over mine, I feel comforted.

He pushes into me, and I gasp, fingertips pressing further into the wall.

He groans, his head dropping to my shoulder.

Then his hand is fisted in my hair, and he yanks my head back as he fucks me harder. Rougher, his hips slapping against mine.

I whimper, my pulse racing. I can’t speak, the way my neck is arched backward, eyes closed.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he groans, fucking me faster. A painting on the wall, just by the stairs, starts to rattle.

I’m trying to breathe, to be in the moment, but it’s all reminding me of that night. Not of Cortland, but… Chase.

I close my eyes tight. You’re okay. Everything is fine.

He fucks me faster, harder, and I hear the sound of our bodies colliding, bringing me back to that night.

“Cortland,” I manage to choke out, his grip in my hair painful, tears welling in my eyes.

“You want me to use you.” He’d said that in the truck.

I meant it that night. I know he likes dirty sex, and I think I do too, but for some reason, with my fight with Sloane, him waking me up, taking me here in the middle of the night, that feeling of wrongness grows stronger, and along with it, so do the memories.

That night is playing in my head on a loop.

The way everything felt so numb after a while.

Chase’s spit on my back. His cum, when he pulled out, spilling over me.

Cortland slows, nudging his nose against my neck, nibbling at my skin. “Yeah, baby?” He pushes into me, pulls out slowly, then pushes back in, never letting go of my hair.

“You’re scaring me.” The words come out barely more than a whisper.

I feel him tense behind me, still inside of me, still gripping my hair. “Why are you scared?” he asks quietly.

I take a breath, trying to relax, but I can’t. How do I explain? “I just… I’m sorry, it just…”

He pulls my hair tighter and I’m frozen as his mouth comes to my ear. “You want me to stop?”

I inhale. Exhale. My eyes are still closed, my throat pulled taut, the way he’s holding my hair. “I can’t stop thinking about…” I trail off, unable to get the words out.

For a moment, there’s only silence between us. I’m not sure either of us are breathing. Then he shifts his hips, pulling out slowly, then pushing back in, his mouth still on my ear. “Use your fucking words, Remi.” His grip is painful, my eyes watering at the pull. “If you want me to stop, say it.”

“Cortland, that’s not?—”

He pushes all the way in, causing me to whimper, nearly collapsing flat against the wall. I lock my arms to steady myself. “ Say it.”

I shake my head, my scalp burning with his hold. I don’t understand why he brought me here. I don’t understand what the fuck is going on, and I don’t know why he’s being so cruel. “I’m just… I’m just confused.”

He laughs, his nose trailing down the length of my jaw, his tongue skimming over the side of my throat. “I wanna fuck you. What’s confusing about that?”

“You’re scaring me,” I manage to gasp out again.

He stills, his breath warm on my collarbone.

Then, abruptly, he lets go of me, pulling out, the heat of him leaving me.

He doesn’t say anything, and I turn around on trembling legs, bending down to pull up my underwear, my sweats. My hoodie and shirt are nowhere to be found in the dark, so I cross my arms over my chest as I lean against the wall.

He pulls up his own sweats, his shirt still on. Then he turns from me and I watch the muscles in his arm flex in the shadows as he swipes a hand through his messy hair, facing the living room.

“Cortland.”

He doesn’t look at me when he answers, dropping his hand. “What?”

“I’m sorry.”

He spins around, his brows pulled together. “Why the fuck are you sorry?”

I blink at him, those words full of anger. “I…”

He drops his gaze, running his tongue over his lip ring. “I should be sorry. I thought you could handle this.”

I stiffen, my fingers clawing into my biceps. “What?” I whisper, an edge to that word.

He looks up, slipping his hands into his pockets, the veins in his forearms stark against his skin. “You’re clearly still healing.”

My muscles tense.

“I should’ve known better than to…” He shakes his head. “Never mind. Maybe I should take you back.”

A lump forms in my throat, and I don’t know if I want to scream or cry. “Why are you doing this?”

His jaw flexes, but he doesn’t look up.

Something happened. That’s all I can think. Something happened. “Why the fuck are you doing this? What happened?” My voice rises with every question. “Is it Maya? She come over here and?—”

He looks up, his gaze narrowing. “I told you, Remi. I’m yours.”

I don’t know what to say, emotions welling up in my chest.

“But I think I should take you back. This was a bad idea.” He turns from me, headed to the door, flipping open the lock.

I hold my breath, hoping he won’t open it. Hoping he doesn’t mean it.

But then he pulls open the door, the cold night air flooding in, the porch light flicking on and illuminating his face as he looks at me over his shoulder.

I stare at the door, blinking past the angry tears in my eyes.

After a second, I turn, drop my hands, and slam my fist against the wall, rattling that picture harder.

Maybe he just wanted a midnight booty call, but he didn’t have to be such a dick about it. I fought with my best friend. I’m lying to her for him. And I was sleeping—a rarity for me until he came along—and he had to pull me out of bed and drag me here so he could use me?

I run my hand through my hair, slap my palm against the wall harder but it isn’t enough. I spin around, see the table by the door with a ceramic bowl to put their keys in.

I think about the fact I’m going to see Silas tomorrow. He’s going to cut me down. He’s going to humiliate me, and I’m going to take it. Because that’s what I do.

A rag doll.

Cortland’s words come back to me.

A scream comes clawing its way up my throat as I slam my fist on that table, again and again, and again, enjoying the pain reverberating through my knuckles, the ceramic bowl wobbling as I do it. It feels good, making myself hurt again instead of letting everyone else do it for me.

I feel something warm on my skin as I crash my knuckles into the wood over and over. Blood.

The pain reminds me I survived.

That’s what we’re supposed to be called. Survivors. Not victims. Fucking survivors. Well fuck that. What’s the point of surviving if you just drown all over again? At every reminder? Every trigger? Every moment that takes you back to being a victim?

I hit the table over and over and over, more blood flecking across my pale skin with every hit.

Cortland says nothing. Does nothing.

Fuck him.

Fuck Chase.

Fuck Silas.