Page 54

THIRTY-TWO

COURTNEY

It’s when my eyes start to cross even when I zoom into the details to clean up the photos from the last week of training camp that I know it’s time to give up the ghost of crossing off the last item on my to-do list. The late nights I’m spending in Auguste’s bed are finally getting to me, and top that off with the constant countdown to falling back into it when I’m not tangled in his sheets… I’m lagging.

“I think it’s time for me to call it a day,” I tell Delilah, pausing the audiobook I have playing out loud on my phone while we FaceTime on my iPad—me working, her reading.

The office is empty, it’s just me and the hum of the mini fridge in the corner.

“Babe, you look sexed out and fucked up,” she chuckles while I start packing up my laptop from the hot desk. “You might want to sleep in your bed for a couple nights.”

“I have ten days left here and?—”

“You could look for another internship in LA. My dad is bound to know someone that needs an intern… or something…”

“Your dad has done enough recommending me to The Crescents, and besides it’s the best internship available. One hundred percent pay, a crapload of perks, and it’s a nationally recognized team in the major leagues. I’m not going to shut the door for myself.”

“Good, because if you so much as debated it, I would have to fly back just to slap sense into you,” she says.

“Dee, you literally brought it up.”

“It was a test.” Sure. Of course it was. “Anyway, I’m going to love you and leave you. I booked myself a private wine tour with the sommelier from the hotel restaurant and I’m running fashionably late already.”

“Why didn’t you tell me? This is great… it’s going to be fun…”

“Ugh, I don’t know. He’s not even local. His parents own the hotel and a bunch of vineyards across Europe, so like, he steps in as head sommelier when he’s in town…”

“Considering you don’t know about your date, you know a lot about him.” I waggle my brows at my phone to be met with a glare. “What? You had all these plans to explore and have fun.”

“Yeah, with an Adonis—a Greek sex god—not an Emirati billionaire.” I’m not sure what to say because this is so like Delilah to stumble into a wannabe sextuation with a filthy rich, super hot guy she instantly writes off because wealth and good looks are a red flag to her.

Too good to be true given all the assholes that have used her and dumped her.

“Like I said, I don’t know. I’m going to literally fill up my cup like you told me to, and I’m hoping he’s as interesting outside his hotel as he’s been during dinner. ”

“Your mom is obsessed with him, isn’t she?”

“Totally. It’s the most fucking interest she’s shown in anything since my uncle died,” she groans. “And like, Kamran’s totally fucking hot. The embodiment of tall, dark, and handsome with those come hither, man-slut eyes. Hazel and pretty as sin.”

“So you’re going to fuck him. Right?”

“Fine,” Delilah chuffs. “Twist my arm. Sure, I’ll do it… for you.”

“Girl, you are not doing it for me. I’m totally sexed out and fucked up, remember?” I throw my backpack over one shoulder, giving the desk one last look over to make sure I haven’t forgotten anything. “I’m happy with what I have.”

“And you are in love with him.”

“Dee…”

“That was a statement, not a question because I can see it all over your face when you talk about him.”

“So… your date…” Delilah groans, pulling a face that says she wants to go more than she wants to cancel, but the temptation to ghost is a lot more alluring than putting herself out in the world. “Delilah James if you don’t go, I’ll have to reconsider all the advice you’ve given me.”

“Uuurrgh… I hate you.”

“You love me.”

“Same thing right now.” She fluffs up her blond jaw length bob and smacks her lips together. “How do I look? ”

“Like a goddess.” She flips her camera so I can see her outfit in the mirror—a long, lingerie-style dress that emphasizes her slender hourglass curves. “You look ready to sexcapade across Santorini with an Emirati billionaire that you are going to allow to give you momentary amnesia.”

“Amnesia does sound good…” She dabs on a little more red lipstick and before she chickens out I end the call and send Auguste a quick text.

Court

Leaving now x

Auguste

I’m here x

My stomach flutters at his reply. I tuck my phone into my back pocket, the weight of it like a promise as I leave the office with another glance over my shoulder.

Something feels… strange. I don’t know. The air is chillier than normal or something as I press the push-button by the doorframe and start for the exit. I barely take two steps before the lights flicker above me.

Once. Twice.

Then they’re off.

That low, humming buzz of electricity slinks down my spine as I race to the next push-button switch and slap the lights back on.

It’s late. Everyone’s gone. Security made their last sweep an hour ago. The whole facility is dead quiet.

Too quiet.

I yank my backpack higher up on my shoulder, charging down the hallway with each step screeching beneath my feet.

Halfway to the exit, I freeze.

Chasing the blur in my peripheral vision. Just a flicker.

Nothing. Because it’s gone the instant I whip my head around.

My skin goes cold, crawling with fear. The air is suffocating, thick with every nightmare I’ve ever had.

I swallow hard, quickening my pace.

A door snaps shut behind me, and I leap out of my skin. My insides turn out. My breath catches in my throat.

No. “No, that was real.”

I spin around. Nothing .

No footsteps, no maniacal silhouette. Just the corridor stretching out behind me like the opening scene of a horror movie.

“I’m not crazy.” I trust my instincts implicitly.

Panic ignites in my chest, and I break into a run. I can’t think. I can’t breathe.

The exit looms at the end of the hallway. In sight. Within reach.

Then the lights flicker. Again. And again. And it’s dark. Pitch black as I pull my phone from my pocket and shakily use it to light my immediate surroundings.

All those times I ran up the stairs after turning all the lights off have nothing on right now.

And I hate the dark.

“It’s okay,” I tell myself, shaking the panic out of my head.

It works. Until the shadow steps into the only stream of light—the glow from the fire exit sign.

My heart slams against my ribs.

And then the shadow orders, “Run.”

One word. One command.

I go.

Veering right, I sprint down the side hallway. Straight for the player tunnel. I know this place like the back of my hand. I can sprint through it blind if needed. But every step I take, another echoes behind me.

Mimicking mine.

Closing in.

I reach the tunnel, my breath ricocheting off the walls. Deafening.

A blur flashes past the corner of my vision. Then?—

Hands.

Strong. Fast. Brutal.

A rough grip wraps around my waist and yanks me back into a solid chest.

A gasp tears from my throat, only to be swallowed by his hand.

“Don’t make a sound.” The voice is low, raking through me.

I suck down the yelp that pushes up my throat when he yanks my backpack off my shoulder, dropping it on the ground with a hard thud.

“Hands on the wall.”

I nod, sucking in a breath.

“Hands on the fucking wall,” he snaps, a heavy hand pushing between my shoulder blades, shoving me forward.

My face slams to the rough wall behind the team bench and then his other hand is snatching my wrists and pinning them above my head .

He’s got me caged in. Hot breaths blustering in my ear. So deafening I can’t hear anything my brain is begging me to do. Every act of self defense I’ve been taught is forgotten when he lassos my wrists together and with an upright pull, he hooks me onto the wall.

My toes scramble for purchase.

My pulse is hammering all over.

And then… he just leaves me there.

Hanging.

Waiting.

My hands are throbbing. My fingers are numb.

The end of a stick rakes down my spine. Following the line of my ass, between my thighs, spreading my legs open. With sharp taps, he slaps it down the inside of my legs. Each hit getting harder. Meaner.

Then he’s poking and prodding me like an animal. Until my wrists are burning and my shoulders threatening to pop out of their sockets with every jostle of my body.

“Please…” I whimper, head thrown back. “Please…”

The stick drops and his hands find my hips, then the waistband of my leggings.

“Not a fucking word, slut,” he breathes against my ear.

I gulp audibly, feeling the sharp dryness in my throat as my heart thunders relentlessly against my ribcage. Each beat echoing like a distant drum in the darkness.

“Dirty fucking brat,” he snarls, dragging his fingers down to my ass.

With one sharp tug on either side, he tears the middle seam.

“I’m going to take this cunt until you cry.” His laugh is low, dark. Lethal.

Still, my body arches into him. Fear and lust weaving around my bones when he grips the tail of my thong and tears it too.

With a growl he grinds his hard bulge into my exposed ass. “Gonna fuck you hard and fuck you up. Destroy this dirty fucking hole.”

One hand yanks my sports bra up while the other gropes between my thighs, spreading my slickness through my slit.

“Soaked like the good little cum slut.” Sharp teeth bite at my ear at the same time as he slaps my ass.

There’s no prelude. He doesn’t give me any kind of warning. Doesn’t give me anything but the brutal stretch of his cock as he thrusts inside me from behind. One hand fisted in my hair, the other wrapped tight around my neck.

“My fucking whore,” he hisses, voice cracked open .

His grip constricts around my throat. My fingers claw at the breeze block, trying to find purchase. Anything to ease the burning. To help me gasp for air.

“You only breathe when I say you breathe.”

His grip loosens on my throat, but before I inhale, his hips snap harder. Rougher. Knocking all the air that was left in my lungs out of me.

He fucks me without mercy. Without reprieve. Without restraint.

And my body ignites. Every atom of my blood screams for more. For him.

Every ounce of fear that twisted in my gut unfurls into a roaring need. A heat biting through every cell in my body when his hand in my hair pulls my head to the side, opening my neck up for him.

One bite and I fall apart. A guttural cry rips from my core, taking out my knees as he pistons into me. Fucking me into the wall. Over and over without pause.

A beast possessed.

“Say it,” he growls, rutting harder, deeper, meaner. “Say you’re my little whore.”

“Yours,” I choke past his loosened grip on my throat. “I’m yours.”

“Say it all.”

“I’m your dirty little whore.”

A groan tears out of him, and he slams in one final time, deep and devastating. I break again. Body spasming, mouth open in a silent scream, my whole world reduced to this raw, breathless surrender.

Spurt after spurt he comes inside me. His arms engulfing my waist, holding me there, to him. Marked and ruined. Inside and out.

Completely his.

Time stands still. Totally reduced to pounding in my chest.

Unhooking me, his mouth brushes the side of my face while he lifts me into his chest.

“You did so good, Princess,” Auguste murmurs, voice a breathless rasp. “You took all of me so good. Thank you.”

Sitting on the bench, he unties my wrists, his fingers gentle now. Rubbing the red marks left by his hoodie string.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers, cradling me as I sag into him.

Exhaustion overtakes me. I can’t keep my eyes open when he stands and carries through the tunnel… through the untethered moment.

In the locker room, he flips the light on and locks the door behind us before setting me on the padded bench. As he undresses me, Auguste kneels in front of me. Lips covering my skin in reverent kisses .

I’ve never felt so treasured before. Each kiss, each caress of his fingers is like worship. Devout and sincere.

“You’re so perfect, Court,” he murmurs, pulling off my torn leggings and underwear. “So damn beautiful.”

Lifting me back into his arms, he takes me into the showers. Everything is laid out and ready for him to clean me up. His body wash, my shampoo and conditioner.

Auguste is gentle but speedy. His dexterous fingers know exactly where to touch me to make me relax. To make me feel good. And when we’re done, he wraps me in a towel and takes me back out to the dressing area.

“I’m going to dress you now,” he tells me, crouching in front of me with a pair of his compression shorts in his hands.

Naked and glorious, he’s a thing of otherworldly beauty. A gorgeous god taking care of me.

After Auguste’s dressed me, he brushes my damp hair and braids it over my shoulder before getting himself dressed.

I’m half asleep when he strokes my cheek.

“Let’s go home,” he whispers, throwing my backpack over his shoulder along with his kit bag.

As I attempt to stand, he lifts me into his chest again and walks me out of the facility, straight to his car.

I don’t argue. Can’t. My body’s too wrecked. My eyes won’t stay open.

He doesn’t speak until I’m buckled in his passenger seat and he’s got one hand gripping the wheel and the other reaching over to hold mine.

“You know I’d never really hurt you, right?”

I nod, voice barely a whisper. “I know.”

He looks over at me, eyes soft full of things neither of us is sure he can say, so I squeeze his hand. Because even though they remain unspoken, I know. I hear them. I see them.

More than any of that, I feel them. All the way to the marrow of my bones.