Page 10 of Quiet Rage (Wicked Falls Elite #5)

Kellen

Her hand is so small. I already knew I was big, but compared to her? I am massive, a redwood, and she is so good at doing exactly what it takes to make me explode .

I’m tingling and twitching as I roll over in bed, reaching down to run a hand over the erection that’s starting to grow under my blanket.

The lotion bottle on the nightstand has been getting a lot of use the past couple of days, since my favorite pastime is now going back over every second of our special one-on-one session in the library.

As usual, I smile to myself when the memories come flooding back like the flood of cum I unleashed when I finished.

The horror in her eyes and her voice once she figured out what was happening.

It was priceless. I wish I had thought to record the whole thing so I could see it again and again more clearly than I do in my memory.

But that’s clear enough, satisfying enough. A shiver of hunger runs through me and gets me rigid before I do what she did and throw back the blanket to take hold of myself after spurting a few pumps of lotion into my palm.

So small. Totally defenseless. I had her pinned, trapped.

Those big, blue eyes were so full of fear.

I was her god, in complete control of her destiny.

I could’ve changed my mind, picked her up with one arm, thrown her over a table like I threatened.

It would’ve taken nothing to shove myself in her tight, tiny little pussy and fuck her bloody.

When I close my eyes, I can see it. Her white, creamy ass bent over the edge of the table.

Her hands clawing at the surface. I can hear her high-pitched whimpers, pain dancing with fear.

I can even feel her fighting against me—or at least her best attempt at fighting, which I don’t think would be much of anything. Not against me.

So tight. She would be, too, as small and inexperienced as she is. Tightening my grip isn’t the same as the real thing. It can’t be.

This isn’t the first time I’ve felt a little frustration while I was in the middle of jerking off, remembering what happened last week.

Because it’s not the same. I can jerk off all day, every day, but it wouldn’t come close to the electricity of Tamson’s touch.

She didn’t even know what she was doing—it was obvious, almost funny how she fumbled at first. That wasn’t nerves. It was inexperience.

And as good as her touch was, I know her pussy would be even better. I can’t help groaning when I imagine forcing my way into her. Maybe playing with her tiny clit beforehand, to get her good and wet. Not for her sake, but for mine. There’s nothing worse than a dry fuck.

But once she was wet and swollen and ready, I would part her lips and fill her up with every last inch of what I’m now working with my fist. It’s a blur, filling the room with squelching sounds that get louder the faster I go.

This isn’t going to be enough soon. I’m going to need more.

That’s the last thought that races through my brain before I empty my balls with a deep groan. How many times has it been since the library? Even if I kept count, I would’ve lost it by now. I can’t think straight anymore. I’m too busy wanting her.

Now that I’ve had a taste, I’m hooked. I am no better than one of the pathetic junkies who make their way back to The Archer’s Den time and time again.

I’ve seen enough of them to know they walk in looking like they would rather be anywhere else.

Like they hate themselves for their weakness.

It doesn’t stop them, that hatred. Their need is much greater.

Like the way I need her.

Getting out of bed, I understand why the time with her was so special. It was the first time I had any kind of contact with a girl not provided to me by Dad. I mean, he did send her to me in a roundabout way, but normally he sends them straight to me with only one purpose.

As fucked up as it was back in the library, and as fucked up as it makes me to talk about choice when I didn’t give her one, it was the first time I made a decision about who was going to touch me.

She wasn’t just some anonymous way to get off.

This is a girl whose name I know. A girl whose life I’ve taken a good, long look at.

I guess it makes sense, fixating the way I am.

Just like it makes sense that I can’t help trying to figure out ways to mix pleasure with what I know Dad wants me to do.

I have to break her. That’s my entire job, that is my purpose right now.

Sure, the line has blurred, and I might have lost sight once or twice of what this is really about, but the ultimate goal of making her dad suffer for breaking the agreement with my dad is still there. I can’t afford to forget it.

That doesn’t mean I can’t play by my own rules. Indulge my dark needs. Dad never said how I had to break her down, right? There are all sorts of ways, and he left it up to me to figure it out.

Making her jerk me off didn’t crush her, but it was the first step. The first of many. Do I tie her up? Fuck her face until she cries, and then paint it with jizz? Take pictures, send them around to everyone at school?

That idea is one of the front runners, one I keep coming back to whenever my thoughts turn to her.

And they do that a lot. To the point where I can barely think about anything else.

I zoned out at a red light yesterday, imagining her sucking my cock then and there.

Imagining how I would keep her head pressed close to my base with one hand and steer with the other.

It took two cars honking at me to pull me out of the fantasy.

I was rock hard, dripping with anticipation.

And more pissed off than ever because it was all in my head. That’s not enough.

I need to taste her tears. To hear her choked sobs as I strip her bare of choice and dignity. My fists curl whenever I imagine forcing her to satisfy my every whim, because imagining isn’t enough.

It seems like I’m not the only one with her on the brain, either. I’m showered, dressed, rounding the top of the stairs when the door at the end of the hall opens.

The air around me changes. It gets warmer, thicker somehow.

There’s a change that comes over me, too.

Without thinking about it, my spine straightens and my shoulders roll back.

I lift my chin, waiting for whatever mood he’s in today.

I like to get out of here before he’s up, trying to avoid running into him like this. Especially first thing in the morning.

He’s in his pajamas with the top buttoned halfway, a little rumpled.

I barely catch a glimpse of a woman’s bare legs on the bed before he closes the door behind him on his way to the bathroom.

“How is that project coming along?” he asks on his way past me.

He reeks of the booze working its way out through his pores.

“Very well,” I reply, still gripped with the need to make fantasy a reality.

“I’ve got her hanging on by a thread. She’s coming to her breaking point.

” By now, six of Tiana’s memes have posted online, and all of them have been shared hundreds of times.

The entire town, maybe even the whole state, knows my little dragonfly as a hopeless slut. Cock crazed, insatiable.

And from what I’ve seen while I follow her around campus, nobody is shy about making sure she knows.

His smile is slow, menacing. It has the power to make me wish, just for a heartbeat or two, that I didn’t have to do this. That he wasn’t a part of it. He has a way of taking something ugly and making it hideous. “Good work. I want her to drop out by the end of the month.”

That announcement shouldn’t make the skin on the back of my neck prickle like it does. Making her drop out of school—there goes my excuse for seeing her all the time. “Why? Why make her drop out?”

I should’ve known better. His head snaps back once he comes to a stop and turns part way to look at me. “Since when do you ask why? That’s not your job. Your job is to do what I tell you.”

As always. “I was just wondering,” I mutter with a shrug. “You’re trying to teach her dad a lesson. What does getting her to drop out of school do to him? I just want to understand your thought process.”

He’s too easy to predict. The darkness in his eyes brightens like I knew it would.

He loves feeling like he’s teaching me something.

Like a father passing wisdom down to his son.

“That pathetic prick. You would think Wicked Falls is Ivy League, the way he brags about her going there. He’s so damn proud of her. Like it means he’s special.”

Now I get it. I don’t have to like it. “Fair enough. Gotta go.” I’m halfway down the stairs before he grunts something that could be a goodbye. Not that I want to hear it.

The end of the month. I have until the end of the month to shatter her.

I have until the end of the month to soak in as much of her as I can.

Not like she would leave town when I’m finished with her, although she might wish she could.

I’ll be able to see her again if I want to.

She can’t hide from me. It’s like part of me will be imprinted on her somehow. She will never get rid of me.

It’s just a hell of a lot more convenient to have an excuse to see her, is all.

How far do I have to take it to make her drop out? Everyone in school is already having a blast, treating her like comic relief or some shit. They might even be disappointed if she stops showing up. Who are they supposed to make fun of if she quits?

Obviously, if we’re going for more than misery—if we want to make it bad enough that she has no choice but to drop out for good and never show her face on campus again—we have to kick things up a level. And by we, I mean Tiana and her girls.