Page 22 of Safe (King’s Heart #1)

Landon

Practice kicked my ass, and after having to watch Grant maul Trevor all day, I’m in a shit mood.

Not because of that, just because he thinks it’ll do something to me.

We had one incident. That’s it. He can calm down.

And I’m obviously not revisiting that again. Grant is a terrible person who has done terrible things to me.

I had a lapse in judgement. So he can go fuck around with whoever he wants.

He and Trevor kept it up on the practice field, stealing touches whenever Coach wasn’t looking.

All it did was make me roll my eyes, and now, I’m just ready to get out of here. I hope he’s still avoiding me and I can walk into an empty room.

I even stayed and did extra laps around the track, ensuring I wouldn’t have to see any more of their show.

After showering, I open my locker and take off my towel to start pulling on my clothes, getting my sweatpants on before my head slams into the locker in front of me.

“You need to go back to the trailer park,” Grant growls, using his hand to keep the side of my face pushed into the locker, which only reminds me of how I did the same to him against the floor.

My dick likes remembering that. Despite how irritated I am at Grant trying to regain some of his power over me, I feel a twitch in my pants.

Fuck. No. I am not doing anything with him again.

I blindly reach behind me, swinging my fists to try to push him away. “Get away, Grant.” I finally feel him underneath my hands and shove as hard as I can in the awkward positioning, making him stumble back a few steps.

“Go back with your fucking whore mother.”

I laugh mirthlessly as I turn toward him. “You’re so full of shit.”

He makes me so fucking mad . I’ve never had anyone make me feel this kind of anger. Like I want to actually watch the life seep out of his eyes.

And yet, at the same time, I also want to see those eyes water while he has my cock down his throat.

How the fuck does that work? And what’s wrong with me that I feel that way?

His brow turns down, and rage ensnares his features. “I am not.” He charges at me. His hands stretched in front of him as he barrels forward.

I haven’t fought much in my life, but he’s leading with his emotions. He’s not thinking, so I grab onto his neck with both hands and use his own momentum to turn us, slamming him against the black lockers.

“Yes, you are,” I say quietly.

He says nothing back, breathing harshly in front of me.

“Why are you even still here?” I ask, noticing he’s already showered and changed into black sweats and a gray T-shirt. I cock my head and speak softly, turning this moment into something violently intimate. “Everyone already left. Did you know I was still in here?”

He shakes his head, but some of the fire has left his body. It’s not convincing. He won’t even meet my eyes, staring at some point behind me.

I can feel my earlier conviction to not revisit this leaving my mind. It feels too good—having him under my control.

I think I have a problem.

“Grant,” I whisper. His eyes snap to mine, the bright green barely visible around the blackness swallowing his vision. “If I touch your dick right now, what am I gonna feel?”

“Don’t fucking touch me,” he snarls, much like an animal, caged and scared. But he’s not fighting me. My hands rest softly on his neck, and the rest of his body sits completely limp underneath.

An epiphany slams into me.

I raise my eyebrows at him. “You want this, don’t you?” I wait, but he says nothing. “You act like this big, tough, badass in front of everyone, but underneath, you want to be controlled. You want to submit. To be someone’s pet .”

He still won’t talk to me, but his chest heaves, eyes barely open.

“What I don’t understand is, why me? Why do you want the lowest person you can think of to rule over you?”

His eyes narrow, and he finds some of his previous vigor. “Fuck off, Landon. I don’t need anything from your poor ass.”

I shake my head slowly, my eyes wandering to all the points of his face. How plump his lips are. How strong and defined his cheekbones are. “I don’t believe you.” I pause. “Why did you try to make me jealous today?”

“I didn’t.”

I take one of my hands off of him, reaching up and slowly pulling his bottom lip, letting it slip through my fingers. “Of course you did. You had his tongue shoved in your mouth all day long. Do you think you still taste like him?”

A shiver passes through him.

“Should I see?”

The silence around us is deafening. Time won’t move. It stays still.

He doesn’t answer me.

“Stick out your tongue,” I command.

There’s the briefest moment of hesitation, and then he does—opening wide, his pink lips stretched, sticking his tongue out as far as it can go.

I lean in slowly. His legs tremble the whole time, barely able to keep himself upright.

Opening my mouth, I lean forward and envelop his tongue in my mouth, gently sucking on his sweet flavor.

He whines, and when I swirl my own tongue around his, his knees finally give out. I catch him before he falls to the floor, pressing his body harder against the lockers, his thick cock digging into my hip.

The lockers rattle against his shaking body while my heart hammers in my chest. It’s loud, driving my psyche upward, and in an instant, I lose all composure, letting go of his tongue and smashing our faces together.

Our lips meld as I run my hands through his buzzed hair. When he opens his mouth on a moan, my tongue immediately drives in, dominating him. Controlling him. Making him mine.

My fucking mouth.

My fucking pet.

A door slams behind us, and we break apart with a start, both of us staring at each other with shocked expressions.

Then footsteps start echoing down the hall.

I see his mind as it works, trying to think of his best course of action. Then he decides and rears his fist back to punch me in my face.

“Fuck,” I bark, stumbling backward and losing my balance, falling to the concrete floor with my nose cradled in my hands.

Grant looks panicked at me for one more second before he turns and runs out the other door.

I pull my hands away, noting the blood on my palms just as Coach Davis walks around the corner, stuttering his steps when he sees me on the floor.

“Oh, shit—Sorry, I mean, what happened, Moore?”

“I… I hit my face on the”—I gesture randomly behind me—“on one of the—when I was opening my locker.”

He gives me an incredulous look, but lets it go, waving his hand at me to come over to him. “Alright, sure. Let’s go get you some ice.”

I push up off the floor, dutifully following, berating myself for giving in to whatever weirdness hangs between Grant and me.

And for liking it. Again.