A Gorgeous Villain Page 11

  With his hands on my waist, his fingers digging into my soft flesh, he bends down even more, darkening the world around us.

  “Say it,” he growls.

  “I…”

  His fingers on my body grow insistent. “Say ‘I touch my pussy.’”

  My own fingers dig in his chest when I obey him. “I touch my p-pussy.”

  “‘And I make myself come.’”

  “And I make myself come.”

  “For Roman.”

  “For my Roman.”

  “How many times?”

  I have to gather my breaths first before I can tell him. “T-two, sometimes three.”

  His eyes shoot fire. “Three.”

  “Yes.”

  “Because you were practicing.”

  My ballerina feet can’t stay still so I go up on my tiptoes. “Yes. I wanted to be… ready.”

  “Ready, yeah,” he whispers as well. “Because you know that if I get anywhere near that thing, it’s game over, don’t you? You know that I’d lick her and suck on her and fingerfuck her like I’ve never fucked a pussy before.”

  “Y-yes.”

  “And I’d eat her out, bang her with my tongue until she gets all sore and hurt like your knees. You know that, don’t you?”

  I want to say that he shouldn’t curse so much.

  That he shouldn’t use such dirty language.

  But then I’d be lying because I want him to.

  I want him to say these things, I want him to talk to me like that, like he’s the filthiest guy in the world and I’m the most innocent girl who’s never heard these things before, the girl that he wants to corrupt.

  “Yes, I know,” I tell him.

  “Yeah, you know that I’d become what they call me. That if I catch even a whiff of her scent, I’ll go wild. I’ll become an animal and I’ll snap my teeth and I’ll snarl. And nothing would calm me down except her, except the sight of her, the taste of her. You know I’ll become a villain for your fairy pussy.”

  My hands creep up his chest and my fingers cradle his bruised jaw, my thumbs rubbing his stubble. “A gorgeous villain.”

  He presses his fingers on my waist, almost picking me up off the ground. “So you were getting her ready. Like the good girl you are. You were warming her up for me.”

  I wind my arms around his neck. “Uh-huh.”

  “In your bedroom.”

  “At night,” I continue.

  “And what were your brothers doing?”

  “Sleeping.”

  “Where?”

  “Down the hall.” Something violent passes through his features so I explain, “But it’s okay. Because I’m quiet. I bite on my pillow. When I come.”

  His jaw moves back and forth before he somehow opens his mouth and grunts, “So they don’t know.”

  “No.”

  “They don’t know that every night their innocent little sister touches her innocent little pussy for me. For the guy they hate.”

  “I don’t want them to hate you,” I confess.

  He ignores my words and continues, “They don’t know that she gets down on her knees for him. She rubs her pussy until she drips and then she bites her pillow to keep quiet. So no one ever knows what she does when she locks her door at night. And she does it all to get herself ready for the guy they’ve warned her about. So he could abuse that pussy and make her like it.”

  “I would. I would like it,” I tell him as if he doesn’t already know.

  He swallows then. “I know you would. Because I’d make it good for you. I’d make it so good that you’d be addicted. You’d become a junkie and you’d beg me for a fix. I told you that, didn’t I? I told you that every girl begs and you will too.”

  My spine arches at his tone as if he’s pulling on all my strings and I nod.

  “Yes. I will. I’ll do anything you want me to do.”

  “You’ll beg me to spread your legs. To use that tight little fairy hole and stick it to your brothers. You’ll beg me to destroy you in your good girl bedroom while they sleep just down the hall. While I make you moan in your lacy pillow and make you betray your brothers every night. And then, ask me, what will I do?”

  My breaths are all but gone right now but I somehow wheeze out, “What?”

  “I’ll tell them,” he says with a cold, humorless, half smile. “I’ll tell them how pretty their sister looked when she opened her legs for me last night. I’ll fucking brag about banging their sister under their noses.”

  “You wouldn’t.” I shake my head. “I trust you.”

  Maybe it’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever said, even stupider than all the things I’ve been saying tonight, but I do.

  I do trust him.

  He had all the opportunity, didn’t he?

  He could’ve told them.

  He could’ve used me against Ledger. He could’ve bragged if he wanted to.

  But he didn’t.

  He kept our secret. Day after day, night after night.

  I know he’s trying to scare me away but I’m not going anywhere.

  He scoffs. “Yeah, that’s what a stupid little girl says before she gets into the car with a stranger who takes her away and locks her up in a room for the rest of her life.”

  “I –”

  “So you need to go home, understand?” he says, letting me go. “You need to leave me alone because as I said, I’m not thinking straight right now.”

  “Do it,” I tell him, ignoring his command for the thousandth time. “Make me do things. Everything you said. All of them. Please.”

  “Fae –”

  “Please. Destroy me, Roman,” I beg like he told me I would, and a shudder passes through him and through me too.

  I stretch myself up then, as much as I can, and put my mouth on him.

  On his Adam’s apple.

  I lick the bulge, his rough stubble, and I would’ve gone on to do more if he hadn’t wrapped my braid around his wrist and pulled my head back.

  If he hadn’t made me look at him.

  I shiver at the look on his face.

  I shake with fear and anticipation.

  His eyes have gone all dark like the night around us and his jaw has morphed into a true V. With his angry bruises, he looks so dangerous, so gorgeous that I whisper again, “Please, Roman.”

  At my plea, his gaze falls down to my lips and I think I hear a growl.

  I can’t be sure because it’s low and thick and in the next second, I don’t have the mental capacity to think about it anyway.

  Because his mouth is on me.

  His taste, all spicy and vodka-laced, explodes on my tongue and God, it’s so delicious that I want to keep tasting him.

  I want to keep analyzing other nuances of his flavor and his soft, warm mouth but just then, the sky opens up.

  With no warning or forecast whatsoever, it starts to rain and we break apart.

  Panting, we look at each other and I don’t know what he’s thinking.

  I don’t know if he’s mourning the loss of my lips as I’m mourning the loss of his.

  But again, he takes away my ability to think when he picks me up.

  He lifts me off the ground and because we’ve done this move a thousand times before during my dance practice, I don’t even hesitate to wrap my legs around his slim waist. And as soon as I do that, he puts his big hand on the back of my head and makes me huddle into his chest.

  He makes me seek shelter from the rain in his big body.

  And all I can do is take it and hug him tightly.

  My Roman.

  My gorgeous, gorgeous villain.

  As he begins to move, I mumble, “My bag.”

  I wouldn’t usually care about it, my backpack.

  But it has something inside it. For him – not the first aid kit – and I don’t want it to get wet.

  Smoothly, while still carrying me in his arms, Reed bends down to
pick up my bag. When he has it, I thank him and kiss the pulsing vein on the side of his neck. I hear him inhale sharply as he walks me to the back door of his Mustang.

  He opens it and carefully deposits me inside the car, away from the rain, before getting in himself. He throws my backpack on the floor and I don’t even wait for him to shut the door properly before I crawl over and straddle him.

  It’s such a bold move but I don’t care.

  I don’t really care about anything tonight except being close to him, taking care of him.

  Taking all his pain from the fight and his loneliness away.

  My hands are on his shoulders, fisting his damp t-shirt, and his find their way back to my waist, clutching onto my wet dress. I stare at the water droplets that sluice down his dark, rain-slick hair to his beautiful face. They stream down his cheeks and the side of his neck, disappearing into the V of his t-shirt.

  And God, I was right.

  He’s got muscles for days.

  I can see them through his t-shirt, the ridges of his ribs and the hills of his chest and the cut planes of his stomach, and I squirm on his lap.

  Wait a second. I’m on his lap.

  How did I not notice this before?

  My spread thighs, even though covered by my wet dress, rub against his damp jeans and oh my God, it’s glorious, the rough fabric and my smooth skin. And so I squirm again but before I can do it one more time, he stops me.

  He physically stops me by putting pressure on my waist and pinning me in one spot, commanding, “Hold on to your dress.”

  I frown. “What?”

  He glances down at the hem of my dress. “Your dress. Hold on to it.”

  I pull at his t-shirt. “Why?”

  “Just do it. Now,” he says with clenched teeth, his body pulsing with his words.

  I immediately let go of his t-shirt and grab the hem of my dress. He doesn’t like how I’ve done it though, so he lets go of my waist and positions my hands.

  He carefully puts my hand —both hands — in between my legs and makes me fist the fabric. And he makes me do it so tightly that my knuckles jut out with the force.

  When he’s done, he looks up. “Don’t let me push it up your thighs.”

  My heart is banging against my chest. “Why not?”

  He licks his lips, his hand flexing over mine. “Because I want to.”

  “But I –”

  “Because I want to push your dress up and look at your panties. Because I know you’re creaming them right now and I want to see. I want to look at that wet spot and picture you creaming every night for me, up in your bedroom. And if I do that, if I imagine you, then I’m going to lose whatever sanity I have left. You got that? So you’re going to protect her.”

  “Roman –”

  He lets go of my hands and buries his fingers in my wet hair.

  He presses his forehead over mine as he says in a guttural voice, “No, listen to me, you’re going to protect her. From me. You’re going to hold onto your dress and you’re going to guard your pussy. You’re not going to let me push your dress up no matter what I do, what I say. You’re not going to let me see her. Tell me you understand.”

  “But –”

  “Tell me you understand, Fae.”

  It’s the Fae that does it.

  It’s the way he says it like a plea.

  Like he’s the one who’s begging now.

  He’s the one who’s good and I’m the one who’s bad and tormenting him. And I never ever want to do that. I’ve pushed him enough tonight, so I look into his animal eyes that look almost anguished. “If I say yes, will you kiss me then?”

  His jaw clenches and he tugs on my hair. “Fuck yes.”

  I smile slightly and fist my dress even more tightly. “Okay. I’ll hold on to my dress. I won’t let you push it up. I won’t let you see her. No matter what you say.”

  A relieved sigh escapes him then. As big a sigh as the wind around us.

  And then he kisses me as he promised.

  Something bad is going to happen. On the field, I mean.

  I don’t know how I know it but I do.

  It’s a feeling that’s been plaguing me ever since last night and somehow has been exacerbated since the championship game started.

  So I finally figured out how to attend the game and my own show.

  I got to the auditorium way earlier than they asked us to and got ready for my dance before I ran all the way across the school – because my auditorium and his soccer field are on opposite sides of campus from each other – to attend the game with Tempest.

  But anyway, here I am, decked out in an ice blue tutu and a white leotard and full-on make-up to look like a fairy, watching the game that’s about to be done in like, ten minutes.

  Our team only needs one more goal in order to win and things are looking good. Oh, and if Reed makes this goal, then he’ll not only win the championship but also their contest.

  Once and for all.

  He’s in the lead right now and he needs this last goal to seal his victory over my brother.

  But I feel like something bad is going to happen.

  If I’m being honest though, there’s no reason for me to be feeling like this.

  No reason at all. Everything is fine actually.

  Everything is more than fine.

  Because he kissed me. Last night.

  He kissed me for a long, long time.

  For a little while there I thought he’d never stop.

  I thought I’d never stop.

  Because when his mouth was on me, drugging me with his warm, wet kisses, I realized that I’d wanted this for so long. I’d wanted this every time he looked at me and every time he said something dirty and made me blush. I’d wanted this every time he brought me cupcakes and gave me a ride in his Mustang.

  So yeah, for a little while there, he became my entire world.

  Reed Roman Jackson and his mouth and his Mustang with foggy windows.

  His Mustang in which I came.

  Well, I came on his lap. Twice.

  Because he wasn’t happy with just once and wouldn’t stop kissing me or rocking me in his lap. And like the ballerina I am, I danced and writhed as much as he wanted me to.

  After two though, I told him to stop, as he predicted days and days ago, and for which I’d practiced like a good girl.

  But instead of reminding me that all my practice failed, his gray eyes simply turned all soft and liquid and he kissed me on my sweaty forehead, making me burrow into his chest.

  God.

  I never ever imagined that he could be so… tender and sweet and just everything.

  Anyway, after that I gave him his present.

  The one I had in my backpack.

  It’s something that I’ve been working on for the past several weeks.

  A sweater.

  “Because you’re always cold,” I told him, because he always is.

  That’s why he wears his hoodies practically all the time.

  “And because white’s your favorite color, and look.” I pointed to the black intarsia that I’d done on the front. “It’s a mustang. An actual mustang, not the car. Oh and it was my very first intarsia project. It came out nice, right?”

  I’d seen the pattern in a knitting book months ago – before I really knew him – and it’d reminded me of him.

  So when I decided to knit for him, I went and dug the magazine up and well, I stabbed myself in the fingers with the needles a million times before I got the design right.

  Reed didn’t say anything. Not for a long time as he stared down at the sweater I made for him and I had to ask, “You don’t like it?” I started pulling it away from his grip, which was surprisingly tight. “It’s okay. Don’t worry about it. I’m gonna make you another one and –”

  “I like it,” he said in a hoarse whisper, speaking over me.

  And then he pulled me to hi
m and pressed his mouth on my forehead.

  He didn’t kiss me there again though, no.

  He just… breathed with an open mouth for a few moments like he couldn’t get enough air and I let him.

  That was all.

  That was all that happened last night.

  We kissed, he made me come, I gave him his present and then he drove me back to school just in time for Con to pick me up from the parking lot.

  I haven’t seen him since.

  Which is understandable given the fact that his big game is currently underway, and I’ve been busy with my own practice for the show.

  Maybe that’s why I’m feeling uneasy.

  Because of the championship game.

  Because I know how important it is to him and to Ledger. Oh, and it’s also the last game of their high school career.

  Not to mention their last game together.

  It should make me happy that they won’t butt heads anymore — they’re both going to different colleges on soccer scholarships — and this contest, no matter who wins, will finally be over.

  But strangely I’m uneasy.

  Ledger’s in possession of the ball and he’s running across the field with it. Just when he reaches a point where he can take a shot and score the goal, the winning goal no less, Reed barges in.

  He swipes the ball from Ledger and there ensues a struggle between the two star players of Bardstown High.

  They both grapple for the ball, trying to score the goal, somehow dodging the players from the opposite team as well.

  Not that I had any doubts that they wouldn’t be able to.

  Together, the Mustang and the Thorn can defeat every single team in the state and they have. They’re that talented.

  I’m not afraid that they’ll lose the ball.

  I’m afraid about something else.

  Something that happens right in front of my eyes.

  While struggling to get the ball, they’re both pushing at each other.

  Until Ledger stops.

  He comes to a dead halt because Reed has said something.

  I see his lips move – the lips that I kissed last night in the rain and then in his Mustang, the lips that have made me smile and blush over the past months – and I see Ledger freezing over.

  To the point where Reed finally steals the ball from my brother and scores the goal.