Brutal Obsession, page 20
Without warning, he swings me up into his arms. One arm under my knees, the other against my back. His fingers curl on my ribcage.
I shriek and latch on to his shoulders. Some part of me is convinced he’s going to drop me in the center of the ice and watch me try to make my way back to the edge.
He grins. “You okay, Violent?”
I narrow my eyes.
“New nickname.” He skates away from the opening. His motions are fluid, easy. Like he was born skating, not walking. The air whistles past us as he picks up speed. “Do you like it?”
“Violent? Not particularly.”
“It suits you.” He flexes his left hand, just visible under my knees. “I blame you for this.”
“You would’ve done it regardless,” I argue.
He skids to a halt in the center and sets me down.
Shit.
See? I knew this was going to happen.
I hold on to his forearms once I’m upright, although I don’t expect to stay standing for very long. He spins me in a slow circle, rotating around me on his skates. My boots make my movement easy—as in, unable to stop myself from going wherever the hell he wants.
“You put the idea in my head.” He tips forward, putting his face in front of mine. “You fuck with me every chance you get.”
I laugh. It’s mean and coarse, even to my own ears. “I do? You’re one to talk.”
I release him and step back.
Bad idea.
My arms pinwheel, and I manage to latch on to him. Too late, my feet slip out from under me. I hit the ice hard on my ass, my legs between Greyson’s. His upper half is dragged down with me, doubling him over, but he manages to stay upright.
“This is going well,” I mumble.
He hums and traces his finger over my collarbone. “What’s wrong?”
I cringe. “Nothing.”
“Uh-huh.”
He lifts me again, this time urging me to wrap my legs around his waist. He grips just under my ass, on the backs of my thighs. I hang on to his shoulders and lock my ankles behind him. I feel oddly secure like this. Less like he’s going to drop me anyway. It helps that he’s steady. I lean back slightly to stare into his eyes. He’s not being nasty—which is a first.
I open my mouth to ask him about it.
First the bus, in which he sat me on his lap… and made me orgasm. Now we’re here.
“I don’t want you to be nice,” I whisper.
He shrugs and skates. Instead of going for the wall, or the opening, he goes in a wide circle. His hand slides up my back, pressing me closer.
It should be weird for him to skate with me clinging on to him like this, but he doesn’t say a word. In fact, he seems to enjoy it. His blades leave trails in the ice, and he goes in a wide circle. The only sound seems to be the way his skates carve the ice and our breathing.
“I love fresh ice,” he says in my ear. “I love that there aren’t any other marks to catch my blade. There’s something about the perfection of it that gets me.”
“How often do you get to skate on fresh ice?”
He shifts me slightly, readjusting his grip. “Depends on the day. Sometimes I sneak into the rink at Crown Point just to carve it up before anyone else can.”
“So you like to take away the opportunity from others,” I retort.
Greyson’s laugh is husky. “Yeah, sure. If they wanted it, they’d get up early like I do.”
Hmm.
I glance over my shoulder to see where we’re going when he suddenly changes direction. He’s heading for his team’s bench. He sets me down on the wall and glides backward.
I watch him go.
He throws his arms out wide and takes off. It’s almost like he’s running on the ice, full speed toward the opposite end. It’s impressive. Captivating.
I have the insane desire to let him see me dance—and then it’s immediately squashed.
Anger surges through me at the diagnosis Dr. Michaels gave me. Stupid. It’s so fucking stupid how one thing can happen, and then another, and another on top of that.
The lights shut off, and I let out a short shriek as we’re plunged into darkness.
The rasping sound of skates is the only thing that tells me Greyson is incoming.
He stops just before touching me, showering ice shavings against the wall. A second later, his fingers slip up my knee.
“We might get locked in here.” His fingers are still traveling upward.
Meanwhile, my heart is going a hundred miles per minute. And then I realize: he reacts best to my fear. He likes it. He wants it.
My fear is blood in the air, and he’s the wolf following the scent.
He tugs at my jeans, his deft fingers unbuttoning and unzipping them before I can protest. He gets them down around my ankles. The cold air pricks at my skin. My eyes aren’t adjusting fast enough. One sense down, I’m operating blind.
But my ears pick up a second zipper, and a rustle. And then his cock is pressing against my slit. His skates put him at the perfect height for this. To thrust into me.
He grips my hips and presses into me, so freaking slowly I think I might die.
“I’ve been waiting to sink into you all day.” He inches forward more.
My head falls back. He feels too good, and after the day I’ve had? I need this more than I’m willing to admit. My muscles are tense until he touches them. My brain whirls until his lips find mine in the darkness.
I pull him closer.
His lips trail away from mine, down my cheek, to my jaw. Then the sensitive skin just under my ear. I let out a moan when his teeth scrape my throat. I find the hem of his shirt and force it up, sliding my hands up his abs.
Yep, I was right earlier—they’re defined enough to have their own zip code. I pinch his nipple, and he lets out a hoarse laugh.
“Naughty.” He drives harder into me, enough that my body scoots back on the chipped, painted wood. He pulls me right back into him, and his hands start wandering. He gets under my shirt, then my bra, and palms my breasts. “So fucking perfect. Your tits are fantastic.”
He lowers his head and shoves my shirt up the rest of the way, forcing me to lean back. He bites my flesh.
“God, more,” I groan. I tense around him.
I need this pain to ground me.
“Grey. Harder. Fuck.” Every word is on a pant. I just want more viciousness from him. I put my hands over his wrapped ones and press down. His body ripples, answering the involuntary spike of pain, and he growls.
He picks me up in one move and lays me down on the ice.
Cold seeps into me, almost burning, and I arch away from the sensation. But he’s right there, already between my legs and driving back into me. Pushing me into the ice. The sensation is like needles stabbing into me everywhere it touches. My ass, my shoulders, my head. My hair is fanned out, and the sweat that collects on the nape of my neck immediately induces chills.
But after a minute, all I can focus on is Greyson.
The feel of him, hot against my cold body. The friction of his cock going in and out, his lips on my skin. Always moving. Breast, throat, collarbone. He trails kisses, soft in contrast to the hardness of the ice. His forearms are braced on either side of me, his hands curled in my shirt.
He shifts to the side and slips his hand between us. He touches my clit, soft at first, then harder. He tweaks it, and I almost scream.
“I want to hear you,” he says in my ear. “I want anyone who lingers here to know exactly who’s fucking you.”
I’m silent.
He twists, a new angle, a new punishment. Harder and faster. “Say my name.”
“Fuck off.” I squeeze my eyes shut.
His hand leaves my clit, and I’m left gasping for air. His orgasm comes swiftly, out of nowhere, and he stills. Buried in me.
In the back of my head, I know I should be worried. Birth control doesn’t protect me against everything.
He lifts his head, and I slowly open my eyes. My vision has adjusted. Moonlight comes in through skylights and high windows. There are faint emergency lights outside the rink, just barely visible from here.
The cold hits me, and I shiver.
He slips out of me and scoots back on his knees. He grips my knees and widens my legs as far as they can go. My ankles are still trapped together by my jeans, stuck on my boots.
When he runs his finger from my slit up to my clit, my lips part.
“Here’s a little challenge for you, Violent.” He toys with my clit again, analyzing my reaction.
I squirm. I want to get off, I’m right there, on the edge, but he pulls away before I can get there. Again. And again. We go through this for fucking eternity, until I’m desperate enough to do it myself.
So I do.
I touch myself while he watches, while I shiver and moan and try not to let him see all of me. I fucking hate it. Where did my self-control go? Where did my will? But his gaze combats the cold, and I know just how to take myself there.
In seconds, I’m floating.
He thrusts two fingers inside me, and I gasp at the additional sensation. I clench around him, startled, but my orgasm keeps coming. He strokes deep inside me. I shudder. I keep shuddering. My vision flickers.
“Your cunt looks like it was made to hold my cum,” he says eventually.
He hauls me up before I’m fully ready, setting me on my feet. He slides my jeans back up my legs, making sure to touch my cold, red skin on the way.
Did we really just fuck on the ice?
My face heats with shame.
I’m close enough to the wall that I make it there on my own, sliding and fumbling until I reach the opening. Once I’m back on solid footing, I pick my way past the benches and into the hallway that leads to the locker rooms.
Yeah, not going back there.
Greyson is behind me.
He catches my wrist. I haven’t made it very far, spinning me around. It’s a little lighter out here, emergency lights on the wall giving us a yellowed glow.
His gaze roams my body again. “Forgot to say earlier, but I enjoy your school spirit. I’ll see you soon, Vi.”
And then he releases me and steps back. I stand there until he disappears around the corner.
29
VIOLET
I hurry back to the room and change my clothes. I need to get the smell of him off my skin. I need a hot shower, too, but that isn’t happening.
My phone has blown up with texts from Willow, Jess, and Amanda. They’re getting progressively drunker.
I comb out my hair and paint on a new line of mascara, winging it out. It’s a slightly edgier look than I’m used to, but I feel like I’m ready to just… let go.
Who do I have to impress anyway?
All my life, I’ve been the happy one. I loved ballet, I loved dance class, I loved my friends. My mom was good enough for me to get by. My dad… well, whatever. Growing up without a dad wasn’t the worst thing that could’ve happened to me.
Although sometimes I do think about him and what he would say if he could see me now. He’d either be proud or disappointed, and I can’t figure out which one. Mom was no help when I wanted answers about him. What kind of person he was. What kind of father he was.
He died when I was seven.
Seven is a weird age.
I can remember him in the vaguest of memories. Like my mind has taken those days, those weeks, those years, and turned them into watercolor paintings. The edges are blurry, the colors run together.
Beautiful, nonetheless.
I sit heavily on one of the beds. My leg is on fucking fire, with pain shooting up into my hip. Tears fill my eyes, and I have to stare at the ceiling, blinking rapidly, to get them to recede.
It’s okay, I tell myself. I just need to get out of here.
Willow sent me the address of the bar that the team and half the party bus has found. She sent a picture of a stage with two pianos on it, the floor in front of it packed with people. I grab my coat and get down to the first floor, asking for directions to get there.
The front desk agent guides me the right way with a smirk. I find it relatively easy and pay the cover, then step inside. Immediately, my senses are assaulted.
It’s dark and loud. Bright flashes of colored lights sweep over the room from the stage, which is lit up with two glittering pianos. Dueling pianos, I guess, judging from the way the two performers are going back and forth.
I wiggle my way toward the oval bar in the center of the large room, then decide to bypass it in favor of finding Willow. Or Jess. Or anyone with blue-and-silver clothing.
I do find Miles and Jacob in the corner, holding their version of court. Paris’ friend, Madison, is sitting almost on top of Jacob. He sees me and raises his cup in a silent cheers.
I nod back and keep going.
“Violet!” Steele comes up beside me and runs his hand down my arm. “Hey, there you are! We’ve been looking for you.”
“We?” I crane around him, but there’s no one else. Just him, staring at me. “Have you seen Willow?”
He shifts. “Can we go somewhere and talk?”
I raise my eyebrow but then nod. I shoot off a text to Willow, telling her that I’m here but going to chat with Steele, and then stow my phone back in my pocket. He leads me through the crowd. He’s broad-shouldered and easily moves people aside.
When I tried to make my way through earlier—without anyone acting as a human plow—I had to push and slip and shove to get anywhere.
This is a lot easier.
I’ve known Steele since I started at Crown Point University. We ran in the same circles, especially when I started dating Jack. He doesn’t have a crush on me. I know this absolutely, because he’s been lusting over Amanda for years. Since they had a one-night stand and she blew him off immediately after.
There’s pain and attraction there, and that’s way more than anything I’ve offered him.
Except that forced blow job.
My stomach twists. Is he going to bring it up? Try and get me to do something like that again? I consider slamming on the brakes and going back the other way, but I don’t. I go with my gut, following him down a hallway that’s empty of people. There are bathrooms at the end, and a coat closet.
I pull my jacket tighter around me.
“What’s up?” I keep my tone light. At least Willow knows who I’m with in case he goes all crazy on me.
He rubs his face, then meets my eyes. “I just…”
I tip my head back. “Spit it out, Steele.”
“Look, I just wanted to apologize. For forcing you—”
I wince and hold my hand up. “Stop.”
“Violet—”
“Stop, Steele.” I can’t believe I’m about to defend Greyson, but here it goes. “Greyson and I have a… thing. It’s kind of fucked up. But I assume he told you.” Lie. “I haven’t said anything because I figured you were cool with it. You know.”
He narrows his eyes. “You have a thing with Greyson.”
“Yep.” I’m going to kill myself for this later. “We like messing with each other…”
He steps back and chuckles, but it’s nervous. “Oh, so… okay. You knew? Because you seemed pretty distraught.”
Well… Fuck. Yeah, I think I tried to beg and plead my way out of it. To no avail. Greyson is hard and unyielding when he wants to be. He’s a monster. Not that anyone needs to know it. I always assumed that, on some level, his teammates knew. And were okay with it.
I guess there’s a thin line between being a demon on the ice and off of it.
“There’s no girl you’d go so crazy over, you’d do terrible things for? To?”
He has the decency to flush.
So there is someone.
I let my curiosity burn through me, quick and instant, and then shove it away. Whether or not it’s Amanda, or some other girl who has the misfortune of catching his eye? I don’t want to know. Talk about a can of worms.
“It was a punishment,” I say softly, closing in on Steele. “But I’ve got it handled. Okay?”
He scratches at the back of his neck. “Yeah, if you say so, Violet.”
“I do.”
He nods and moves past me. He leaves me alone in the hallway, and I lean against the wall. Have pigs flown? Did I really just make up an excuse for Greyson?
“Feeling guilty, are you?”
I glance over and find Greyson at the top of the hall.
“How much did you hear?”
He shrugs.
I narrow my eyes. “Was it a setup?”
He smiles.
Shit. That could’ve been another trap I walked right into. Imagine that.
I shiver, and he strides toward me. I don’t move from where I’m leaned against the wall, because I’m curious. Sue me, but I want to see what he’s going to do. A small part of me hopes he wraps his hand around my throat and pushes me to my knees.
But he doesn’t. He stops just shy of touching me at all.
And then his question hits me again, and I squint at him. “Why would I feel guilty?”
He lifts one shoulder. “I’m just imagining you didn’t sell me out this time because you hate that you sold me out last time.” He does lean in now, his breath fanning across my face.
I bet he tastes like whiskey. Didn’t realize it was the kind of night that required getting drunk fast, but here we are.
“You’re delusional.”
“Am I?” He laughs. “Doesn’t matter how hard I fuck you, baby. I still hate your guts.”
My chest tightens, and my eyes burn. Again.
Shit.
Why the hell am I having such an emotional response? I don’t want to care about what he says. It would appear to be his own special brand of brutality. He makes me obsessed with him and then this. He tears the rug out from under me.
I push him away and slip past him. It doesn’t take me long to find Willow, Jess, and Amanda. They’re dancing with some other girls, drinks in hand. Willow hugs me tightly when I appear at her shoulder, and she doesn’t object when I reach for her drink and take a few gulps of the vodka tonic.
