Hate Me Like You Do, page 21
“I didn’t know you could sing,” I say letting my eyes drift over his equally admirable front half.
Blessed. My first thought.
I guess it’s a good thing he puts it to good use then. My second.
“I only sing in the shower.” His shoulders drop, his eyes glazing over with a subtle confidence. Slowly, his tongue runs over his damp bottom lip.
Water droplets slide down my arm soaking my shirt sleeve as I push his hair back from his forehead. I let my attention continue to drift. His confidence grows with a small smirk as he notices how often my eyes fall down.
It’s like a third arm.
“You should sing for me.”
His voice drops low, husky. “I prefer to make women sing.”
Large hands clasp my waist, his fingers digging into me in his tight hold. He pulls me in and pushes me up against the wet wall. My clothes feel heavy with the water that weighs them down, leaving my perfect white button up clinging to my skin, my black bra beneath now apparent.
He smells like soap as he leans down, his eyes closing. The soft pillows of his lips press into my palm as I hold it up to stop him. Reed opens his eyes.
“What’s Ronan planning?”
“Why’d you fuck with me in the kitchen? Do you like me or are you just screwing with me to screw with Knox?”
His eyes are steel slits and I cannot believe he asks this question after he just tried to fuck me. The priorities on this one.
For a single second I consider lying and brushing it all off but I want him to know the hard truth.
“I fucked with you in the kitchen because I wanted you to know what it felt like to be hurt for no apparent reason. Just like you did to me.”
His features soften and my heart squeezes at the sight of it.
“I like you, Reed. But I’m not playing anyone’s games any more. I have bigger shit in my life to deal with.
He nods slowly in understanding.
My hand falls away drawing slow circles on the slick lines of his chest. I ignore the deep furrow of his brow. Thankfully, his confusion doesn’t have him pulling away. For now, I can enjoy the sensation of all of him pressing into all of me.
All. Of. Him.
“What’s Ronan planning?” I ask again with an edge to my tone.
“Mr. Reyes doesn’t tell me shit. I don’t know what you mean, Dee.”
That’s not what I want to hear. Give me the details. Where are the details, Reed?
My hand drops down the hard lines of his abdomen. Farther down until I’m stroking over his shaft. With determination I hold his now half hooded gaze. His smirk melting into a content smile.
“He likes you. Figure it out, Reed.”
I slide my slick palm down him again and he trembles in my hands. His undeniable want growing between us.
“I hate this,” he whispers, propping one arm over me as he hovers there. “I hate this exterior you show everyone now. The one Knox forced you into.”
My hand keeps its pace along his slick hardness, my own eagerness making me roll my hips as I wait. Reed leans closer, water falling down onto my face from his hair, his lips so close to mine.
I lift my chin so he can really devour my words. “I was always this person. You all just brought out the very worst in me. And that part of me isn’t going anywhere anytime soon.”
He shakes his head slowly. “Drop the act, Dee. You’re still my blushing best friend who thinks about me before bed.” His big palm pushes down inside the constraints of my skirt until he is cupping my sex.
Heat flares to life in my core. Hot like the steaming water that leaves our skin red in its wake. Water clings to my hair, tiny drops apparent in my peripheral from the humid air. Carefully, watching his every move I tilt my head up to ghost my lips over his.
“And you’re still that guy who’s too afraid of his roommate to make his move.”
Reed doesn’t smile at my comment. He doesn’t growl. He doesn’t give me one of his teasing sexy retorts. He lets his hands do the talking.
Two perfect lips press together, his face not moving an inch. But his eyes open and he watches me with such intensity as he slides his fingers down over my clit drawing circles of his own before he thrusts into my wetness.
Touches so artful, so fucking skilled. I’m fighting to keep my composure as he hooks a finger at just the right angle inside me and I melt at the pleasure of the feeling. With every thrust of his fingers, his palm grinds against my clit.
Harder and harder he works me until I’m gasping into the steam that surrounds us.
Gloriously perfect excitement runs rampant inside of me.
We’ve barely begun and I already feel like I’m on the cusp of an orgasm. I knew he was good. Too good. Sinfully good. Truly a man of many talents.
I want to taste him. Feel him against me. I want more of him and I want it now. Skin. I want to feel all of his skin.
With both hands I pull his face down to me. Starving for him, I kiss him hard. Instantly it becomes ravenous. All those times he fucked those other girls, it should have been me. It should have always been me.
Firm hands yank at my skirt. The material catching at my hips but he tugs at it harder until the material falls to my feet in a wet heap on the floor. I kick the skirt to the side.
Reed never lets space come between us, even as he plucks away button after button on my shirt. Sharing his urgency, I peel the fabric away.
He pulls back. Intensity burning in his narrowed gaze, his eyes taking in my nakedness. I take the time to study his perfect face, the soft trusting look that makes people so drawn to him. I want to memorize him. Greedily keep this image ingrained in my memory for the rest of my life to use as I will until the day that I die.
On my deathbed I’ll be touching myself to this Reed just like he always accused me.
Reed slips both hands behind my back, my bra falling away with a twist of his wrist.
“You are so fucking perfect,” he rasps.
I mean to say something. To thank him, to share in his zeal but the words are lost as he seals his lips to mine once more.
The sheer size of him pressing against my stomach as he leans into me tingles want and need all through me. I. Need. More. My fingers slide into his wet hair, pulling at the strands. They drift down digging into his back to feel every flex of every muscle.
He’s pure strength, every single part of him.
Kisses trail along my neck, his hands gliding over my breasts. Taunting touches torment me until I pull away. Pleading with him to do more, touch me more.
“Please.” I grovel against his mouth.
Something like a growl, or a hum, strains in him, both hands grabbing my hips spinning me around until my palms are flat against the shower wall. Firmly, he pulls my hips back and up creating the perfect angle.
He doesn’t tease me any longer. With a groan he presses into me. Fills me, completely. One hand releases a hip and drifts forward. Two fingers press over my clit again, slowly massaging, slowly making me crazy just before he slowly pulls out and thrusts all the way in.
The perfect rhythm of his thrusts mixing with the bliss his hand is performing is enough to send me over. My own cry shakes out, my body shivering from the thrill. I bite my lip to keep from screaming out.
I can feel his cheek rest against me, his chest slick and hard against my back as his lips nip at my ear. “Violet Demure. I thought of you beneath me a hundred times just like this.” He stops to kiss down my shoulders. “And I think, I love you.”
The tune I’m so familiar with. The hum, the only hint that he could actually sing, vibrates through his chest as his pace quickens.
And I think, I love you. It’s so quiet, I’m almost not sure I heard him right. My mouth opens, the words wanting to form on my lips like I’ve said them a thousand times in my head so long ago. Such a very long time ago. Before everything that transpired.
Before they made me realize love isn’t that simple.
Reed loves me.
Thirty-One
Reed
Three knocks on the door is a much harder task than one would think. My hand hovers by the wood ready but I just can’t make myself do it. I wish it was because of shame. Like how am I supposed to show my face to her father after I just fucked her in the men’s locker room at school?
But that isn’t it. I’d fuck her and smile at the man like I’m a fucking saint just to feel her come against my cock again.
It’s just that Knox’s dad is on some new sort of level for intimidation factor. I know first hand how rough Knox is, and Knox isn’t even half, no wait, a third of the scare level of his father. Knox follows orders to save his own ass. Mr. Reyes commits murder like it’s just another task that has to be done like getting the oil changed on your car.
It’s that simple.
I can still vividly remember when Knox showed up at my door, his face ghostly pale, his eyes wide and fearful. Knox had stared down at his hands in horror. Red rimmed, his eyes were glassy as if he was on the very verge of a fucking breakdown.
He killed his brother. His own blood, twin, nonetheless. I ushered him into my room, let him explain it all to me. Then we buried the sin deep within us. Vowed to let it pass, not to talk about it, not to let it ruin him.
I told him that sometimes, it was okay to be selfish.
Because that’s who I am through and through. I’m fucking selfish. And maybe that’s a shit trait to have but selflessness isn’t in me as an adult.
I was overlooked as a child. Ignored. I was a selfless child.
And look where that got me.
Landon would have never told Knox shit like that. He would have been utterly aghast. Likely saying some sort of bullshit about being a good guy, having morals. He played into rallying against Dee easy enough. But he wouldn’t be Landon if his ethics didn’t come back to haunt him.
He’s better than me. I’m not too good to admit it. He is what Violet deserves. However, there is no universe where I let go now.
The picture of her breasts, water dripping down them like rainfall flashes through my mind. Her Breasts. All other breasts have somehow lost all sense of appeal.
Oh right. That’s why I’m here, standing awkwardly with my hand in the air.
Because of her fucking perfect boobs.
Not because of her boobs. Just because of her.
I fucking told her I loved her.
Shit.
Again, her peaked nipples pressing against me, bouncing with every move of my hips clouds my thoughts.
Get it together.
Finally, I summon the energy. Three quick raps against the wood.
“Come in.” His deep voice is muffled on the other side.
Taking one last breath, I enter his office. I do my best not to appear nervous. He’s like a second father after all. I’ve known him for forever. Casually, with as much indifference as I can muster, I slide my hands into my pockets and waltz in.
Mr. Reyes glances up from his paperwork giving me a brief smile before looking back down. The small brown framed glasses perching on his nose slide down with the movement. “Mr. Carington, to what do I owe the pleasure?” The words are spoken without feeling. Dull and lifeless.
“It’s just uh–” I fumble for the words.
“Spit it out.”
“Did Dee do something wrong?”
I swear the air turns frigid. Slowly he looks back up at me again, this time setting down the pen and paper in his hand. Mr. Reyes doesn’t bother to adjust the low sitting reading glasses on his nose. Instead he peers over them at me with a lethal stare, one that feels as if it bores into my skin.
I shift on my feet under his unyielding attention.
He sighs as if he’s already completely exasperated by the situation. Pushing the papers to the side he stands up, walking around his large desk. The familiar green of his eyes sends the fleeting image of Dee’s pleading look to the forefront of my mind.
And I didn’t think I would feel any shame in front of her father. Heat rises to my cheeks.
Growing up, my father adored Mr. Reyes. Though, my father adores anyone who remotely appears to be profitable or more fortunate.
Thus in turn, I grew up wanting to be just like Mr. Reyes. Successful. Powerful. Fearless.
The man I’m looking at now isn’t someone I want to be at all. His success is from blood money built up by thieves, murderers, and liars. His power comes from striking terror into the hearts of everyone who seems immune to his charm. And of course you can be fearless when everyone else is afraid of you.
The man before me now makes me sick.
Carefully, he folds his hands in front of him, still looking down his nose at me. “Violet’s mother is a problematic person. I helped that woman time and time again.” He shrugs. “But women cannot always be helped. They will always return to destructive addictions, time and time again.”
Mr. Reyes pulls his glasses from his face, running a hand over his tired eyes. “Violet, unfortunately, is just like her mother.”
Violet, unfortunately, is just like her mother.
She’s not. She’s nothing, not anything, like her mother.
Hate burns through my veins. It leaves my cheeks red for another reason.
What I told her today. The small confession, in the most vulnerable of moments, is true. And Violet Demure is good. Her mother, the sniveling piece of shit she is, is not good.
Good tells you that you aren’t bound by the expectations of your life, not calling you names and degrading you. Good nurses your wounds when you’ve been stung by what feels like ten thousand bees, not letting good for nothing boyfriends slap the shit out of your daughter. Good rallies against the evil, it does not wallow in it and drag everyone else down because of it.
Dee is strong and kind and authentic.
I bite my tongue in Mr. Reyes’ presence. I understand why Dee wants to know what she wants to know. I’d want to know how to prepare myself for the battle against the devil himself, too.
Mr. Reyes turns back around, tossing the words over his shoulder in a careless command. “She’s a pretty girl. I understand. Take it from me, a pretty girl only gives you a problematic future. But it’s best if you just keep a distance, son. ”
It’s best if he keeps his distance. He’s hurting her. I know he is.
And if he hurts her, I’ll fucking kill him.
Thirty-Two
Landon
“A pawn,” Reed says bitterly with a shake of his head. “He just wants to use her as a pawn in his game. What else could it be?”
Dee sucks in her bottom lip, looking away from us. Her feet swing back and forth, her legs dangling from her perch on top of my long dresser. She examines the room. I realize this is the first time she has actually come in here.
My cheeks flush in a nervous way. What is she thinking?
Is it clean enough? Does it smell funny? Does she think I lack personal taste in interior design?
What am I thinking?
I scan the space trying to see it from someone else's perspective. Simple beige bedding tucked in neatly with two pillows carefully laid down on top, a desk with open books, and pictures of my family. It’s not so bad. I feel like I look respectable.
“The question isn’t what else could it be. The question is: what is his game?” My gaze passes from Reed’s annoyed expression to Knox’s face with only the slightest twist of anger.
Dee’s blonde hair falls in messy waves over her shoulder. At most she looks indifferent.
“To take over the world?” She offers with a sly smile.
“Dee this isn’t funny.” Knox gives her a pointed stare.
She rolls her eyes. “Trust me, of all people, I know it’s not funny. But what else do bad guys try to do? What’s his motive?”
“Money?” I offer. Mr. Reyes has lots of money but you don’t get rich by spending it or not wanting more of it. You get rich by saving it, hoarding it, really. Until one day you maximize your income and lower your expenses enough to have a steady influx of wealth.
Knox shrugs, his gaze distant as he thinks.
The air in my room feels tight, the space restricting. No one else seems to feel it but I do. The weight of our problem feels awfully heavy on my shoulders at least. I’m smart enough I should be able to figure this out but I just don’t get it.
Frustration leaves me wringing my hands together. Dee slides from her seat walking towards me and pulls my hands apart.
“Stop doing that you’re going to end up ripping off one of your own fingers. You’re driving me mad.”
The small grazing touch sends goosebumps up my arm. Reed watches the exchange plucking an imaginary hair from his shoulder. Knox props his head on his fist his eyes fixed on Dee. She smiles at me easily. As if we aren’t trying to figure out how to straighten out the shit show that has become her life.
“Do you think he wants her to take over some part of his business?” Reeds statement is hopeful.
“No,” Knox begins. “No offense but I’m pretty sure he wants to give me that god awful role. Fuck, the second the old man croaks I’m liquidating the business and running as far away as possible.”
“What does he even do?” Dee asks.
He… works. Somewhere. Why don’t I know where he works? Her questions seems more valid as I try to recall one time I’ve ever heard where he actually works. The man comes and goes with his briefcase. He doesn’t wear any insignias and his checks merely say his name.
We all turn to look at Knox. He frowns.
“Hell if I know. He hasn’t gotten to that part of my grooming yet. I suppose whatever it is it has to do with some very illegal money laundering. Also, likely murder.”
The room stays quiet. Everyone fixating on Knox and what he just said.
“What? You lot were thinking it. Let’s not pretend like we don’t all know the same thing. That we don’t all know who has blood on their hands.” He holds his shoulders straight, looking us all right in the eye. Unafraid of what he is, he watches us as if giving us the chance to decide to run out of the room or to strike him down.
