Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

CRUZ

S acrifices had to be made. Hearts had to be broken to pave the way for realization. Marshall can't have his cake and eat it, too. I don't want to touch this girl any more than he wants her to suck me off, but here we are with my dick down a slut's throat while the guy I've obsessed over for years flees the room as if I've slapped him.

As though this is my fault.

Did he forget he pushed me away and avoided me at every turn? Did he really think I'd blend into the shadows? That I wouldn't sink my blade where it hurts?

Now that I've proved my point, I shove the girl away, and she falls back with a shriek, her naked tits bobbing on her chest. My skin crawls with disgust as I zip my pants and rise to my feet. She stares at me with mascara streaks trailing down her cheeks, looking surprised and hurt. Not that I give a shit. She's a piece on the playing board, a means to an end. I had to crack Marshall's shell to reveal the diamond inside.

"Fuck off home," I order, tossing her discarded tank top at her. "Now."

Clutching the top to her naked chest, she blinks up at me, her chin trembling. "Cruz?—"

"Did I fucking stutter?"

She climbs to her feet and sniffles as she puts her top on, sliding it over her big tits. "Everyone was right. You are an asshole."

"Then you knew the deal."

She shoulders past me. I chuckle, pocketing my phone. It still bores me that people think I harbor emotions. I really fucking don't, except where Marshall is concerned.

And those tears that filled his eyes as he took in the scene? I'm dying to taste each one trailing down his cheeks before I fuck him hard enough to purge this restless energy coursing through me.

Leaving my room, I jog downstairs, barely able to contain my anticipation. My heavy weight thunders on the steps, but my heartbeat is steady. Marshall is back in the kitchen, pretending everything is okay.

Mom refills his glass as I plop down across the table. "Where did the girl go?"

I stare at Marshall, who looks anywhere but at me. "She left."

"She seems nice." Mom puts the bottle of wine back down and sits.

"She's a whore," I reply.

Across the table, Marshall's head shoots up, and I let my lips curve to the side as the fire in his eyes intensifies. Fuck, I want to burn in those flames.

Mom gasps. "Cruz!" She peers at Marshall, aware that we have dinner guests. "Don't speak like that."

Instead of replying, I rest my arm across the back of the empty chair beside me and stretch my legs. Marshall stiffens when my ankles brush against his.

"I agree with your mom," Dad says, but it's all background noise to me. "I raised you better than to disrespect women."

Marshall and I remain locked in a stare-down, and I revel in the electric current between us while my parents continue their conversation, tossing the occasional disapproving glance my way. He lifts the glass to his lips and watches me over the rim as he sips the mature wine.

We don't have to speak a word; his eyes tell me everything I need to know. "I hate you and these emotions you evoke when you look at me like that. You hurt me."

My smile spreads. "I'm not sorry. I'll hurt you over and over to get you to see me."

I stroke my sock-clad foot over his ankle, then flick my head to remove the strands of hair tickling my eyebrows. When I lock eyes with him again, a muscle clenches in his jaw and then he rises to his feet abruptly.

"Excuse me. I have somewhere I need to be."

Dad blinks, looking surprised. "Okay. I'll drive you home."

"No, that's fine. I'll catch the bus." He's gone in a flash, and my parents exchange glances in the ensuing silence.

"What's up with him these days?" Mom asks.

My heart is a calm lake—I'm in control now that the cards have landed where I needed them to.

"He's been acting weird for weeks," Dad confirms, scratching his brow. "The divorce knocked him for one."

Mom's face softens, and she palms Dad's hand on the table. The empathy and compassion she exudes are emotions she selfishly kept to herself when I was in her womb. Watching it glisten in her eyes always sparks a curiosity in me.

I scoot my chair back and kiss Mom on the cheek before walking upstairs, knowing he's waiting for me. Knowing I finally get to claim the last piece of him.

When I shut the door behind me and flip the lock, he looks at me over his shoulder. "Why did you do it?"

"Shut up, Marshall." I cross the room, approaching him from behind like his worst nightmare. His shoulders stiffen, and his breath catches as I line my chest up with his back, but he stays silent, waiting to see what I'll do.

My breaths tease the short hairs at his nape when I whisper, "Did it hurt to see her taste my cock?"

"I wanted to hurt her," he admits, fisting his trembling hands at his sides. I curl my fingers around his and smile when he lets me interlace our digits.

"I've never wanted to hurt someone before, not like that…"

"Do you understand now why I can't let you go?" I ask against the crook of his neck. "Why I'll stop at nothing to keep you?"

"It's wrong." He breathes shakily and wets his lips. "Your parents will never accept us."

I press my lips to his clammy skin, tasting the sweat on him, feeling his thudding pulse kick up beneath my tongue. I nibble and suck, marking him with my teeth as I reach around to rip his belt open.

Shoving my hand into his boxers, I palm his hard length. "Did you miss me, Marshall?"

His choppy breaths increase and he sinks his teeth into his lip, warring with himself. Spinning around, he wrestles with my top and pulls it over my head before discarding it on the floor.

Our teeth and tongues clash in a violent kiss, and he skims his hands over my chest, shoulders, and arms and then back again. My muscles ripple beneath his touch, and my heart slams against my ribcage while we undress each other with trembling hands and muffled moans, inching toward the bed.

"I need to be inside you," I pant between kisses, pushing him down onto the bed and flipping him over onto his stomach.

Creasing the navy bedsheet between his fingers, he watches me over his shoulder as I climb on after him, massaging his pale ass and kneading the perfect skin.

"Fuck me," I whisper through heaving breaths, my heart threatening to break free. The visceral reaction he evokes in me is an addictive concoction. I need more. "You're perfect."

Our eyes lock, and the glimmer of unease in his expression stirs the darkness in me.

"Will you hurt me?"

His skin erupts in goosebumps when I drag my tongue up the length of his spine, whispering against his shoulder blade, "Yes… Are you scared?"

"Always," he replies as my veiny dick nestles between his ass cheeks. "I'm terrified."

Fisting his soft hair and yanking his head off the bed, I bite his earlobe hard enough to make him wince while I grind into him. "I can't wait to fucking feast on your fear."

"I want you to hurt me," he admits, wetting his lips, and I smile against the shell of his ear before biting down at the crook of his neck. My cock throbs when he whimpers. "I like the pain. Sometimes, I feel like I was dead before you set your eyes on me."

"Tell me more," I urge as I lean over the side of the bed to retrieve a bottle of lube from the nightstand.

"I finally feel again." He stiffens when I lube up his virgin ass and my aching dick while whispering praises to the submissive side of him.

"Do you want my dick in your ass, Marshall?" I ask, breaching his tight ring of muscle with a finger.

Fuck, it'll be nearly impossible not to hurt him.

"Yes," he chokes out with a grunt, and I nip his earlobe again, whispering, "Relax, or it'll hurt more."

More lube. More fingers. Marshall's breaths finally steady, the sweat on his back gliding over my chest with every thrust.

"I can't wait to be inside you, Professor," I tease against the curve of his neck, feeling a shudder run through him. "Can't wait to feel you take all of me. Do you want that? Want me to tear through you with my dick?"

He nods, clawing at the sheets.

"You need to be quiet for me, understood? My parents are downstairs and will hear you if you make noises."

"Fuck." Hiding his face in the blanket, I yank him by the hair again, my dick lined up with his primed ass.

When I release his sweaty strands, I clamp my hand over his mouth to muffle him and he grunts, his breath wafting through my fingers when I thrust forward.

He tightens his grip on the sheets and whimpers in a heady mixture of pain and pleasure, pleading wordlessly for more. My hips slam against his ass harder and faster, and I press my wet lips to his ear while fucking him into the mattress. I've waited so long for this moment—to feel his tight ass squeeze my dick and his panting breaths waft over my hand through his nostrils. I've stalked him, invaded his privacy, and even killed for him, all so that I could savor his pain and witness his eyes rolling back. For me.

He's fucking mine. Mine, mine, mine.

I chant the word, grinding my dick deep in his ass until he's groaning loud enough beneath my palm that I worry my parents will hear. "Don't come yet," I warn before pulling out and flipping him over.

Fuck… He has such a perfect dick. Long and thick and veiny. Resting against his stomach, the crown leaks precum as I kneel between his legs.

Palming his balls with one hand, I massage them gently while fingering his ass. I thrust deep, watching his dick bob on his stomach, smearing cum everywhere in the most erotic sight I've ever seen. "You're making a mess, Professor."

"Fuck," he groans, fisting the sheets on either side of him.

"Jerk your dick for me. Make yourself come."

Shifting closer, I guide his ankles onto my shoulders, and he palms his length, jacking it in long, sensual strokes. His eyes roll back once more as I replace my fingers with my dick and push inside, seating myself balls deep.

"I'll never get enough of you." I flash him a smile, pulling out to the tip and slamming back inside. "This tight ass is perfection. You are everything I've ever dreamed of." Each word is accentuated with a powerful thrust.

A bead of sweat trails down my temple, and strands of my dark hair stick to my forehead as I fall forward and brace my hands on the mattress on either side of his head. I look down between our bodies, watching his ass swallow my dick over and over. This is the best sex I've ever had, and it's more than the act of fucking—it's him. He makes me feel this way.

When I look up in time to watch ropes of cum squirt from his dick and coat his sweaty chest, my own length swells in his ass, and I come so hard that I collapse on top of him.

Moments pass where we're a heap of sweaty limbs and trembling breaths, caught in each other and drowned by this mutual desire.

"You're mine," I pant against the crook of his neck, his pulse thundering against my lips.

He shifts and then his fingers slide through my hair to pull on the damp strands and tug a little too hard. His words settle my thrashing heartbeat. "I'm yours."