Chapter 16 The Point of No Return

— 16 —

THE POINT OF NO RETURN

Oz

I'M NOT A liar, and I never make promises I can't keep.

Except for the fact that I am, and I just did.

Fuck.

I don't know what it is about this girl that has me so fucked in the head that I can't think straight. When I'm near enough to touch her, I forget there's anything else worth thinking about. That's why I left her alone in the bathroom. I meant to leave, put some distance between us while I get my mind right, but instead, I pace the bedroom. I'm so fucking reeled in, and she doesn't even know how deep her hook has punctured me.

I could stop doing this, send her away and make her someone else's problem until I've cooled off completely. But she's not a problem I want to offload—the fact that I'm not willing to offload her is the problem.

I don't wanna stop this.

I don't wanna be the good guy right now.

I don't wanna be the man who tries to make something decent out of his life sentence in Lawless Land.

I don't wanna be the community guy, the one who has to hold his shit together just so everyone else doesn't fall apart.

I wanna lose control. I wanna forget that everything we have isn't riding on following the rules.

I hear the shower water turn on, and I stop.

I take a step toward the bathroom door when I hear the familiar sound of the glass shower door opening, then closing again.

I need this… I need this obsession.

I need this craving.

I need this rush of knowing I'm dangerous for her, knowing I might actually hurt her, which would destroy everything I've built.

I need her.

Fuck the rules .

I wanna be lawless.

I rip off my clothes in a hurry, strip naked, then burst through the bathroom door. Gemma's form is blurred through the frosted glass enclosure, but I can easily make out the way she twists around to face me. Her arms rise, crossing to cover her naked chest as I charge directly for the shower door. I jerk it open, and without preamble, I step inside. I almost expect her to scurry backward, to press her back into the corner, but she doesn't.

She doesn't even look surprised at my return.

She only stands still before me, her chin raised as she gazes up at me with a thousand questions in her eyes.

I take a step closer. "I'm not a liar. I've never been a liar, and I've always done everything in my power to make good on my promises." Another step. "But I will stand here before you and become a liar, Gemma. I'll become a man who breaks his promises if you don't beg me to make you come right now, because I can't wait another fucking day for you to beg me and actually mean it."

"Why me?" There's no emotion in her expression—no sorrow, no anger, no humor. She only looks at me with sincere confusion. "Of all the women you could have chosen today… why the fuck did it have to be me ?"

Warm water pours from the waterfall showerhead above her, dripping down her back, heating the air around us into swirls of disorienting steam.

"Is there any answer that would be satisfying to you?"

Her eyes narrow, and she seems to honestly consider it. "No," she finally answers.

I close the distance between us, grab her wrists, tug them away from her chest, and force her to move backward until her spine hits the tile wall. I shove her arms against the wall on either side of her head, my hands easily wrapping around each of her wrists to pin her in place.

"Then tell me, baby, what's it gonna be?" I push my rock-solid cock against her lower stomach. "Are you gonna beg me to make you come or are you gonna make a liar out of me tonight?"

She slowly blinks, then shuts her eyes. They stay closed for so long that I almost think she's fallen asleep until she speaks. "If I beg for something I don't want," she finally opens her hazel eyes and stares right at me, "will it be any better for me? Will it be any better for you ?"

I sense the spark of heat rising within her, and then I feel it through the intensity of her words. "Will it absolve you of the pain you cause me? Will it make you feel like more of a man and less like a lying sack of shit?"

Her tone takes on a mocking quality that makes me throb. "Oh, please … let me have your thick cock. I've never seen one that big. I need it." She thrusts her hips forward from the wall, sarcastically seeking my dick between her legs.

"I didn't ask you to beg for my cock." I slam my hips forward to push hers back and pin her ass to the wall with my weight. "I asked you to beg me to make you come."

I release one of her wrists to grip her chin, twisting her head sideways to force her cheek to the wall.

"Make me come." Her mocking tenor is still present, though it's dulled by the forced monotone quality and staccato rhythm of her voice. "Oh, please, oh, please. Make me come."

"''Atta girl." I grin, then lean in closer so I can lick her cheek. "Keep begging, cupcake. I love it when you give me attitude. The day I finally fuck you so hard you can't breathe—let alone tell me to stop—will be so much more satisfying after a round of your false bravado."

"You're so fucking sick."

"You love it." I kiss her neck.

Her body thrashes against mine.

I twist her head, forcing her to look at me.

I watch the heat rise in her cheeks, tinting them pink.

She's so fucking aroused, and it doesn't really matter whether she's aroused with anger or lust because the reaction to each of them is the same: violence.

All sex is violence.

Whether it's consensual, sweet, forced, or rough, it doesn't make a difference. The end goal still requires vigorous, intentional friction and a hedonistic resolve. It's all about that moment on the brink of release, when you reach that peak you can't back down from, the point of no return… That's when the carnal urge to achieve the ultimate pleasure is so vicious that someone could stab the girl you're fucking and you'd still thrust inside her to spill your goddamn load while you watch her scream, suffer, bleed out, and die beneath you.

That desperation, that inherent need, that primal violence … It lives in all of us. It's the basis of humanity. It's what keeps us reproducing. We're all capable of doing terrible things for the promise of momentary freedom.

And she makes me that promise with every hateful word.

She parts her pretty pink lips to spew more hatred, but I swiftly silence her as I bend and kiss her hard, my mouth meeting hers with bruising force. I hold her in this kiss, keep her lip-locked through the perfect tension she'd like to pretend we don't share. And when I finally slip my tongue inside to move along hers, a deep, guttural groan rumbles through me.

She makes a strange noise as her free hand smacks my chest—the inflection of the muffled sound makes me think she's trying to say, "Get off me!" through our twisted tongues.

I chuckle into her mouth, lean my body against hers, and rub my cock against her lower belly. The feel of her skin against my shaft is intoxicating. Moving it in small strokes along her dewy flesh offers a subtle reprieve from my violent desperation. The reprieve helps me slow the pace of my kiss, ease back on the pressure, and find a steady rhythm. It gives me a chance to grant her some softness—though it may be fleeting—and use my tongue as a tool for sensuality to gradually draw her into wanting me.

I kiss her like a man in love would kiss his woman.

Obviously, I'm not in love with a woman I just met today…

But I am obsessed.

And that's far more dangerous.

Regardless, this deep kiss with long, languid licks seems to be doing it for her—whether she wants it to be doing it for her or not.

Her shoulders lower as the tension holding them up begins to melt. A soft whimper vibrates between our mouths; it's a pleasure-filled sound that escapes her unwillingly. The hand she smacked my chest with gradually slips upward, follows the curve of my neck, and comes to rest with her fingers curved gently around the side.

Then—inexplicably, unbelievably—she kisses me back.

Her limp tongue comes to life, lifting to meet mine, and fuck , the way it feels could strike me dead, here and now.

And I'd die a happy fucking man.

I practically growl against the sweet little moan that comes out of her, and it's a struggle against every fiber of my being to restrain myself at this slow pace.

There's the part of me that wants her to fight me so hard that I have to force her to fuck me—the part that wants her to spew hatred and malice, scream and claw at me until I shove inside her and make her come, despite how hard she tries not to.

Yet, all the decent parts of me know doing that to her isn't right. Regardless of the rules in our community or the lawlessness that runs rampant all around us, this small, unbroken piece of my soul wants me to care for her. It wants me to protect her the way I'm supposed to, in the way Salem and I protect as many women and children as we can support with our resources.

But fuck, the taste of her, the feeling of her skin against mine, the sleepy, lazy, sexy way she laps her tongue over mine…

Goddamn, I need this woman.

I release her chin, lightly trail my hand down her chest, and cup her perfect little tit in the palm of my hand. Her spine arches, pressing it firmer into my grip. I give it a light squeeze, and I feel the muscles of her stomach tighten beneath my cock. I turn my hand so I can brush my thumb across the peak of her nipple.

She breaks the kiss with a gasp, and I brush it again, causing a shudder to ripple through her entire body. Her head falls back against the tile, her eyes drift shut, and her lips part as she drags in heated breaths.

I draw my head back enough to look down between our bodies. My thick, raised cock visibly throbs where it's pressed to her stomach. I watch her nipple thicken and rise as I continue to play with it. I start to move my hips, watch my dick slip up and down, as I rub the backside along her midsection.

"Oz," she whispers.

Fuck.

I nearly come right then.

I bring my hand down between her legs, trailing my fingertips up the inside of her thigh.

"Yes , " she moans. "Oz, yes… Please …"

Yes? Please?

I watch her face with skepticism as I drag two fingers along her slit. Though touching her there is enough to have me dripping with pre-cum, it's barely a graze, and it isn't exactly a spot that would elicit the reaction she gives me. I see where this is going now. I understand the game she's playing.

I can play it, too, bubblegum.

Intentionally, I rub all over her outer bits, like a horny teenager who's never actually pleased a woman before. I don't slip inside her, and I don't go anywhere near her clit. I avoid touching anything that would actually make her feel good.

"So good, right?" I eye her suspiciously. "Doesn't that feel so fucking good?"

Dramatically, and with her eyes still closed, she arches her back. "So good," she says in a breathy voice. "Don't stop, Oz, please."

She's truly committed to the performance. She squirms, wiggling her hips, though all I'm doing is probably making her chafe. I might as well be stroking the top of her foot for the amount of pleasure my touch could possibly be giving her.

"Oz—"

"Open your fucking eyes, Gemma."

She does, and I'm certain that when she looks at me—as soon as she realizes that I know she's faking this—she'll stop.

She doesn't stop, though.

She flashes a brief, twisted little smirk, and then she steps it up a notch.

"Oh, God, Oz! Yes , yes … Ozzy… Baby, please… "

I've already pulled my hand out from between her legs, yet she's still writhing, squirming, rocking her hips as though it were still there for her to fuck.

This is wildly entertaining…

She assumes she's won something.

She's certain this is turning me off.

But if she thinks for a second that this will stop me from using her to get off, then she's lost her damn mind.

I let go of the wrist I still have pinned to the wall, and she theatrically tangles both hands through her hair. "Ozzy, baby, make me come, please. I don't know how I'll survive if you don't rub my pussy raw."

I draw my body away from hers, but only just enough to take my dick off her torso and aim it right at her belly button. I place my palm on the wall above her head, and I lean on it, grip my cock with the other hand, and give it a stroke.

Right in the middle of her spectacular and obscene faked orgasm, I give her a grin. "That's right, baby. Fake it for me. That's so fucking hot."

She falters instantly—her body becomes as rigid as a statue, and she's as silent as a mouse.

It's the way she suddenly stops when I call her out… As though she was hiding from the world to pleasure herself to some secret, perverse idea when I caught her filthy hands in the act.

Naughty little thing, isn't she?

Now, the idea of her hiding some dirty little kink shoots sparks of pleasure through the tip of my weeping cock. I stroke myself faster, my hips thrusting erratically. She drops her angry eyes and looks away from me as she realizes her performance didn't give her what she wants—that I'm still hard as fuck and insistent on chasing my release.

I let her look away, but I lay my forehead against hers. My chest heaves as I edge closer, and I want to make sure she can feel each breath fall across her face.

"I wanted you to come, Gemma, but if you're only gonna fake it to try to get me to stop, then I guess you've made your choice, and you can go without."

I stroke myself through her silence, and fuck , it feels good.

"Baby, I'm gonna come for you," I pant. "I'm gonna come so hard just for you." I groan and shudder, sharply rising toward that peak. "I'm gonna mark you with my cum so you never forget who you belong to."

Fuck.

This is filthy.

This is wrong.

I'm only damaging her further… but I can't stop.

I reach the point of no return, the moment I can't back down from, and a look of defeat sweeps across Gemma's features. She may as well have been stabbed—even if she had been, I know I'd still be thrusting toward relief, willing to watch her scream, suffer, and bleed while I chase the promise of it.

All sex is violence.

Fuck, I'm gonna come…

I breathe heavily down her cheek and groan loudly against her ear. I lose myself in the violent need as I come undone, and I watch with sick pride as my release splashes across her stomach.

ONCE I'D FINISHED painting Gemma with my filth in the shower, I washed both of us with soap as though nothing had happened. I dried her off with a fresh towel, then dressed her in an oversized T-shirt and undersized panties. I'd either misjudged the size when I pulled the undergarments from the drawer in the holding house, or my subconscious decided that she should show a little extra cheek.

I have shorts and sweatpants she could wear, but I didn't present them as an option. It was a dick move, but I'd already gone so far past giving a fuck, I couldn't even see it in the rearview.

Gemma didn't say a word to me after the shower. She was completely silent as I dressed her, then watched her eat. She didn't speak as I changed my bed sheets before tucking her in.

It seemed she wanted to be left alone, so I left her alone, but only for a short time. I let Angel go outside; I played with her for a bit and then I got myself something to eat. Before long, I started feeling antsy about Gemma being alone upstairs. Though I'm normally a night owl, I decided I was tired enough from this exhausting day that I could probably fall asleep if I laid down.

I gave up on trying to occupy myself to stay away from her.

I put Angel in her downstairs bedroom—one I'd designed specifically for her. Angel's room is equipped with everything a dog could ever want or need. She has several unbearably fluffy dog beds, access to water, more toys than she knows what to do with, and a damn faux grass pee pad in the corner, which she almost never uses. If she's not out with me, then she's with Salem over in Eden, getting spoiled rotten. Angel's really only alone at night, and that's because she prefers sleeping in her room.

Angel steps onto her favorite plush, round dog bed, spins three times in a circle, then collapses with an exhausted huff. I rub her head for a minute before I head to the door, and she's asleep before I leave the room.

I quickly sort through the logistics of our sleeping arrangements as I head upstairs. I know Gemma won't want me to sleep in the bed with her, and I actually think that's fair, given my behavior. But I'm not about to let her sleep alone in my room.

On the second floor, I pop inside a smaller bedroom down the hall from the master. I lift the twin mattress off the frame and drag it down the hallway. Inside my room, the lights are how I left them; the bedroom light is off, but the bathroom light is on with the door left open a crack—just so Gemma can see if she needs to get up. In case Gemma's already asleep, I try to be quiet about hauling in the mattress, but that quickly becomes an exercise in futility.

"Oz?" she says from the bed.

With a final drag, I clear the threshold, then close the bedroom door behind me. "Yeah," I respond as I position the mattress. I place it sidelong against the door to block the exit, ensuring there's no way for her to escape without waking me up.

I walk to the end of the bed as I wait for her to say whatever she wanted to say. The light from the bathroom casts a glow in the room, enough that I can see she's still laying in the exact same position I left her in, flat on her back beneath the covers.

"Will you do me a favor?"

There's an unusual twinge in my chest that nearly makes me say yes —compulsively and without conditions. I scoff at the impulse because I've never had one like it before.

"I don't do favors," I tell her.

"This one would save you a lot of trouble in the end." Her voice is odd, distant, almost pleasant, with an ethereal quality; yet at the same time, it's eerie… foreboding.

"I know you're baiting me, pinky, but I'll bite. Ask me your favor."

I hear her take a stuttering deep breath, then blow it out with resolve. "I know I asked you this before when I tried to run away in the desert, and you told me I was no good to you dead, but…"

Where is she going with this?

She sits up, pushing back to rest against the headboard.

"Go on."

"I've been through this before. I know how this will end."

No, you don't.

You have no fucking idea.

I bite my tongue and let her finish.

"Somewhere along the way, you'll decide to kill me, and I don't think I have it in me to survive again."

My head tilts to the side as I bend forward, place my hands on the mattress near her feet, and lean on my palms. "What are you asking for?"

"I want you to kill me now. Just get it over with. If you won't let me go, if you won't take me back—"

"Take you back where ?"

"To that spot between the mesas. The place you took me from."

"The Crevice? You want me to take you back to the Reborn?" I flash a look of annoyance as I push off the bed to stand. "Get fucked, Gemma."

"Then kill me. If I can't do what I came here to do, if you're just gonna keep me here to rape and torture me before you end my life—"

"I didn't bring you here to rape and torture you—"

"Right," she crosses her arms, "like I asked you to jerk off in front of me and come all over my stomach."

I open my mouth to respond, but nothing comes out.

I don't know what I could possibly say in response to that.

Silence clings to the air for too long, thick and suffocating.

Gemma sighs, uncrosses her arms, then softly pleads, "Please… If I can't kill the man who destroyed me, then I don't wanna be here. I don't wanna keep fighting. I don't wanna relive their torture through your hands. Please , kill me. Just end my life now."

Her request sounds so sincere that it's like a thorn in my side—just painful enough to be annoying.

"You want me to kill you? Really, Gemma? Right here? Right now?"

She nods.

I shake my head. "Go to sleep. You're fucking delirious." I start to turn away.

"I can't. I can't keep doing this. I can't fight anymore…" Her voice hitches, the sound of some deep-held sorrow climbing up her throat.

I rush to the side of the bed and grip the top of the headboard with one hand. I reach across her with the other and plant my palm on the mattress beside her hip. Trapped, she's forced to twist sideways and tilt her head back to look at me. I bend closer, leaning in until I've fully captured her gaze.

"Are you really gonna try to convince me that you can't fight anymore? Because that's bullshit. You haven't stopped fighting me from the moment I laid eyes on you." I lift my hand off the mattress, place my knuckles beneath her chin. "You're the definition of a fighter. It's imprinted on your fucking soul, and I doubt even death could get you to stop. Besides," I glance at her lips, "I like fighting with you, baby. You might be over it, but I'm certainly not."

As if to prove my point, she completely loses her shit. Suddenly furious, she raises her hand, and before I can catch it, she slaps my cheek. "You don't fucking know me."

Still gripping the headboard with one hand, I bring the other away to touch my cheek, and I straighten my spine. "You're gonna have to hit me harder than that if you—"

Her fist strikes me in the gut, punches out a groan and makes me double over.

"Of course, your delusional ass would think fighting is my thing…" she rants. "You've given me nothing but reasons to fight since I met you, and I haven't even known you for twenty-four hours. Literally. The Earth has not made a single goddamn rotation in the time I've known you, and you're gonna stand here and tell me you know what's 'imprinted on my fucking soul' ? Christ, you're the worst!"

I knew she wasn't done.

I wonder if she'll ever be done with indulging her rage.

I like watching her indulge.

I want to indulge with her.

I almost want to hand her my knife and see what she does with it… Let her destroy us both.

She climbs to her knees on the bed, kneeling in front of me where I'm bent over, still clutching the headboard.

"Kill me," she demands.

I huff as the pain of her strike eases. "Say it again."

" Kill me."

My head snaps up, and I glare at her. "How?"

"What?"

"How do you want me to kill you? Do you want me to stab you? Make you bleed to death? Maybe toss you off the balcony? Or do you want me to make it quick and shove your little kill pill down your throat?"

She draws back, and her head inclines at the mention of her kill pill.

"Did you forget this whole time that was an option? Your backpack is sitting right over there on the dresser. Want me to get it for you?"

She turns her head to look at the dresser beside the door.

I push off the headboard and stomp across the room. I flip on the bedroom light before I grab her backpack off the dresser. I walk it to the end of the bed, set it down, then unzip the front pocket. I easily find the small, translucent packet, lift it up between us to show the deceptively innocent-looking neon green pill.

"Here." I toss it carelessly, watch it hit her chest before it lands on the bed beside her knee.

"Take it. Go ahead. Rip it open and swallow it if you really wanna die. Do you want me to get you a glass of water?"

She reaches down to grab it, slowly lifts it in front of her face. She stares at the pill that could end her life for too long, unnervingly still and quiet.

I thought I was calling her bluff, but there's genuine conflict in her expression. She's considering taking the pill.

She's actually thinking about taking it.

My pulse quickens.

Tension pulls at my shoulders.

Fear that she'll swallow it before I can stop her sparks a flame, a fire that nearly has me leaping across the bed to snatch the damn thing out of her hand, but then… Her face scrunches, and her adorably furious expression breaks the tension.

Her head whips in my direction. She draws her arm back. She hurls the packet at me as though she could actually harm me with it.

"Fuck you. You're a coward, giving me that. Be a man and do what men do—kill me your fucking self."

I pick up the packet from where it landed beside me on the floor. "This pill is yours, Gemma. They give them to the female outlaws on Eviction Day for a reason." I stuff it back inside the pocket of her backpack. "If you really wanna die, that's your way out; I won't stop you. But you'll die on your own terms, not mine."

I watch as she slumps back, lowering from her knees to sit sideways on the bed. Then I pick up the backpack and return it to the dresser.

"I suggest you sleep on it before making any life-ending decisions. Like you said, it hasn't even been a full day since you arrived in Lawless Land. Let the Earth rotate or whatever, then see how you feel." I flip off the bedroom light and move toward the twin mattress on the floor. "Get a good night's sleep, baby. I know you'll need the energy to tell me how much you hate me tomorrow."