10. 10 Tori

Chapter ten

10: Tori

T hey say a first kiss tells you a lot about a person, like whether they’ll savor the moment, or rush to forget it. Blaze is the kind that savors it, savors me, exploring my mouth with his tongue.

A fire ignites within me, melting away my resolve, blurring the lines between hate and desire. I'm lost in the moment, desperate, deprived, needing a connection. I don't fight it, dancing my tongue around his, and reveling in his touch.

Have I always felt this way about him? Has there always been this burning need?

A fire is lit inside me, heating me to my core, releasing fluid between my thighs I never thought I'd feel again from a singular kiss. Feeling that I won't fight him, he releases my hands, which immediately tangle in his soft hair.

A long-held desire to tangle my fingers in his dark, silken hair consumes me. I pull him closer, showing him just how hungry I've been.

We don't break apart, breathing each other's air as our mouths open and close repeatedly against each other. All logic—all reasoning—has flown so far out of the window, I am sure it's in outer space, drifting away with my self-respect .

His large hands grip at my hips, rubbing his thumb beneath the edge of my shirt and against my skin. It sends a shiver down my back, not just because his finger is so cold against my warm abdomen, but because I am scared of what this will do to me.

Thorne broke me for a while, and things only got a hundred times worse after the fact. I can't survive this a second time. How would it be any different?

Like a splash of cold water, the thought sobers me up almost immediately, stopping me in my tracks. I sit up, pushing him back as I shake my head, breaking our lips apart for the first time in ten minutes.

“I can't do this,” I whisper, keeping my eyes focused on the golden chain dangling around his neck. I can't look him in the eyes, too scared of what I'll find there.

There's a deadly silence as I wait, wondering what his reaction will be. The suspense kills me, nauseating me to the point I'm sure I'll puke if he doesn't respond within the next thirty seconds.

“Get out,” he mutters between tight teeth.

I don't wait, shooting out of there like a bat out of hell, running as if a monster is sure to give chase. Something tells me I woke up a slumbering devil and I'll be paying heavily for it.

I make it to my room, slamming the door behind me as I fall against it. For the third time today, I quietly bawl my eyes out because I realize just how truly broken I am. The only people who can bring me pleasure are people I can't trust, people I am frightened of.

I hug my knees to my chest and continue to cry until I hear heavy footsteps make their way to my door. There's a gentle tap at my door before I hear a whisper.

“Let me in, KitKat.”

I'm not trading a devil for a playful demon .

I shake my head, but of course he can't see it. My voice fails me as I open my mouth to speak and nothing comes out. Clearing my throat of the emotions that are stealing away my strength, I manage to whisper out, “No.”

“I'm opening the door. Just move away from it, okay?”

I do as I'm told, knowing he won't go away. I know he'll open it whether it hurts me or not. So, rather than be injured, I scoot along the floor enough for him to get in. I'm still curled into a ball of deep depression, not bothering to look up when the door closes once again.

Next thing I know, Ryder's arms are around my waist holding me tight. He leans me back against his chest despite my fight to stay huddled up. His chin rests on my shoulder as he silently holds me.

My mind is ready to snap, unable to play these games any longer. I can't decipher what each of these boys want from me, or why they do what they do. They're harder to solve than the Riemann Hypothesis.

“I can't, Ryder. Please.” A sob leaves me, surprising me with its heaviness as I break. “Not today.”

I must sound as fragile as I feel, because for once, he listens and scoops me off the floor, carrying me to the bed. He pulls the sheets over me before popping his shoes off and getting in behind me, but over the covers.

“Not today,” he nods, holding me in a way that doesn't feel like the demon Ryder Hayes is. It reminds me of the time Alicia slept in the same bed as me after my mental breakdown senior year when I found out my life wasn't going to go the way I had dreamed it would. I close my eyes and cry until I can't anymore.

When I open my eyes again, I find the sun has long since set, the stars mockingly smiling down at me, like a sea of unattainable dreams. Maybe that's why people wish upon a star, give it to the sky, and fool themselves into thinking it will come true one day .

Ryder’s light snores jolt me awake, pulling me from the thin veil of sleep. It takes a second to register the warmth beside me—him, still in bed, still far too close. My first instinct is to slide out of the sheets and make a run for it, but my gaze catches on his face, stopping me cold. He looks different in sleep—soft, unguarded, vulnerable.

His lips pout just slightly, his naturally pink lower lip curving downward in the faintest frown. His brows, always so furrowed with intensity when he’s awake, are now relaxed. For once, his messy hair is pushed out of his face, leaving nothing to hide behind.

My eyes drift, taking in details I’ve never noticed before. His cheeks look impossibly soft, the kind you’d want to poke just to see how far your finger would sink. There’s a tiny scar etched into the right corner of his eyebrow, faint, but noticeable. I trace the path of another scar along his jawline, faded with age, but still there, a hint of some long-forgotten childhood misadventure.

Then there’s the small, almost imperceptible hole in his earlobe—remnants of a diamond stud he wore junior year. It’s strange, almost surreal, seeing him like this. Quiet. Still.

For the first time, I can really see him.

And then, just as quickly, the moment is shattered.

“Icky Vicky,” Ryder mutters in his sleep, his frown deepening as he shifts.

The nickname hits like a bucket of ice water. Reality comes rushing back. The gentle, vulnerable Ryder in front of me is the same one who made my life hell in high school.

My chest tightens, anger battling the strange warmth that had started to creep in.

I move carefully, slipping out from under the covers as quietly as possible. My feet hit the floor, and I don’t stop to look back .

I’ll drive to the airport, buy the first plane ticket out. I don’t care where it takes me, as long as it’s far from here.

But a thought gnaws at the edge of my mind as I reach for my shoes. Would they come after me? Would he come after me?

The answer doesn’t matter. I’m leaving.

My heart pounds as I creep toward the door, every step agonizingly slow. When the floorboard beneath me lets out a traitorous squeak, I freeze, holding my breath as I glance over my shoulder. Ryder is still dead to the world, his chest rising and falling with every soft snore. Relief floods through me.

I inch forward, gripping the door handle with trembling fingers. The click of the latch feels deafening, but I manage to open it just enough to slip through. Carefully, I close it behind me, bracing my palm against the wood to muffle the sound. A quiet, triumphant breath escapes my lips, my shoulders loosening.

But when I turn around, victory dies on my tongue.

Thorne stands there, leaning casually against the wall, his arms crossed, and his eyes boring into me. His bedroom door is ajar, proof that he’s just come out, his sneer is sharp enough to cut glass.

“Did you have fun?” he drawls, his upper lip curling in disgust.

The derision in his tone hits like a slap, but it’s the look on his face that sends me over the edge. Fury and frustration mix in my chest, boiling over before I can stop it. My feet carry me toward him, my breaths coming sharp and fast, until I’m standing inches away.

Before either of us can think, my hand flies up, and the crack of skin meeting skin echoes down the hall.

“Fuck you, Thorne.”

I spin to leave, but his hand snaps out, gripping my wrist. With a single, effortless pull, I’m pressed flush against his chest, his arm locking around my lower back, his hold on my wrist forcing my hand above us.

“I’m sure you wish you could,” he murmurs, his breath brushing against my ear.

My nostrils flare, anger surging hotter. “This is all your fault,” I spit, my voice trembling with unfiltered emotion. The words pour out like a flood I can’t contain. “You did this to me. You made me this way. You broke me, Thorne Harrow.”

His expression remains impassive, but his eyes stay locked on mine, unwavering, as if daring me to keep going. So I do.

“How dare you tell me you love me, make me believe you, promise me the world, and then crush me like none of it mattered?” My voice cracks, raw and biting, as my chest heaves with unspent rage. “We were friends ,” I hiss, my eyes misting as a rush of painful memories takes hold. “I thought it was you and me against the world. And then—nothing. You disappeared and I never heard from you again.” Tears threaten to spill, but I keep them at bay, clinging to my indignation. “When I saw you again, at that school, I thought it was fate. I thought we were meant to find each other. But God, I was so wrong. And still…” I choke on the words, my throat tightening. “There’s this pathetic part of me that still wants you. That still wishes you could love me the way I wanted you to. How stupid is that?”

The silence that follows is deafening. Thorne doesn’t flinch, doesn’t look away, doesn’t say a word. His stillness unnerves me, the intensity in his eyes pinning me in place even as my body trembles with the weight of my confession.

A tear escapes, carving a cool path down my cheek, but I don’t bother wiping it away. “I thought I could move past you, but I can’t,” I whisper, my voice cracking under the weight of my own admission. “Not even with someone who makes me feel again. Not when you’ve left me incapable of trusting anyone.”

My lips quiver, and I bite down hard to steady them. Thorne’s gaze never falters, his stormy eyes holding mine as if anchoring me in place. The silence between us grows heavy, stretching unbearably long. He opens his mouth like he’s about to say something, but instead, he lets out a sigh that seems to deflate him.

Without a word, he releases my wrist, but he doesn’t step back. His proximity still smothers me, every breath shared in the inches that separate us. He nudges his door open wider and gestures for me to enter.

The room is unexpected. Black walls splattered with white paint, like stars against a void, and cotton clouds fixed to the ceiling glow a faint blue in the dim light. Thorne closes the door behind us, and with a gentle push, he guides me to sit on his bed.

I watch as he strides to a small desk tucked into the far corner. His movements are sharp, deliberate. He yanks open the wide drawer beneath the desk and pulls out a sketchpad, its edges frayed from use. Without a word, he tosses it onto my lap.

“Open it,” he says, his voice low, his tone unreadable. My brow furrows, confusion warring with curiosity, but I do as he says. My fingers tremble as I flip it open. “When I left the group home we were in, it wasn't out of choice. My dad had managed to convince a judge that he was a fit parent, despite all the evidence against it. He didn't let me say goodbye.”

The tears I thought I had wiped away threaten to fall again. Page after page, I see myself—pencil sketches of my face, my expressions, my messy hair. From the first time we met, to the way I looked senior year—every image is me, but through his eyes .

“Victoria,” Thorne says, his voice pulling my attention back to him. He leans against the desk, his hands gripping the edge like he needs the support. “I fucked up. We all did.”

I snap the book shut, not out of anger, but because I need to focus, need to hear him without distraction. My hands curl around the edges of the sketchpad, holding it like a lifeline.

“They wanted you and I panicked,” he continues, his voice tightening. “I was terrified they’d take you from me, so I said something stupid. Something you weren’t supposed to hear. Things escalated from there.”

“That’s an understatement,” I cut in, unable to stop myself.

His lips twitch in what could almost be a smile, but the humor fades as quickly as it came. “What I told you that night...” He pauses, waiting until my eyes meet his again, flooding with memories of the night he slept with me, told me he loved me. “I meant every word. Every promise. But just like Alicia is your family, Blaze and Ryder are mine. I couldn’t lose them.”

“I don’t understand,” my voice shakes, as does the sketchpad in my hands. My mind spins, scrambling to process this revelation, this confession I never expected to hear. That he told me it was all a lie, that he'd done it just to get in my pants. It was the first time one of them had truly broken me.

“Vic, for a smart girl, you’re not very bright,” he mutters, a faint chuckle breaking through his somber tone. He pushes off the desk, closing the distance between us.

“We all love you,” he says, his voice softer now, laced with something that feels too dangerous to name. “But none of us want to share.”

The words hit like a punch to the chest. My breath hitches and a gasp escapes—a stupid sound I wish I could take back .

“No,” the denial slips from my lips, automatic and desperate. “That’s impossible. I refuse to believe that.”

Thorne crouches in front of me, his hand reaching out to cradle my jaw. His touch is firm, yet gentle, grounding me when my mind feels like it’s spinning out of control. “I broke that night, too,” he says quietly, his thumb brushing against my cheek. “Having to choose between you and them—it shattered me. They’re my family, but you’re my heart. And I’ve lived without it for too long.”

I blink rapidly, too many times to be normal, as if somehow I can speed up the processing of his words. But none of it matters, because Thorne doesn’t give me time to think.

His hand tilts my face up, and then his lips crash into mine.

Sweet Jesus.

I can’t think straight. Thorne's words reverberate in my head, their weight and meaning clashing against years of resentment and doubt. It feels impossible, like some cruel joke I’ve accidentally fallen for.

But then there’s the way his lips feel on mine, insistent and unyielding, like he’s trying to convince me of what words couldn’t. His grip shifts, sliding to the curve of my neck as he presses me down against his bed, his presence overpowering.

“I want you to be mine, and only mine, Victoria Reyes,” he murmurs, his voice rough with conviction. “But I know you don’t believe me. So, I’ll give you what you’ve been searching for until the day you can accept my love again.”

His words leave me stunned, the truth—or maybe the madness—in them tangling me up in a way that makes my head spin. I can’t even formulate a response before his hands move to my waist, tugging at the band of my pants .

“Thorne—” I start, but my voice catches as he pulls them off in one swift motion, leaving me breathless with the sheer audacity of it. The yelp of surprise that escapes me is almost embarrassing.

His eyes meet mine, their intensity unwavering as he silently waits, his gaze searching me for any sign of hesitation. There’s a pause, a moment where my heart stutters in its rhythm, and then something unspoken passes between us.

It’s permission.

His hands slide down, his grip firm, but careful as he spreads my thighs apart. He kneels, his presence between my legs commanding, yet reverent.

Fingers ghost along the sensitive skin of my inner thighs, the touch light enough to make me shiver. My breath hitches as his hand moves higher, his touch deliberate and skilled, teasing the place that has ached for him longer than I’m willing to admit.

The first real contact sends a jolt of pleasure shooting through me, a spark reigniting something deep within me that I thought I’d buried. My body responds instinctively—arching into his touch, desperate for more.

Heat blooms low in my belly, spreading like wildfire as his fingers explore with unerring precision. I can’t stop the soft moan that escapes me, my head falling back as years of longing and frustration unravel all at once.

I should stop him.

I shouldn't let him do this.

But fuck, does it feel good.

I surrender to the moment, letting go of every doubt, every voice in my head warning me to stop. My body hums with pleasure—an intoxicating sensation that’s been out of reach for far too long. I cling to the sheets beneath me, the fabric soft, yet grounding, a lifeline as I bite down on my lip, desperately trying to muffle my sounds.

But Thorne is relentless. When he adds another finger, his movements precise and unyielding, I feel my restraint unraveling. The slickness he’s coaxed from me makes his every motion electric, and my hips move involuntarily, seeking more of the pleasure he’s delivering.

Then his tongue grazes my slit—a slow, deliberate tease that has my back arching off the bed. When he finally circles my clit, flicking it with maddening skill, the dam breaks. My lip slips free and a moan escapes, raw and needy, echoing louder than I intended.

I freeze for a moment, panic flaring. If what he says is true, drawing attention to this will be my undoing. But Thorne doesn’t falter, his tongue and fingers working in perfect harmony to drag me back under into a world where nothing else matters but this.

I’m lost in the sensations, the heat building low in my belly, the pressure mounting with every expert stroke and flick. It’s everything I’ve craved, and everything I feared, and I can’t decide whether to embrace it or, drown in it.

It's too good. It's a dream again.

I grip his wavy, coarse hair, grinding my hips against his mouth. He knows what I want, knows what I need without me having to say a word. It blows my mind how well he remembers my body, only forcing me to question everything I know to be true.

What if what he said wasn't a lie? What if they all really love me?

Didn't Blaze tell me that much today?

Tori—you need mental help. You're literally fantasizing about sleeping with the boys who ruined your life.

“Oh, God!” A cry escapes me as I reach a peak I haven’t touched since the last time Thorne took me there .

What if this is how I get back at them? What if I sleep with them all and let them tear each other apart?

There's nothing wrong with having some fun while getting your revenge.

Between the plan I’ve just come up with, and the way Thorne’s mouth works me, I come hard, my body shaking, head spinning. It’s like a dam burst open, and he eagerly drinks every drop.

“Are you done, or do you need more?” he smirks, his lips glistening with the pleasure he just gave me. I let out a slow breath, trying to contain my excitement as it bubbles inside me.

Bring on a night of pleasure!

“More.”

One word is all it takes before he dives back in, his tongue finding my clit, now a hundred times more sensitive. I pull my shirt off, my body already burning as his tongue delves inside me. My hands wander to my nipples, teasing and rolling them to heighten the sensation.

A low grunt escapes him when our eyes meet, his gaze dark and hooded. Watching me touch myself while he devours me only fuels him, and knowing that—seeing the hunger in his eyes—fuels me, too.

His hands grip my thighs, firm and demanding, as he drags me closer to the edge of the bed, leaving my ass hanging just over the side. His fingers press into my skin, holding me in place as he buries his face deeper between my legs. My moans spill freely, but I resist the urge to grind against him, wanting this to stretch, to build, to push me higher.

Thorne, though, has other ideas. His index finger slides inside me, and for a moment, I think I know his next move. But instead of thrusting, he coats his finger in my slick, and circles it around a place I hadn’t expected. The added stimulation is overwhelming, breaking through my restraint as my body arches off the mattress, my head pressing hard into the bed .

There’s no hesitation in him now. He rises, his movements fluid and deliberate, stripping off his pants and freeing himself from the purple boxer briefs that had been struggling to contain him. His erection stands ready as he grabs a condom, tearing it open with his teeth like a predator closing in on its prey.

Maybe he really has been hungry for me for a while.

Get real. Sadie was literally here earlier today.

“Stop.” I raise my hand, the haze lifting as her arrogant smirk flashes in my mind—the one she wore on her way up to his room.

Thorne freezes, his eyes wide and almost puppy-like, brimming with innocence that tugs at my hesitation.

“I need to know,” I say, propping myself up on my elbows to meet his gaze directly. “Did you sleep with Sadie today?”

His brows furrow so deep, they nearly meet over the bridge of his nose, his expression a perfect blend of shock and disbelief. “You’re joking, right? I wouldn’t touch her if she were the last woman on Earth.”

“Then why was she here?” I press, my voice firm. I need an answer. I need to be sure.

He exhales sharply, his jaw tightening. “Did you forget who her dad is?”

I notice, with a flicker of satisfaction, how his arousal deflates at the mention of her name. Watching it drain from him is oddly gratifying.

“Honestly? Yeah,” I admit.

“Her dad owns the towers. She asked to intern at Lumina under me. She’s a deluded little shit I have to constantly kick out of my personal life. Blaze wasn’t supposed to let her into my room.” His tone hardens, frustration flickering in his eyes, and it’s enough to settle my doubts.

“Okay.” I nod, content with his answer. “You may continue. ”

He rolls his eyes, but I catch the faint twitch of a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

Realizing I’ve got some work to do, I grab his semi-hard shaft with the kind of authority that says ‘I know what I’m doing.’ My good hand—because I can still feel the throb of my burn from this morning—works him slowly at first, teasing, as my tongue swirls around the head, drawing a low grunt from him. I suck hard, then release him, meeting his gaze.

That hunger is back in his eyes—dark, animalistic, and raw. It’s a look that sends a shiver down my spine as it pulls me deeper into this lust-fueled haze.

Thorne doesn’t waste time, sliding the condom on in one fluid motion. I recline on the bed, fully exposed under his gaze, my breath hitching at the way his eyes drink me in like I’m the only thing he’s ever craved.

His shirt is gone in a heartbeat, discarded onto the floor as he joins me on the bed. The mattress shifts under his weight, and his presence looms above me, commanding and intoxicating.

His nose grazes my neck, his breath warm against my skin as he whispers, “Open your eyes, Vic.”

I do as I’m told, my gaze lifting to the fake clouds as the lights flash behind them like distant lightning. The flickering glow soothes me, pulling me away from the spiraling what-ifs, and the memories threatening to drag me under.

But there’s no ignoring Thorne. Not the heat of his bare skin pressed against mine, the trail of his lips, or the way his hands grip me just right. When his cock slides inside, it feels like every piece of me finally slots into place. I’m full, whole.

He’s my golden ticket to ecstasy .

Thorne starts slow, pulling out inch by torturous inch, only to slam back in, stealing my breath with every thrust. Unable to stay grounded, I cling to him, my nails digging into the hard muscle of his biceps. Each pulse of strength under my hands sends a thrill coursing through me.

“Tell me you want more, Vic,” he growls, his voice low and demanding. “Tell me you can take everything I give you.”

“Fuck, Thorne!” I cry out, my voice ragged. He’s already more than I can handle, but his words are the undoing of me. “Give me everything.”

I’ll never forget the smile that breaks across his face—the way it curves to the right, a rare dimple appearing, and a spark of joy lighting up his usually guarded eyes.

He’s excited. Hell, so am I.

But then everything shifts. Before I can fully register the loss, his cock is gone, and I’m flipped over, pulled up by the hips until my ass is high in the air. It’s familiar territory, but this time, there’s something different. He takes my wrists, guiding them to my back, holding them together effortlessly with one hand.

His other hand clamps onto my hip as he thrusts into me with bruising force. I yelp, the sharp bite of pain swiftly overtaken by a flood of pleasure so intense, I forget to hold back. I’m crying out for him—moaning, swearing, lost to everything but the raw, consuming heat of him.

This is what I need, what I’ve been aching for.

Thorne wrings every sound from me, every curse and scream of agreement as he pounds into me. My body tightens around him and I shatter, an orgasm ripping through me like nothing I’ve ever felt. Not with him, not with anyone, not even by my own hand.

It’s like he’s learned exactly what I need, and for once, I don’t care how .

My cheek presses into the mattress as my open mouth fights for air, my body trembling with the aftershocks. I feel light, untethered, like I’m floating outside myself, but Thorne doesn’t let up. He slams into me mercilessly, the sound of skin meeting skin filling the room.

When I go quiet, trying to catch my breath, he seems to take it personally. His palm connects with my ass, the sharp crack echoing in the air. I cry out, a mix of shock and sensation, my skin burning where he struck me. But then his hand soothes the sting, massaging the ache away, and a low moan escapes me before I can stop it.

“Be a good girl, Vic,” he growls, his voice thick with authority. “Yell my name. Let them know who’s making you feel this way. Let them know you’re mine.”

The way he growls that last word sends goosebumps racing across my skin. My core clenches with renewed hunger.

“Say it, Vic!” he demands, yanking my head up by a fistful of hair.

“Thorne,” I moan weakly, his name tumbling from my lips like a prayer.

“Yell it,” he snarls. “They can’t hear you.”

“Thorne!” I scream, another orgasm slamming into me like a crashing wave.

Clearly you have some issues we need to discuss, Tori. But for now… this feels so fucking good.

Thorne thrusts harder, faster, chasing his own release as he holds me captive, my hair wrapped tightly in his grip. His body stiffens, and he grunts low, spilling into the condom as he comes undone.

The moment shatters with a deafening bang.

The door bursts open, hanging crookedly on its hinges as Blaze storms in, his fiery eyes taking in the scene. Ryder is hot on his heels, his wide-eyed expression flicking from Thorne to me .

The scene they walk into says it all: my wrists pinned behind my back, Thorne’s hand buried in my hair, his cock still inside me softening by the second.

“What the fuck?!” Ryder bursts out, his voice laced with disbelief.

Blaze doesn’t say a word, but the heat in his glare is enough to set the whole room afire.

One look at their faces and I know it’s true—what Thorne told me before all this began.

They all want me.