Page 83 of SNOB

“You left me.” My words come out a tired murmur.

“You stayed.” Mac’s voice in my ear is the deadliest lullaby.

His smooth hardness presses against my skin as a finger trails my breasts in this gentle, teasing way. Shivers fire through me when he pinches my nipple, his staff throbbing on my ass. And when a soft moan escapes me, he hardens even more.

His shaft sits by my entrance, teasing me. Then he says two words I never thought I’d hear from the Malcolm McKinsley. “I’m sorry.”

My eyes widen. And with that, he pushes himself into me with little effort. My back arches against him as a rapture roars through me. It's easy to accept him inside me. It always is.

“Remember two things,” he says, his voice a growly whisper. “One, I’m on your team.” We move together, his thrusts hard but his pace slow while I’m wrapped in his dominating arms. It’s new, but in a way that feels familiar. I can feel the frantic pace of his heart on my back, it matches mine, a contrast to the steady rhythm he consumes me with. “Two, you’re mine, Ember Everett.”

Those words push that fire through me, giving me that same rush of heat doing lines with Gray does. His hand comes to my throat, his staff filling me, threatening to break me yet again. I moan as his grip tightens around me, his thrusts firm and hard, like he’s sealing the deal with his body. “Say it,” he groans but it’s all overwhelming. His body. His words. The way my nails dig into his skin as I beg for both mercy and savagery. But when I don’t answer, he urges more. “Say. It.”

My words shake through heavy breaths, my ass moving back on him. “I'm not yours until you act like I am."

“I will if you will.” He moves his hips again, his lips against my ear. “Now, say it.” He thrusts harder, his pace quickening, his staff throbbing against my walls. The sound of my ass smacking against his waist fills the air, the smell of us mixing with the floral scent in the air. It makes it all as intoxicating as he is. Way more intoxicating than drugs.

My vision blurs as he pushes me there, right to the edge. Right to fucking paradise.

“Ember…” he groans, my name on his tongue making every muscle in my body tighten. The room around us brightens, the ground beneath us shaking. His hand comes to my throat before he says my name again. “Ember.”

“I’m yours!” My loud words mix with my cry as an earthquake builds inside me. “I’m fucking yours.”

“Let go, Butterfly,” he grunts.

I mimic his words. “Let go, Mac.”

“Is that what you want?”

“I want all of you. Prove I’m yours.” His pace quickens, his grip on my throat tightening before I hit that shattering release. “Yes, yes.” This time, I’m the one to urge him on, looking for something that bonds us. Something that he can’t take back. “Please,” I beg as that tremor builds and when I feel him release inside me, I can’t contain my cry. I can’t contain my release.

We let our darkness consume us. Together.

The world stops for a moment, the two of us alone, on the ground. My body trembles against him. His abs twitch against my back as his shaft throbs his release inside of me, filling me with his all.

And when the world comes crashing back we stay there. The two of us in our world.

In our darkness.

A team.

You’re mine.

Mac’s words stay in my head all the way back to The Emerald early in the morning. He was there to pick me up and drive the two minutes to campus proving it.

He also eyed my choice of a t-shirt and torn-up jeans making him question why I won’t wear anything he buys me. Despite whatever we have going on, despite where I am, I’m still me. The me that he accepts.

I’ve accepted things on his end too. His monstrous persona. His fancy clothes and car. That’s because as far as I know, he’s mine too.

At least I think.

I can’t help but wonder what happens when we’re out of this mess. Am I kidding myself that I can be with someone like him? In his world?

The wind blows through my curls as I sit on the rim of the stone fountain in the quad. The same one Mac tossed me into when we reunited. My eyes stay on my sketchpad, working away at a project. Mac sits beside me in his regular black-on-black uniform. Black slacks. Black shirt. Tobacco fills the air as he puffs on his cigarette, tapping away at his phone.

There’s peace sitting next to him. No one questions why I’m here or tells me I don’t belong. With him, I do.

“Think you’ll ever play again, McKinsley?” Ryung joins us, sitting next to Mac in his own black attire. A mesh collared shirt and silky joggers to match. “Or is your career ruined forever?”

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