Page 33 of That Pretty Pucking Mouth

That thought was enough to push me over the edge. Moaning her name, I shoot my release all over the shower tiles, the intensity almost making my knees buckle. What a waste.

When Rhea is mine, I’d make sure to never waste it again. I’ll make sure her hips are up, allowing my cum to crawl deep inside her where it can’t escape.

My balls tingle at the fucking thought.

The water runs hotter, but it can’t burn away the pull I feel. The deal I offered her… I meant it. She needs protection, and I can give it to her. But it’s not just about keeping her safe—it’s about keeping her close, keeping her mine.

She has been anxious since that night, and it shows. The usual spark in her eyes is dimmed, replaced by a shadow of worry she can’t quite shake. Every time I see her, I notice the way her fingers fidget, how she glances over her shoulder like she was waiting for something to go wrong. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out why—after what happened, she has every reason to be on edge.

The weight of her secret must be eating her alive, and she has no one to turn to. No one except me, which is why she was following me. Well, she won’t have me if she doesn’t accept my offer.

And that’s exactly what I’m counting on.

There’s no way she’s going to say no.

I step out of the shower, drying myself off with a towel, but my mind stays fixated on Rhea. She’s desperate, scared, and trapped in a corner—exactly where I need her to be. The thought sends a pulse of satisfaction through me. She thinks she has options, that she can figure a way out of this mess on her own, but eventually, she’ll realize the truth.

She needs me.

She’s too proud, too stubborn to give in this easily. But she will. She has no choice. I know her well enough now. She’s probablypacing somewhere, her mind spinning with how to get out of the deal without caving to me.

Good luck with that, Dove.

I towel off quickly and grab my phone, scrolling through the unanswered texts and missed calls. Most from Ezra, some from Noah, and Brody. Even Coach.

None from Rhea, of course.

Absently, I click open the social media app, tapping on her profile as I have many times before. A slow grin spreads across my face as I take in her posts again…the mundane pictures and comments that are almost seared into my brain. Stopping at a picture of her smiling in front of the metallic statue by the students center, my mind skips back to our little confrontation.

Fuck! The way she had stood up to me today, her voice shaking with anger but still holding steady—it only made me want her more. That defiance, that fire… She’s not like the others. She’ll fight, resist, but eventually, she’ll give in.

The memory of her words, the way her eyes sparked with fury, plays on a loop in my head. She’ll crack. It’s just a matter of time. The anticipation of her finally accepting the deal—accepting me—is what fuels me now.

I want to hear her admit it. That she needs me to keep her secret safe. That without me, everything unravels. And when she does, she’ll be mine. Completely.

Chapter 8

Things aren’t making sense anymore.

I feel like I’m trapped in one of those smut filled thriller mafia romance books that Cassidy is always trying to get me to read. You know, the ones where the girl ends up being owned by some dark, brooding guy who claims her like some prize. And here I am, stuck in my own sick, twisted version of it where the brooding guy is replaced by some green eyed, golden boy,nepo baby,entitled hockey playing douchebagdickface.

What even is this? He’s got me cornered, playing the role of the untouchable villain looking like he could probably be the face of‘I live off my daddy’s money’magazine while I’m just here waiting for the other shoe to drop.

A part of me can’t believe this is happening. One minute I’m at a party, trying to fend off a creep, and the next, I’m dealing with blackmail and some insane “deal” where my freedom depends on whether I’m willing to become some kind of puppet for some sick psychopathic hockey player.

He actually thinks I’ll just fall in line like I’m some pawn in his twisted little game. That smug look on his face like he’s already won. It makes me sick.

How did I even get here?

I wasn’t looking for trouble. Hell, the worst thing I had done before this was shoplift a lip gloss from the mall because I really liked the shade but that was when I was 12. I didn’t ask for any of this.

But now, I’m stuck in this nightmare, being threatened with jail because of aself-defenseincident, and all Thatcher sees is an opportunity. Like my entire life is some power play for him to enjoy. He wants me to play by his rules, to be his—what does that mean exactly? Be His little secret? His possession?

He said he’d “take care of me.” As if I need taking care of, as if I’m some fragile thing that can’t survive without his protection. Like I’m supposed to be grateful for his offer to keep me out of jail, to be thankful that he’s not letting my entire life implode. It’s disgusting, how he just assumes I’ll fall in line, like every part of this is about his control—his terms, his game. He gets to play the savior, the one pulling the strings, while I’m just supposed to smile and nod, trapped in this cage he’s built around me.

Maybe I should go to the cops…I could say it was self-defense which it actually was…

Would that work?

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