Page 28 of Quiet Rage
Kellen rocks into me through my orgasm. My pussy convulses around him, my clit pulses against my fingertips as I slowly come down. My body feels heavy and sated, my mind clouded by the rush of endorphins.
Kellen suddenly sits up, pulling out of me, he takes his cock into his hand and pumps it roughly. His face contorts with pleasure when he comes with a guttural groan. Ropes of cum shoot out of him and land on my skin.
He strokes himself a few more times, more cum dripping from his tip and onto my pussy lips. I stare at him blankly, not sure what to do or say next.
I watch him shove his cock back into his jeans and zip up. He gets up from the bed.
“Don’t move,” he tells me before disappearing into the bathroom.
Only when I’m alone do I start processing what just happened. Dread and shame settles in my gut.
Kellen returns moments later, a towel in his hand. He sits on the bed and holds it against my pussy. The towel is wet and warm, comfortable and soothing on my skin. He gently wipes his cum away until I’m clean.
“This didn’t mean anything.” Kellen’s words slice through me. I don’t know why they hurt so much. Of course this didn’t mean anything to him.
I don’t know what this experience will mean to me, but I already know I have to deal with the aftermath for a while. He took my virginity, forced me to give it to him. Now he is getting up from the bed, looking down at me with an icy stare. I think he is going to say something else, but his lips remain pressed together in a thin line.
He turns around and walks out of my room. The door closes, and I suck in a shaky breath. I push my legs together and sit up, wincing at how sore I am. Carefully, I get up and get dressed, pretending nothing happened, because if I try to deal with this now, I won’t make it through the day.
Chapter 13
Kellen
I can’t believethere was ever a time when I watched the poor, addicted bastards at The Archer’s Den and wondered why they couldn’t get their shit together. Why they couldn’t just walk away? Why they couldn’t turn shit around? They always look so miserable and ashamed, ducking in through the side door, hating themselves for needing a fix.
I get it now, glaring at my reflection in the mirror running along the length of the wall in our home gym. My face is dark red, glistening with sweat that rolls down my chest and soaks into my shirt. When I bend to set down the free weights after my last set of reps, the sweat drips from my nose and chin onto the floor. My arms are burning, my shoulders are screaming, and I still can’t get her out of my head.
What’s it going to take? It’s been two days since I was inside her, two days since she came on my cock after I took her virginity. The memory is so fresh, I can still feel it in my body. It’s like I just left her. It’s that vivid.
But what’s even more vivid is my hunger. It’s not enough. Every hit leaves me wanting another one—and more of it this time. Itwasn’t enough when she jerked me off, just like it wasn’t enough to come in her mouth. I need more now that I’ve upped the ante again.
This is how people overdose. I remember learning about it in school when I was younger. You build up a tolerance, so you have to take more and more to get the same effect. That’s what’s happening now, and it’s tearing me the fuck apart. Even a brutal workout that has me panting and grunting and sweating through my clothes isn’t enough to rid myself of the tension.
The sight of my reflection makes me snarl. I honestly told myself I could fuck her out of my system. Actually believed my own bullshit—or I told myself I did. Anything, so long as I had an excuse to be inside her.
And I am no closer than I was before to making her drop out. That’s what weighs heaviest on me. This would be bad enough even if I didn’t know she was the wrong girl for me, and I was the wrong guy for her. We don’t make any sense, and I can’t understand why the hell she has taken up so much room in my head.
But then there’s Dad, and his expectations. It’s not just a matter of this being wrong, of having no business being with her, fucking her, spending any time with her at all. I have a job to do. Sleeping with her is not part of that job. I’m not breaking her down by making her come, for fuck’s sake.
And now it’ll be even tougher to do what I know I have to do. Now that I’ve felt her tight walls squeezing me, heard the way she moans when she feels good, thanks to my cock. I know what her skin tastes like, what she feels like under my hands. I have to carry that with me while I go through the motions of what I know Dad expects.
Dragging my feet up the stairs to the first floor, I slow down at the sound of footsteps walking through the kitchen on the way to the back door. Dad? No—it’s a different tread, not heavy and plodding the way he walks. Now I’m curious, taking the rest of the stairs two at a time to catch the guy about to walk out onto the patio.
The sight of Dante makes me bristle. I can’t forget how pleased he looked with himself on Saturday night. And I saw the damage on Tamson’s face, too, which doesn’t help me come up with any reasons not to throw him through the glass door.
He jerks his chin at me. “Good morning. Already got in your workout?” he asks.
What a fucking genius. Nothing gets past him. “Yeah, I like to get it done early.” Then something clicks in my head. I have to play it off, though, opening the fridge to take out a bottle of water like this is a totally casual conversation. “Hey, the next time you go to the store for a pickup from Frank, I want to go with you. Maybe if he sees me again, he’ll get a little more serious, you know?”
“I was just talking to your dad, going over orders for next week. We’re not going to the store this time,” he informs me before a wicked smile starts to spread across his face—like a crocodile, or a shark spotting his next meal. “Next time, we go to the house.”
Fuck me. Obviously, this is how Dad would want to escalate things. I’m not naïve. I’m not new to the way he handles his shit. This is the first time I’ve actually cared, though. “Oh, yeah?” I ask, fighting against the tightness spreading in my chest while uncapping the bottle.
“Hey, these things happen,” he reasons with a shrug. “I just hope that cute piece of ass is home when we’re there. We might haveto plan it, watch her, make sure she’s there. We could take a look at her bedroom after trashing the rest of the place, know what I mean?”
I do, and the water bottle starts to crinkle in my fist. “You want to trash her room, too?” I ask, stalling while I fight to keep myself under control.
“Yeah, right. That’s exactly what I was thinking.” He rolls his eyes, laughing, while I imagine how easy it would be to grab a knife from the block on the counter and plunge it into his chest. “I was thinking more about pinning her face down on her bed, you know? It wouldn’t take much. She’s so fucking tiny. I’d love to get a piece of that.”
