Page 51 of Rebels & Rejects

I have no idea what he means, and I part my lips to say what exactly, I’m not sure. The slight movement catches his gaze, and his eyes zero in on my mouth seconds before he dips his head, using his hold on my throat to drag me forward until our mouths clash in a scorching heat that threatens to incinerate me.

Every swipe of his tongue is controlled and dominant, intended to put me in my place and remind me who’s in charge here. I try to fight him, battling my tongue with his, but he’s relentless, plundering into my mouth like a one-man army on the warpath. Needing to make him realize I’m not some floozy who’s going to let him do whatever he wants, I bite down on his lower lip, hard enough that I feel blood coating my teeth, and when I run my tongue over them, there’s the tangy taste of copper.Well, if I’m covered in blood, it’s only fair that he’s bleeding too.

He pulls back, and a resulting snarl is the only warning I get before he smashes his lips to mine again, assaulting me with a bruising force. I lose myself to wild abandon, blaming today’s events for the crazy way I’m behaving as I attack him with equal enthusiasm. He practically tears my leather jacket from my body, nearly breaking the zip of my pants as he tries to rip them open.

He manages to push my jeans and panties down over my ass, but the tight material clings to my thighs, and he quickly gives up, deciding he’s got them low enough. He spins me, so my chest is crushed against the door. I barely register the flare of pain in my ribs as he scrapes his teeth and bites his way down the side of my neck, the stings of pain only heightening the pleasure coursing through me as I groan aloud. The rushing of blood in my ears is so loud that I hardly hear the soft thud as his towel hits the floor. A throaty moan that sounds nothing like me escapes my lips as he pushes his hand between my legs, checking I’m ready before lining himself up behind me and slamming all the way in. The force sends me smacking into the door until I can plant my palms and adjust to his length. Not that he gives me much time to do any of that as he pulls back.

“Fuck,” I hiss as my nails claw against the door.

Cain chuckles darkly from behind me, his warm breath tickling my neck. Moving more slowly, he thrusts into me, enabling me to properly feel what I couldn’t before. A desperate cry escapes my lips as sensations wrack my body.

“It’s called a magic cross,” he growls low in my ear, “magic ‘cause it can make women come in no time.”

Fuck, if that isn’t true. I’m already tipping over the edge. Now that he’s demonstrated exactly how mindblowing the sex is going to be, he gets down to business, slipping his hands under my top and tugging down my bra so he can grab my tits. He squeezes them as he uses me for leverage to move harder and faster, his piercings only adding to the obvious talent he possesses.

I wish I could see his skin against mine, the contrast of his tattoos against my pale complexion, but he doesn't give me a chance to act on the thought as he slams back into me, causing me to cry out.

With my pants caught around my upper thighs, my movements are restricted. In this position, I’m dancing along a pain-pleasure tightrope as Cain’s thick cock stretches my walls. All I can do is stand there and take every punishing thrust he delivers. I cry out at the delicious ache every time he hits that spot deep inside me, and as my pussy clenches down on him, he grabs the back of my head, fisting his hand in my hair and using the tight hold to turn my head to face him. He captures my lips with his as I go careening over the edge, screaming out my release into his mouth. A second later, I feel his seed hit my inner walls, scarcely comprehending the quiet voice of reason at the back of my head reminding me we just fucked without a condom. Nothing I can do about that now. That is future Sawyer’s problem to deal with.

I’m still struggling to catch my breath when he pulls out of me, and I turn to sag against the door. The dull aches of my injuries begin to make themselves known as I watch him grab his trousers off the bench and pull them on, forgoing any underwear—damn, something about knowing he’s going commando is super hot—and I catch a glint of one of the steel bars piercing the head of his cock before he tucks himself away and zips up his pants. The anger emanating from him seems to have abated somewhat, but I can still see the confusion and distrust in his eyes.

My inner thighs are damp with our combined releases, and I grimace both in disgust and pain as I pull up my panties, and they immediately dampen.Ugh, gross.I need new panties, stat.Once I’ve got my jeans buttoned again, I tuck the girls back into my bra and fix my top, and when I glance up, I notice him looking at me with an unreadable expression.

“What the fuck happened to you?” He gestures toward the tears in my clothes, apparently only now noticing the layer of dust and dirt covering my clothing.

“Nothing,” I say dismissively, but he ignores me, taking a step toward me again. Now that he’s not consumed by rage, he’s picking up on all the small details he missed before, like the scrapes along my arms, and he’s paying particular attention to the side of my head, where I hit the ground earlier. Self-consciously, I reach up to touch it, wincing at the sting of pain. I can feel blood crusted around the wound, but my fingers come away dry, so it has obviously scabbed over.

“Doesn’t look like nothing,” the infuriating shithead notes. As I stand there, I can feel the adrenaline wearing off, my energy rapidly draining as my legs begin to feel shaky and unsupportive. Exhaustion hits me with the force of a wrecking ball, and I don’t even have it in me to scowl at him. A pounding has started up behind my head, and all I want is to go home. I place my hand against the door, stabilizing myself as I bend to snatch my leather jacket off the floor, and without a backward glance, I pull open the door and step out onto the floor of the club.

The thudding bass of the music doesn’t help, and nausea churns in my stomach as I push my way through the writhing mass of bodies, needing desperately to get outside for some fresh air before I puke all over some poor person. I ignore the curses and grumbles as I shove people out of my way, single-minded in my focus to get out of here. I’m not even sure what is wrong with me, but I know I’ve had enough of this day. I need to go home and sleep.

I stumble out into the night, placing my hands on my knees as I bend over and suck down lungfuls of cool, crisp air.

“Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with you?” His snarling tone grates on my nerves. I hadn’t even realized he’d followed me outside. I spin to glower at him, but my stomach revolts at the sudden movement.Oh, fuck no, shouldn’t have done that. I feel the rapid climb of vomit as it ascends my esophagus, and I end up bending over at the waist, pressing my hand against the brick wall of the gym as I puke my guts out.

“Jesus Christ,” I hear Cain grumble, but I tune him out, swiping the back of my hand across my mouth, and feeling a little better, I throw on my leather jacket and fish my keys out of the pocket.

“Ehh, where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

Oh my god, can this asshole not take a fucking hint?!“Go away,” I gripe, not liking the feeble tone. There’s no power behind those words, just weariness. Too tired to care, I go to move across the road toward my bike, but he reaches out to grab hold of my wrist, tugging me backward and spinning me to face him while his other hand steals the keys from my fingers before I can stop him.

“Hey,” I snap irritably.

“There’s no fucking way I’m letting you drive that beauty home and crash her.” He gestures with his chin toward my bike. “Not when you’re drunk, or high, or whatever the fuck you are. You can sleep it off here, and go home in the morning.”

“It’s a concussion,” I mumble weakly.

It takes me far longer than it should to realize he’s dragging me across the street toward the apartment complex. The spinning of my head makes it impossible to focus on anything around me, and the next thing I know, I’m standing in the doorway to a bedroom.

“I’m not sleeping in your bed,” I huff. Although honestly, staring at the bed with its dark blue sheets, it looks so damn comfy. I just want to fall face-first onto it and pass the fuck out.

He snorts. “Like I’d fucking want you in my bed. Just ‘cause we fucked, doesn’t mean I don’t still fucking hate you.”

“Same,” I agree with a shake of my head, but I quickly stop when the pounding starts up again. No longer giving a shit whose room this is, I stumble over to the bed and collapse onto it, spread eagle on my back as my eyes drift shut.

I listen out for the sound of the door clicking shut, knowing I won't be able to fully drop my shields until he’s gone. However, instead of the expected sound of the door closing as Cain fucks off, he moves further into the room. I crack open an eyelid, watching as he disappears into the bathroom, wondering what the fuck he’s doing. A moment later he emerges with a box in his hands. He tosses it onto the bed beside me, and gives me a long, scrutinizing once over. “For your head.”

Lifting my head, my gaze flicks down to the first aid kit before jumping back to his, surprised at the small act of kindness. With flat lips, and a furrow between his eyebrows, he stomps out of the room, finally leaving me alone, and I drop my head back to the sheets.

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