Page 53 of Rebels & Rejects

I’m not sure if it’s the residual effects of the knock to my head, the physical exhaustion still wracking my body from yesterday, or if he’s just finally wormed his way past my defenses, but I lower my armor, letting him see past the hardened exterior I carefully don before I leave my apartment every day.

He meets my gaze, the clouds parting in his eyes as he lowers his own walls. The air between us feels warm and sparked with electricity, making my breaths come in heaving pants. After an intense moment, he dips his head, his lips brushing over mine in a move that steals the last of my oxygen. My lips tingle at the brief contact, and I lift my head off the pillow, chasing after him when he pulls back. I think he meant for it to be a chaste kiss, but when our lips meet again, I slip my tongue into his mouth, sliding my hand into his hair and holding him to me. He hesitates for a second before deepening the kiss, meeting my exploration of his mouth with his own probing tongue.

He moves to settle between my thighs, careful to keep his weight off my side, and I hook my legs around his hips, grinding myself shamelessly against him. I couldn’t bear the thought of sleeping in my damp panties all night, so I took them off when I got changed, and my bare pussy rubs over the soft cotton of his boxers, likely soaking the material as I use him to work myself into a frenzy.

“Fuck, Red,” Oliver pants, tearing his lips away from mine. He plants kisses along my jaw until he reaches my ear, before tracing a scorching trail with his tongue down the column of my neck. “What is it about you? I can’t get enough.”

His hands push up my t-shirt, and I lift up enough for him to pull it off. Lowering his head, he runs his tongue around one peaked nipple before sucking it into his mouth, kneading my other breast with his hand. My back arches, and I moan as I grind harder against him, feeling the telltale tingles of an orgasm forming in my lower belly.

Releasing my nipple with a pop, he adorns my other breast with the same attention as his hand snakes between our bodies, effortlessly finding my clit and rubbing tight circles around it that have me crying out. Moving lower, he slides two fingers into my dripping cunt, moving them in sync to the way his thumb strokes across my over-sensitized bundle of nerves. The combination has me coming apart in no time, and I throw my head back as I come all over his fingers.

My pussy is still spasming when he pulls out, smirking cockily when I whimper at the loss of his fingers. Reaching into the bedside table, he retrieves a condom, quickly sheathing himself before he slides into me, filling me up.

“Fuck,” he grunts out between gritted teeth. “I’ve thought about this tight little pussy every day. Feels even better than I remember.” His words are strained, but so much passion burns in his eyes. They hold me captive as he starts to move, each thrust a pleasurable ache that pushes me higher. He never looks away from my face, and I’m not sure what’s happening between us right now, but it feels big. Monumental and terrifying all at once.

“Fuck, Red. So. Fucking. Good.” He penetrates each word with a thrust of his hips, and my fingers dig into his shoulders, leaving crescent moon indentations as I meet him thrust for thrust. Desperate, pleasure-filled moans tumble from between my lips as I descend into a world where nothing exists except Oliver and me, and whatever never-before reached pleasure he is quickly pushing me toward.

“Oliver,” I gasp, right before my pussy spasms, and he swallows my cries with a blistering kiss as he reaches his own climax before collapsing onto the bed beside me and discarding his condom.

“Holy shit,” he pants. “That was even better than last time.”

A chuckle bursts out of me, even as my chest heaves, still trying to catch my breath. My ribs ache from the movement, but it’s nowhere near enough to dampen the high I’m on right now because he’s right, that was... something else.

After a moment, he gets up, moving to the bathroom to shower. When he’s done, I jump in, and, having stolen a pair of Oliver’s boxers as underwear for the day, I’m pulling on the last of my clothes from yesterday—ignoring the dirt and grime still covering them—when he approaches me. He’s dressed in dark, distressed jeans, with combat boots and a tight, fitted top, andholy fuckdoes the ensemble look good on him. Tilting my head back so I can look up into his face, I catch the glimpses of a fire burning in his eyes. He watches me like a man possessed as he reaches out to slide a hand through my still damp hair, cupping the back of my head. His eyes bounce back and forth between mine, and I can’t do anything but stand there and watch him.

“I meant what I said.” His voice is a low growl, more reminiscent of Cain’s. “I can’t get enough of you. Whatever this is just feelsright. You clearly feel it, too, if you sought me out.”

I open my mouth to tell him otherwise, but the words stick in the back of my throat. Is that why I came here? Was I secretly seeking out Oliver in a moment of weakness? Fuck, I’ve got no idea.

My tongue darts out to wet my lower lip, and I swallow before saying in a strangled voice. “I need to talk to you and Cain.” My words break the moment between us, and I watch as the fire of desire dies in Oliver’s eyes, and he takes a step back, releasing me from his hold.

It takes him a second before he responds, and when he does, there’s no hint of the emotion that was burning in his gaze a moment ago. “Sure. He’s probably in his office.”

I’m pretty sure I’m incapable of responding, not that I really have anything to say, so instead, I give him a sharp nod of my head and follow him out of the room. For the most part, Radiant Park is set up like a motel, with individual rooms accessible from the parking lot or walkways on the second floor. However, Oliver’s room seems to be within the main building itself, and he leads me through hallways that I have no recollection of until we reach the main bar area at the front of the building. The smell of bacon hits me when we enter, and saliva floods my mouth as I bite back a groan.

I’m careful to maintain a respectable distance from Oliver as we slowly cross the room. He keeps getting stopped by men asking questions, but it allows me the opportunity to take in the other Reaper Reject members in their natural habitat. Many of them are young, younger than me, but just as many are older, with several sporting graying beards, making me think they must be in their fifties. I can see questions in their eyes as they watch me, their gazes bouncing between me and Oliver as they speculate.

I’m about to tell Oliver I’ll meet him in Cain’s office when he’s done, but then Jon’s voice cuts through the crowd. “Red!” he calls out as he enters the room carrying several plates. He sets them down at a table before making his way to me. “Come, sit. I’ll get you breakfast.”

He’s acting like I didn’t chew him out in front of his buddies the other day, and I decide if he wants to pretend it didn’t happen, then that suits me.

“Oh no, that’s not necessary—” I begin, but he ignores me, leading me toward the bar and looking at me expectantly until I sit on the barstool. The surprising thing is, I let him. I dunno what it is about the kid, but I kinda like him.

“Stay there,” he orders with a friendly grin that has me chuckling as he races away through a set of double doors that I’m assuming leads to some sort of kitchen area.

He emerges a few seconds later with three plates, setting them all down on the bar. He places one in front of me, along with some cutlery, before sitting on the stool beside me and digging into his own plate.

After a moment, he catches me looking at him, grinning at me around a mouthful of sausage and egg. “It’s good,” he promises, pointing at my plate with his knife. Swallowing his mouthful, he continues, “Marcus is an awesome cook. He’s been teaching most of us so that we can help out in the kitchen more.”

I cut into my bacon, taking a small bite.Damn, he’s right. It’s so friggin’ good.I shovel the rest of the food into me, absolutely starving, and as I’m finishing it off, I turn to him. “How did you”—I glance around the room at the other young members—“all of you, end up here?”

I know what Oliver said the other day about some compound training them to be killers, but it sounds like a far-fetched story, so I guess I want to hear it from Jon.

His face darkens over for a split second, then it’s gone, and I almost wonder if I imagined it. “Cain saved us.” That’s all he says before he bites into his sausage, and I can tell he doesn't want to talk about it anymore. He definitely has me curious, though, as to how and why he thinks Cain saved them all. Is saving them so they can risk their lives fighting his wartrulysaving them? So many questions bounce around in my head, and I’m so distracted watching Jon that I jump when a hand touches my lower back.

I feel Oliver’s breath along my neck as he chuckles softly, and Jon jumps to his feet, grabbing his now empty plate and cutlery and giving Oliver a nod as he rushes back to the kitchen. Taking the now vacant seat, Oliver pulls the third plate of food in front of him and starts eating. Once I’ve finished my own breakfast, I return to taking in the other members of his gang while I wait for him to finish.

“What conclusion have you come to?” he asks, drawing my attention back his way.

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