Aurelia

The girl was still trembling beneath him, gasping into the sheets, completely oblivious. But Chase didn't look away from me. His hips slowed to a torturous grind, that thick, slick length dragging in and out of her with deliberate cruelty as he held my stare through the crack in the door.

His lips curved into a slow, wicked smirk, like dark promise and pure threat wrapped together.

Sweat gleamed on his chest, his abs flexing with every controlled thrust. His eyes burned straight through me, pinning me in place more effectively than his hands ever could.

He knew exactly what I'd seen. Exactly what it had done to me.

Heat flooded my face, my chest, pooling low and shameful between my thighs. My knees nearly buckled.

I stumbled backward and bolted down the hall. I didn't stop until I was inside my room. I slammed the door shut, and with trembling fingers, I turned the lock.

I pressed my back to the wood, chest heaving, my thighs clenched against the ache that watching him had left behind.

Shit.

He'd seen me watching. I slid down the door until I was sitting on the floor, trying to drag air into my lungs. Trying to erase the image of him, magnificent, brutal, and impossibly huge, moving inside her like he owned every inch of pleasure in the world.

Minutes crawled by. The house was silent again, or maybe my pulse was just too loud to hear anything else.

Then came the loud BANG!

A fist pounded against my door, hard enough to rattle the frame. I jolted, a startled gasp tearing from my throat.

BANG! Another one, heavy, impatient, commanding.

"Open the door, Little Lamb."

His voice rolled through the wood, low and frighteningly deep, laced with dark velvet and raw danger.

It wasn't a request. It was a predator's growl, the kind that made prey freeze and beg at the same time.

My breath hitched. Every nerve in my body lit up, terror and heat twisting together until I couldn't tell them apart.

"I know you're in there," he said, quieter now, but somehow worse. Closer. Like his mouth was pressed to the door. "I can hear you breathing. I can practically smell how wet you got watching me fuck her."

Oh God.

My thighs pressed tighter together, traitorous and desperate.

"Open the door," he commanded again, his voice dropping even lower, rough with promise. "Or I'll break it down and drag you out myself. And when I do, Little Lamb... I won't be gentle."

Silence stretched, thick and electric. My hand hovered over the lock, shaking. I didn't move. I couldn't.

I waited behind the locked door, my back pressed flat against the wood, every muscle coiled tight.

My heart was beating so loud I was sure he could hear it through the walls. Minutes dragged like hours.

I waited until I could only hear the distant rumble of thunder fading into silence. He was gone.

Or so I told myself.

With shaking fingers, I turned the lock, slowly and silently, then eased the door open just a crack. The hallway was empty. Good.

I exhaled, a shaky breath of relief. The second I stepped forward, a hand shot out of the darkness like a striking snake, fingers clamping around my throat and locking me in place with terrifying precision.

The door slammed wide against the wall. Chase filled the frame, shirtless now, sweat still glistening on his carved chest and abs from what he'd been doing minutes ago.

His dark hair was wild, grey eyes blazing with something feral and victorious. The scent of sex and heat rolled off him, thick and overwhelming.

He pushed me back into the room without effort, kicking the door shut behind us with his heel.

"Oh, Little Lamb," he murmured roughly, his voice dripping with dark satisfaction. "You don't know what you've done."

My back hit the wall beside my bed, his grip on my throat firm enough to pin me, loose enough that I could still drag in ragged breaths.

His thumb stroked once along my racing pulse, like he was savoring the proof of how much he terrified me. How much he affected me.

I hated that my body responded, heat flooding the apex of my thighs, my nipples tightening against the thin fabric of my sleep shirt, thighs pressing together against the ache he'd planted earlier.

"Let go," I managed, but it came out breathless, weak.

His lips curved into that cruel, beautiful smirk. "No."

He stepped closer, crowding me, his bare chest brushing my breasts through the cotton. The heat of him was scorching. His free hand braced against the wall beside my head, caging me completely.

"You watched me fuck her," he said quietly, each word cutting me like a blade. "Stood there in the dark like a needy little voyeur, getting off on it."

My face burned from shame. "I didn't-"

"Don't lie." His fingers flexed on my throat, a warning squeeze that made my breath hitch. "I saw your face. I saw how hard you were breathing, how you couldn't look away when I buried myself in her."

He leaned in, his full lips grazing my ear, voice dropping to a growl. "You were imagining it was you, weren't you? Bent over, taking every inch, screaming my name."

A helpless sound escaped me, half protest, half something shamefully close to agreement.

His thigh nudged between mine, forcing them apart, pressing right against the damp heat I couldn't hide. I gasped at the contact, my hips jerking involuntarily.

"That's it," he rasped, rocking forward once slowly. "Soaked already just from watching, from knowing what I can do."

I clawed at his wrist, trying to pry his hand from my throat, but he didn't budge. "I hate you."

"Yeah?" He pulled back just enough to meet my eyes, his own burning. "Good. Hate me while I make you come apart."

Then his mouth crashed onto mine. No gentleness. No hesitation. Only raw, punishing hunger.

He kissed like he wanted to devour every lie I'd ever told myself about not wanting this. His tongue took mine, demanding, dominating, tasting of whiskey and sin. I fought for half a second, teeth nipping, hands shoving, then melted against him with a broken moan I couldn't hold back.

He groaned into my mouth, grip tightening on my throat as his other hand slid down my body, rough and possessive, cupping my breast, thumb flicking over my nipple until I arched into him.

When he finally tore his mouth away, we were both breathing like we'd run miles.

"You opened the door," he said against my lips, voice ragged. "You let the wolf in."

His hand left my throat, sliding down between us and under the waistband of my sleep shorts without asking.

I grabbed his wrist, but it was too late. One thick finger dragged through my wetness mercilessly and I cried out, my legs nearly giving out.

"That's for watching," he growled. A second finger joined, pushing inside me with devastating ease. "This is for running."

He curled them and stroked once twice, his thumb circling my clit with merciless precision.

"And when you come screaming my name, Little Lamb," he whispered with his eyes locked on mine, a dark and triumphant glint in his eyes, "that's for thinking you could ever hide from me."

My head fell back against the wall, my hips rocking shamelessly into his hand.

I was already lost.

"Take my fingers like the dirty little slut you are," he rasped, his voice smoky and thick with lust, thrusting those two thick fingers in quick, brutal strokes that stole the air right from my lungs.

I cried out, my back arching off the wall as he drove deeper, curling them hard against that spot that made sparks explode behind my eyes.

Suddenly, a sharp knock echoed throughout the room.

"Chase? Baby, are you in there?" His girlfriend's voice.

Shit.

Chase slid his fingers out of me slowly, deliberately, letting me feel every inch of the loss.

Then he brought them to his mouth and sucked them clean with a low, filthy hum that vibrated straight through my bones.

The wet sound of it, loud and shameless, it sent fresh heat rushing to my face.

Embarrassment and shame slammed into me like a tidal wave. My body was still humming from the orgasm I never had, and all I could think was how badly I needed to get away from him before I did something stupider than letting him touch me in the first place.

The second his grip loosened, I jerked sideways, trying to slip past him toward the bed, toward anywhere that wasn't pressed against his sweat-slick chest.

"Chase, sweetie? Are you in there?" His girlfriend's voice came again from outside the door.

She sounded irritated this time, but he didn't even glance at the door. His hand shot out, fingers clamping around my upper arm like a steel band, yanking me back against him.

My bare thighs hit his, and I sucked in a sharp breath at the feel of his still-hard cock pressing against my stomach through his low-slung sweats.

His eyes bored into mine, dark and dangerous, lips still glistening from my taste.

"This is just the beginning of what I can do to you, Little Lamb," he said in a gravelly voice that caused my pussy to clench, every word a promise carved in fire. "Stay out of my way if you want to survive this house."

He leaned in, mouth brushing the frantic pulse at my neck, then opened his lips and bit, teeth scraping skin before his tongue soothed the sting.

I hissed, not from pain, but from the bolt of pure pleasure that shot straight between my legs, making me clench around nothing.

He felt it, the way my body betrayed me again, and his grip tightened, a dark chuckle rumbling against my throat.

"The next time you cross me," he whispered, lips grazing the spot he'd just marked, "I'll drive you straight to hell and back from pain and pleasure so twisted you won't know which one is saving you."

Then he released me. I stumbled back a step, unable to believe what we'd just done.

My skin burned where his hands had been. My neck throbbed with the imprint of his teeth. And lower, God, I was still dripping, aching and empty.

Another knock, sharper this time. "Chase? Seriously, open the door."

He finally turned his head toward the sound, irritation flickering across his face like she was an annoying fly.

But when he looked back at me, the smirk returned.

"Better cover up, stepsister," he murmured, his eyes dropping to my hardened nipples, then lower to the wetness he'd left on my thighs. "Wouldn't want anyone seeing what's mine."

He walked to the door without another word, unlocked it, and pulled it open just enough to block her view inside.

"Hey, babe," he said, his voice suddenly smooth, lazy, like he hadn't just had his fingers buried deep in his new stepsister. "She had trouble with the bulbs in her room."

I stood frozen in the shadows, watching the easy lie roll off his tongue.

She bought it, of course she did, and I heard the soft sound of her laughing, her hand sliding up his bare chest as she pressed against him.

I hated how much I wanted to rip her away. I hated how much I wanted him to slam the door in her face and come back to finish what he started.

And most of all, I hated that he knew it.

Because as he stepped into the hallway and pulled the door almost closed behind him, he glanced back one last time.

Those grey eyes locked on mine through the narrowing gap. And he mouthed, silent and deadly: Next time.

The door clicked shut, and I slid down the wall all over again, thighs pressed tight, my body shaking.

The next day, the afternoon sun beat down on the driveway as I slung my bag over my shoulder, pretending my stomach wasn't in knots.

I was dressed for an evening lecture, simple jeans, oversized hoodie, with my hair twisted up in a messy bun like armor against the world. Against him.

My mother's voice floated from the living room archway, syrupy and intrusive.

"Where are you off to?"

I didn't stop walking. "Evening lecture."

She stepped into view, arms crossed, lips pursed in that fake-concerned way that made my skin crawl. "Have you told Chase? You can't leave this house without him. I told you yesterday."

I rolled my eyes so hard it hurt. "I can, and I will."

She had no idea what he'd done to me in his car yesterday, pulling me over his lap, spanking me until I was wet and shaking.

No clue that last night I'd let him shove his fingers inside me. The absolute last thing I needed was another ride with Chase Hunter, trapped in his car with his scent, his heat, his control.

"Try me, Aurelia," she warned, her voice sharpening.

"I already am," I shot back, pushing through the front door like her threats were just wind.

I ordered a Bolt on my phone the second I hit the gravel drive, refusing to think about how my body still felt strung tight, aching and unsatisfied in a way only he seemed able to fix.

I hadn't come last night, and it left me restless, on edge, like a guitar string pulled too taut.

The car pulled up twenty minutes later. I slid into the back seat, gave the driver the campus gate address, and stared out the window the whole ride, forcing my mind blank.

When we reached the massive wrought-iron gates of Underwood, I paid quickly, climbed out, and slammed the door.

Sweet freedom, even if it was just a ten-minute walk to my lecture hall.

I'd taken maybe five steps when a sleek black Ferrari screeched to a halt behind the Bolt, blocking half the road.

The driver's door swung open, and out stepped a guy who screamed money and entitlement, blond hair perfectly styled, designer sunglasses covering his eyes even though the sun was dipping low.

With the expensive smart watch flashing on his wrist, he was definitely a student. Definitely trouble.

He strode straight toward me, pointing like I was an item on a menu.

"Let me give you a ride into campus," he said, his voice dripping with that rich-boy arrogance that made my teeth grind.

"No thanks. I'll pass." I didn't even look at him, just kept walking.

He stepped into my path, grabbing my arm hard enough to bruise.

"Do you know who I am?" he sneered. "I'm Dayton Lakewood. You don't want to mess with me. Get in the car. Now."

My heart slammed against my ribs, anger and fear twisting together. "I'm sorry, but you need to let go of my arm and get away from me."

He didn't. His grip tightened, and he started pushing me backward toward the Ferrari.

"Get in the car."

"No, I won't. Let go!"

I dug my heels in, scanning the area for anyone, students, security, literally anybody, but the gate was quiet this time of evening.

Of course it was. This entitled prick had probably timed it perfectly.

He shoved harder, and I opened my mouth to scream.

A motorcycle roared up like thunder, slamming to a stop so close the back tire kissed the Ferrari's bumper with a metallic crunch.

The rider swung off in one fluid motion, helmet yanked free, dark hair wild from the wind.

Four long, furious strides. I knew that walk. That lethal confidence. The black leather jacket hugging broad shoulders.

Chase.

His eyes locked on Dayton's hand clamped around my arm, and something cold and deadly flashed across his face.

Dayton turned, annoyance shifting to confusion.

"The fuck-?"

Chase didn't speak. He just grabbed Dayton by the front of his pristine shirt, lifted him clean off the ground with one hand, and slammed him back against the Ferrari's hood hard enough that the car rocked.

Dayton's sunglasses flew off, clattering to the asphalt.

"Touch her again," Chase said, voice low and arctic, "and I'll break every finger you used."