I jolted in his grip, a strangled moan escaping me.
“Do you think any others will make you feel like this?” he asked, brushing my hardened nipple again. “Your hips are grinding on me, just begging for me to fuck you into the wall.”
I resisted the urge to protest, to push him off. Especially when his hand abandoned my breast, drifting down over my stomach. I felt him against the thin fabric of my sleep shorts, pressing the jersey into me as he kicked my legs apart.
My eyes rolled back in my head as he found my pussy with expert precision, barely a whisper of a touch over my heated skin.
“Tell me to stop,” he said, sinking his teeth into my bottom lip. His eyes remained open, holding mine as my breath came in a shuddering pant. “Tell me you don’t want this.”
My mouth parted with the need to say it, but the words wouldn’t come. They couldn’t, not when he pressed his hand tighter to my flesh. The cloth of my shorts rubbed against me, his fingers circling my clit slowly.
“I hate you,” I muttered, pulling his hair harder.
He chuckled, pressing his mouth to mine gently as I tossed my head back. “I don’t give a fuck about that. All that matters to me is how pretty you’ll look writhing on my cock.”
I gasped as he slipped his fingers under the edge of my shorts, the coolness of his skin touching me. There was nothing between us, nothing to separate us from the way he felt against me. He resumed his work on my clit, circling it as I lost the ability to breathe.
This was how I died.
I was going to come, and I didn’t even care what that said about me.
“Fuck,” I whimpered, blinding light filling the edges of my vision when he moved; his teeth grazing the side of my neck.
He stopped, his fingers stilling on my pussy.
“What are you doing?” I asked, wincing at the tiny pinch of his fangs as he bit down into my skin. He groaned at the snack, drawing my blood into his mouth as my hips moved against him.
Seeking the pressure he’d offered, searching for my pleasure.
He withdrew his teeth, his mouth redder than it had been before, and stared at me. Removing his hand from my shorts, he raised his fingers to his mouth. Those steely eyes drifted closed as he moaned, pulling them free and staring down at me.
“You can come when you tell me what I want to know.”
My mouth dropped open in shock. Surely, he couldn’t mean—
“Fuck you,” I snapped.
I’d finish the job myself. The arrogant fucking prick. I let go of his hair, pushing against his shoulders to get him out of my way. I slid my hand over my stomach when he stepped back, slipping it into my shorts as his eyes narrowed. Arching my back, I let him see the moment I touched myself.
“Willow,” he said, and the sound of my name in his voice was different. It was soft, soothing, a comfort when I wanted nothing but anger. He moved forward, grasping my wrist with his hand as I stared up at him.
The moment my eyes met his, I realized my mistake.
His pupils had bled to black, darkness consuming the blue of his stare. “From this moment until I release you, the only way you will be able to orgasm will be with me. My touch. My mouth. My cock. Your own touch will not satisfy you, nor will the touch of any other person. There is only me.”
The words washed over me, cooling my skin as the compulsion sank inside of me. I reached up to touch my mother’s necklace, shaking my head to deny the way the words had penetrated. “I have my amulet—”
“You also have my blood,” he said, stepping back with a smirk. “Even your amulet cannot protect you from me entirely now.”
I swallowed, glaring up at him as he made to leave the bathroom. “Why not just compel me to tell you the truth then?!” I demanded, watching as the black faded from his gaze. I winced as I wrapped my arms around my chest and covered my breasts from the scathing blue of his eyes.
He shrugged, tucking his hands into his pants pockets as he stared at me over his shoulder. “My way is much more fun.”
21
WILLOW
I walked forward, keeping my head bowed as I followed my roommates in a line. They did the same, echoing the respect for the dead as we made our way down the steps to the front entry of Hollow’s Grove. The sun seemed far too bright as we approached the bottom of the stairs, moving toward the six doors that had been thrown wide open to allow us all to funnel onto the front lawn.
The line extended around the corner, curving toward the back of the school. I’d wandered there occasionally after classes when I needed a moment to myself, and I knew that the back of the school was home to the cliffs overlooking the sea. Before we came to that though, the sprawling remnants of what had once been a beautiful, glorious flower garden separated the school from the tiny patch of land designated for burials.