Page 29 of Deafened By Silence
His head dips until I feel his breath on my skin, and then the ghost of his lips brushes my jaw. I lock up, overcome with revelation and lust. I broke Clay, I broke him wide open and now I’m going to see exactly how he feels. At freaking last.
His lips move again, traveling in slow, deliberate strokes from beneath my ear to the hollow between my collarbones. My head tips back against the shelf, and my eyes slide shut without my permission. His voice is in my head, reverberating, undoing my defenses thread by thread.
“Perhaps if I was man enough, I would be able to stop confusing chivalry with obsession and get you out of my head once and for all.”
I barely have time to open my eyes before his mouth covers mine. My toes curl, a surprised inhale passing between us. Unlike what I would have imagined, there is no hesitation in his kiss, no careful testing of boundaries. Only an immediate and all-consuming claim. Clay’s lips taste of coffee and desire, a layers of tension between us unraveling in an instant.
My hands slide up the back of his neck, fingers threading into his hair beneath the beanie, pulling him closer because whatever this is, it is not enough. I want more. I need everything he’s willing to give before he decides to rip it all away again. Every point where our bodies meet feels like a spark catching dry tinder, small fires spreading with reckless speed. His grip tightens at my hips, his fingertips digging in as though he needs to anchor himself, and I realize I am clinging to him just as desperately.
The kiss deepens, and his tongue parts my lips without asking, taking what he wants. I give it willingly, my own need tangling with his until I cannot tell whose hunger I am feeding. The rhythm of our bodies shifts and I am grinding against himbefore I have even thought about it, the friction pulling a soft, unguarded sound from my throat. It makes him groan, the air between us thick enough to drown in.
I am on the edge of doing something reckless, something I will not be able to take back, when the world tips. Suddenly I am lifted higher, thrown aside, the warmth of him gone. A startled cry tears from me as I hit the ground hard enough to jar my teeth. My limbs sprawl across the cold floor and my head spins, the rush of the kiss ripped away so fast my body almost aches from the loss.
I have barely caught my breath when a deafening crash fills my skull. I scream against it, grabbing the sides of my head but there’s nothing I can do. The sound is coming from the mini microphone that I’m hooked up to. I blink up, strain forcing me to squint, just in time to see the bookcase opposite slamming into the one I was just pressed against. A waterfall of books rains down, a stampede of hardcovers and paperbacks tumbling with bone-rattling force.
And Clay is buried beneath it. My heart judders as I take in the scene and realize what happened. He threw me out of range, out of harm’s way. I cannot move, my eyes locked on the shifting pile where he disappeared. My cries are raw, scraping their way out of me, and even through the ringing in my ears I can hear the muffled grunts from the microphone still clipped to his shirt. Each short, uneven breath he makes filters directly into my head and freezes the blood in my veins.
Feet pound past me, scattering fallen books as others rush to pull him free. A girl I do not know kneels beside me, her hands checking for injuries, her mouth moving in questions I cannot process. My eyes are fixed on the moment Clay emerges, hunched and bruised, blood pouring from his nose. His lips, the same ones that had just been on mine, are split and red, and yethis gaze finds me first. The tension in his face softens and he exhales as though relieved simply to see me standing.
“Holy shit, are you okay? What happened?” My voice is sharper than I mean for it to be, my hands hovering inches from his chest, desperate to check him over but afraid to cause more pain. I can already imagine the bruises spreading beneath his shirt.
“I am fine. I’ve had worse,” Clay responds, dejection in his voice. The hollowness resonates in my own chest. We couldn’t simply have one moment. I take his hand before I can stop myself, our fingers fitting together as if they have been doing so for years. I pull him through the wreckage, heading towards the main part of the library. The girl who helped me is still at my side and several others shadow Clay like guards. Ironically, this is the most support I’ve seen come to Clay’s aid, and it only took him being battered by books to earn it.
Stepping into the central space, my eyes land on Rhys instantly. Dots connect in my mind, the actions of a jealous bully flaring to life. Motherfucker.
Rhys is seated in the chair Clay had been using, his ankles crossed lazily on the table as a flock of girls drape themselves over him. Clay’s books are in a careless heap at his feet. His blue eyes meet mine, full of a challenge and my shoulders draw tight. I step forward, ignoring the way Clay’s hand tugs against mine in a silent warning. There’s not a chance in hell I’m letting this go. Holding Rhys’ gaze, I let every ounce of determination show in my expression, and I drop Clayton’s hand.
“Harper, don’t,” Clay tries to say as I turn and pluck the microphone from his shirt. He catches my face, giving a slight shake of his head but the burn in my chest will not let me walk away. Not this time. I walk directly into the center of the library, taking everyone’s attention with me.
Klara is perched beside Rhys, idly swinging on the back legs of her chair like a child who has never been told no, her manicured nails twirling a strand of hair. My boot finds the side of her chair and sends it tipping, the motion controlled yet forceful enough to spill her onto the floor in an ungraceful heap. Her skirt flies up, revealing a hot pink thong that would have made me laugh in another lifetime, but now I am focused entirely on the man who has been pestering me from the shadows for far too long.
My hand fists the collar of Rhys’s cashmere sweater, the soft luxury of the fabric at odds with the sharp flex of my fingers. I shove the microphone into place against his chest and push him back into the chair with a satisfying thud. His chuckle is low and shameless, his gaze skating over me in a way that feels like both a taunt and a claim.
“I didn’t realize public foreplay was your thing, Babygirl,” he murmurs, and the sound of it seems to scrape against something raw inside me. My free hand tangles in his hair, tugging hard enough to tilt his head back so he has no choice but to meet the fury in my expression. He only looks more intrigued, his smirk deepening as if he has discovered a game he fully intends to win.
“It was you, wasn’t it?” I hiss, ignoring Klara scrambling to her feet. Despite Rhys’ lack of fucks in helping her, she stands tall and crosses her arms behind him. Rhys either doesn’t realize or doesn’t care.
“Sure. Whatever you are referring to, it was me.” He says it without flinching, appearing thoroughly entertained. Curling his fingers around my wrist and peeling it free from his hair, Rhys drags my knuckles over his cheek and lips. A chaste kiss is placed there, vibrating with his low laughter.
A weight settles on my shoulder, but I barely register it. I’m too busy trying to decide that, should I rear back and punchRhys in the mouth, if he’d get off or get angry. Most likely the former.
“That is not an answer,” I tell him, yanking my hand free. Rhys tuts, apparently disappointed but nevertheless entertained.
“Everyone blames me for everything that happens around here. Since most of the time it's true, I just agree.” He leans back, all arrogance and infuriating calm. Rage flares through me, the image of Clay being pummeled too fresh in my mind. More than that, his nonchalance afterwards as if this is a common occurrence has sent me over the edge. Perhaps it’s my turn to protect him for a change.
But hurting Rhys will only pleasure him, so I need to change tactics. I need to dismantle the pedestal he’s placed himself upon. A slow smile curls across my face, and I watch the subtle slip in his smirk with the kind of satisfaction that tastes sweeter than revenge.
“What is so funny?” Rhys finally cracks his stoic surface of amusement, and he rises to his feet, trying to loom over me with height alone. I yank the microphone back and press my palm flat to his chest, shoving him with enough force to catch him off guard and send him falling back into the seat. Leaning in so close that his breath skims my mouth, I let the venom in my voice coil between us.
“It just occurred to me that the second you step off this campus, you’re no one. Just another overconfident dick without any real power or worth. One day you will find yourself bitterly alone, and I will savor every second of watching it happen.”
Rhys’s pupils blow out, my words finally striking a chord. His hand moves so fast that both Clay and I think he’s going to hit me. Clay’s arm comes around my middle as Rhys tucks my hair behind my ear, searching for my implant. Failing to find it, he speaks slow and clearly for me to read.
“I’d better enjoy Friday night then, before my bitter loneliness sets in.” Rhys gives a sultry wink as Clay tugs me away, the strength of his body pulling me from the tension-charged air and steering me into the cold night. His pace is steady and sure as he keeps me tucked close, as if he believes distance is the only thing that will keep me from going back for more. The quiet between us hums with the residue of everything unsaid, and I let him guide me all the way back to my dorm without resisting.
At the base of the staircase, I take the lead until we stop before my door. I have no doubt Addy will be inside, peering through the spyhole to watch our interaction. I stall, allowing Clay to turn me gently to face him, his blood-darkened lips moving slowly as he speaks.
“Promise me you will not continue to provoke Rhys. If he keeps fixating on you, I will have to deal with him, but for as long as I can, I need to keep a low profile. I have to finish my degree. It is… important to me.”
