Page 44 of Riot Act
“Didn’t have you pegged as the fully shaved type, Chase.” His voice is rough as sandpaper.
Okay, so that commentdoesbring a little color to my cheeks. I keep my cool, though. “I’m sure there are plenty of things about me that you have incorrectlypegged.”
Pax arches an eyebrow at this. “Perhaps. Admittedly, you here, naked, does seem very un-Chase-like. Then again, I don’t think I was wrong about you. I think, perhaps, that you’vechanged.” Before I can confirm his suspicions, he lifts the camera and fires off another shot, capturing another photo.
Surprise shakes me. He just took a photo of me.Naked. That surprise quickly fades away, though. He takes a step closer, holding the camera up in one hand. “Well?” he says. “Aren’t you gonna tell me to delete that?”
“How can I?” I resist the urge to cover my breasts with my arms. That will make me look weak, and I don’t want to appear that way to him. “That camera isn’t digital. And I’m sure you’re not going to ruin every shot on the roll by opening the back and bleaching the film.”
What is that look he’s wearing? I’ve never seen it on him before. “I’m surprised you noticed,” he says. “And no. I’m not gonna do that. Go sit on top of the chest of drawers over there.”
Oh, god. This isnotwhat I pictured happening when I decided to show up at Riot House. I’m intrigued by my own new-found bravery, though, and there’s no way I can just walk out of here now. So I do it. The smooth, polished wood is cool against my skin as I boost myself up to perch on the very edge of the chest of drawers.
A brief flicker of approval flashes in Pax’s eyes. He waits for me to be settled on the chest of drawers and then he prowls forward, the very picture of a predator hunting its prey.
His sweatpants are scandalously low on his hips. Low enough that I can tell he’s not wearing any underwear. But I already knew that he wasn’t, didn’t I? I’ve been pretending not to notice the growing bulge in his pants, but there’s no denying it anymore because I can see the outline of his dick.Seeit. Like, the detailed outline, and the fucking head of it, and it’s getting bigger by the passing second.
Shit.
He’s literally the hottest thing I have ever seen. His head looks freshly shaved. He smells like rain and stormy summer nights. His features are so fiercely masculine, his cheekbones proud, his jawline so sharp you could cut yourself on it, and I can’t look away. I’ve never been able to look away from him. This lingering obsession I’ve had with him has been my blessing and my curse. The sweetest heaven and the bitterest hell.
He smiles, his lips parting suggestively, and a violent tremor runs the length of my body. Why is a smile like that so dangerous? Does he know he can end entire civilizations with that cruel mouth of his? “Okay, Firebrand. Open your legs for me.”
“Why?”
“Because I have a camera in my hand and you’re my muse. What’s the big deal?”
Has he done this before with other girls from the academy? Is there a stack of photos in a drawer somewhere, from other muses who happily spread their legs for him? I’d ask, but honestly, I don’t want to know the answer to that question.
“What are you gonna do with these photos if I do?” I ask.
He looks positively evil. “Does it matter? If you’re not afraid ofme, why would you be afraid of what I might do with some photos?”
Such a backwards argument. OfcourseI should be afraid of what he plans on doing with them. I’d be out of my damn mind not to be concerned. But the worst-case scenario flashes before my eyes: he posts them around school. Everyone sees them. Principal Harcourt sees them. She shows them to my father. The Riot House boys have pulled this shit before. It wouldn’t be completely unimaginable that Pax would make a million copies of these pictures and plaster them all over Mountain Lakes by tomorrow morning. But…somehow…I don’t fucking care.
I open my legs.
Pax hisses between his teeth. “Jesus fucking Christ.” He steps back, eyes boring into the most private area of my body, a strange rush of color creeping up his neck, and I feel so alive. Even more alive than the time I woke up from the dead to find him panting over me, covered in my blood, right before he bruised my ribs. “Don’t move,” he growls. Raising the camera, he holds it to his face and looks through the viewfinder. I’ve never found myself in this position before; I’m not sure what to do with myself. Hiding myself seems like a good option, but fuck that. I’ve come this far. I might as well see this thing through. I look directly down the lens of the camera, refusing to even blink.
“Fuck,” he whispers.
The sound of the shutter snapping open and closed can be heard even over the thrashing heavy metal. He fires off another three shots, stepping closer, and then dropping into a crouch to get another shot at a lower angle.
And then he does something that will be burned into my memory until the end of fucking days: He puts down the camera. Then, he steps into me, right in between my legs, places his palms on my thighs, trailing them inward, and pushes my legs open as far as they’ll go. My heart races away from me as he bows his head, ducking the tiniest bit, purses his lips, and releases a trail of saliva from his mouth…that lands right on my pussy.
He grunts, satisfied, staring down at the spit that he just deposited onto me, where it’s slowly running down my pussy lips, warm and wet, and…holy fucking shit,what is happening right now?
He looks up at me from under hooded, half closed eyelids, watching me closely as he slides his hand up, up, up the inside of my thigh, then presses the pads of his middle and ring finger against me, rubbing the wetness he left there all over my flesh.
Holy…
…fucking…
Oh…
…my…
God…
