Page 36 of Burned By Sin
I force myself to sit straight, look dead ahead. I will not lean into Clay, no matter how warm his thigh is pressed up against mine. Students from our science classes fill the living room, and there’s more in the kitchen. Considering Rhys is lording over us all from his throne, they’ve managed to make themselves quite at home.
Even without my receivers on, I can tell every time someone dares to use the coffee machine, because Rhys throws down his tablet and marches over to check it’s being used,and cleaned,correctly. Chuckling to myself, I force my nose back into the heavy textbook in my lap.
Today’s study session began early, as Peterson gave us the afternoon off for ‘open learning’. I reckon that’s a ruse for him to simply take a day off, but I’m not complaining. Anything to give us more time to do this vague assignment he’s set and I’m all game. Clay and I have decided to work together, finding a series of case files from the eighties amongst Rhys’ hoard. Fuck knows what the proclaimed King is doing hunched over his screen but I hope it’s productive.
Every once in a while, Clay leans over to stick a post-it note under my nose, adding the stream of them I have building up. All interesting finds about one of four patients we’ve discovered, who seem to have norelation but all suffered from the same symptoms. With the advancements in medicine and technology, we’re analyzing the data, hoping it proves not to be a total bore to write an essay about.
Leaning forward, I pull an aged, brown folder from the table just as Rhys places down a steaming mug, and then retreats to this throne. I peer at him from beneath the curtain on my pink-twinged hair, concealing a smirk. He’s up to something, and I think I know what it is.
Clay catches on quickly too. A prickle creeps up my spine as his presence moves into my personal space. Fingers grasp my chin gently, twisting my face to the side where he places a kiss on my cheek. The peck was soft, but flames burst to life through my being and result in a searing blush. I feel the heat of Rhys’ glare and as others nearby flinch, I can assume he’s made some sort of guttural sound.
Less than a minute later, my phone vibrates with a message. I’m already rolling my eyes as I drag it out from underneath my thigh.
Your New Master: Hope you’re enjoying yourself.
I sigh, sensing the macho bullshit seeping across the room.
Me: Jealousy isn’t a good look for you.
I tease, trying to lighten the atmosphere that is quickly growing tense. Rhys laughs, an animated motion that causes his Adam’s apple to bob and all the students to shuffle out of his vicinity.
Your New Master: Babygirl, there’s nothing that man can do to you that will make me jealous. If you want a kiss, you’d better open wide for my tongue to fuck your mouth.
I choke on the air, spluttering and reaching for my coffee. Clay’s laptop isdislodged from his lap, whatever progress we were making ceasing. He places it on the table, leaving it open just in case we find it in ourselves to return to the spreadsheet we were working on. I seriously doubt it but the intention is there.
I’m not surprised when people start to pack up and leave early, Rhys’ scowl chasing them out the door without so much as a second glance. I sigh, setting aside the files and books I have spread out over the table, making sure they’re packed away with care. If I were to leave it up to Rhys, he’d scatter them all over the floor.
Once I’m satisfied the books are safe, I look up, surprised to find Rhys is nowhere to be seen. Clay has stayed behind, which is no great shock, his hands digging into his pocket to pass over my receivers. I’d given them to him when the murmuring in the room became too distracting but I couldn’t be bothered to move.
We move through the rooms cautiously, like a pair of zookeepers hunting for a lion, until I spot the flare of a cherry on the back porch. As far as I know, Rhys hasn’t smoked since we came back after Christmas break, not that I asked him to stop. I simply didn’t hide my aversion to the smell and taste. Turning to suggest that Clay should hang back, he’s already moved across the kitchen to wash up the mass of dirty mugs and empty snack bowls.
The porch is cold beneath my socks, shadows looming over Rhys’ silhouette. Two steps out of the house and I can smell that he’s not actually smoking a cigarette, but a joint. Walking around to his front, whatever relief he’s chasing, he is yet to find. His eyes drag over my face, his jaw twitching. He is not impressed.
“What’s with you today?” I ask, winding my arms around his middle. I already know the answer, but I wanted to give some sort of signal that my hearing has been activated, like a superhero I suppose. Winding his hand around my wrist, I suspect he was on the way to holding my hand but doesn’t quite get there.
“I can’t have you in my house a second longer and not have you in the way my body needs.” There’s a desperate edge to his voice and atight pinch to his grasp. Toking on his joint, he puffs a cloud over my head and then sets it aside on the railing. Tugging me inside, Rhys grips my hips and plants me on the kitchen island. “I’d tell him to leave if I were you,” he jerks his jaw towards Clayton, not taking his hungry stare from my body.
I peer over my shoulder, gauging Clay’s stance. Legs wide, arms cross, he leans against the counter by the basin. His face is passive, not revealing the flare of stubbornness within. He’s not going anywhere, and I wouldn’t ask him to anyway. Rhys’ fingers trail my arms, bringing my attention back to him.
“I don’t know when you’re going to learn that I don’t tell either of you to do anything,” I say as his hands land on my thighs, warmth seeping through my jeans. “You’re grown men, make your own choices.” Rhys’ nostrils flare, his pupils blowing wide. I don’t hear Clay closing in until another set of hands curls around my shoulders. An instant bolt of lust shoots between my thighs.
This is dangerous territory. To be touched by them both, desired by them both. To open myself up to something that can’t last. I can’t pick one without losing the other.
Nibbling on my bottom lip, a hand cups my jaw to turn my head back. It’s Clay who is commanding my attention, and Rhys is allowing him.
“If you want to be with him, then I won’t stop you, but I’m not leaving either. I don’t trust his mood right now. I won’t be able to forgive myself if he hurts you.”
My heart flutters but the tightening in my core takes over. The thought of Clay watching me with Rhys is something I’ve only thought about in my deepest refuges in my mind. Something I didn’t dare try to bring into any version of my reality. But here we are, and I would hate myself if I let an opportunity go to waste.
“What if I like it when he hurts me?”
“Don’t push me Harper,” Clay growls. His protective side rippleswith the promise of violence, and fuck if my thighs don’t clench tighter. I’m sick, twisted, and I’m not sorry about it.
Not needing any more encouragement, Rhys pries my face from Clay’s hold, his fingers either side of my mouth as he drags me forward. His lips seize mine, an explosion of desire barreling into my chest. Hands push into my hair, though I’m not sure who’s, removing my receivers in a clear indication that no more talking is needed.
At first I don’t return his kiss, still unsure about how far this is going to go. I know where I want it to go in theory, but now it’s happening, I hesitate. I’m not shy about my body, but I’ve never tiptoed into exhibitionism before. When Rhys does release my mouth to trail kisses down my neck, I catch sight of Clay on the other side of the kitchen. He’s pushed himself up onto the counter with a beer in his hand, his body rigid and eyes watching intently.
My doubts vanish as Rhys drags the t-shirt over my head, unhooking my bra and planting his mouth on me. Heat envelopes my pierced nipple, his tongue swirling around the ends of the metal bar. He palms my other breast, massaging firmly as I claw my hands into his scalp.
