Page 45 of Burned By Sin
Planting herself in front of me, Addy tries to push a giant, metallic star into my chest. I make no move to accept it.
“I don’t trust you,” I growl, pinning her with a deadly glare. Addy rolls her eyes, unaffected and perhaps a little amused.
“And I don’t care. But since it’syourname we’re working our assesoff to promote, you can at least hang some stars.” I follow her pointing finger just in time to see a large, slobbery dog in a pink, ruffled dress plow into a ladder on stage, the student who was at the top now dangling from the basketball hoop. Yeah, no. Not happening.
Ignoring the imp in front of me, I head straight for Harper. Plucking the paintbrush from behind her ear, I kneel beside her, dipping it into the white paint tub nestled between her thighs. She grins but doesn’t say a word, which is fine by me. Talking would only make the descent from my throne so much worse. Focusing on the backdrop, I help Harper paint the hundreds of tiny windows on the skyscraper already outlined by someone else. Essentially, it’s one giant paint-by-numbers.
Harper is in her element, humming her tune, lightly bobbing her head. Pulling my wireless headphones from my sweatpants pocket, I lift Harper’s phone from in front of her and pair them. For the millionth time, I’m about to demand she adds a passcode to her phone when the music bleeds into my ears. Of everything I would have guessed she’d listen to, it never would have been this. It’s cheesy and old school, a boy-band’s concoction of electric guitars and drums.
“What the fuck is this?” I ask, more to myself. Checking her Spotify, the album cover shows five sets of overgrown fringes and juvenile faces. Turning my headphones off, preferring to sit with the chaotic background noise in the gym, Harper gives me a tiny shrug.
“If you don’t like it, then don’t be here.” Her smile widens, although she tries to conceal it behind her hair. With her phone still in hand, I switch her implants from the music to the microphone app and hold it close to my mouth.
“Let’s ditch this. They’re doing just fine here,” I say just as a loud crash and scream sounds behind us. Harper flinches, the white paint of her window smearing out of the lines. I ignore the cries for help, focusing on making the timber of my voice as husky as possible. “My place isn’t far. We can sneak out and be back before they’ve gotten this mess under control. I’ll be quick,” I lie. I’m never quick, but shedoesn’t complain once we’ve started. It’s getting her away from Scum and the other meaningless things she distracts herself with that’s the real trick.
Harper tries to make a noise of annoyance but it comes out weak.
“How are you still horny? A gigolo gets less sex than you.” Dumping the paintbrush into the pot, I sit back on my hunches, bringing the phone to my lips.
“I don’t think you understand that you’re on my mind constantly. Your eyes and your perfect tits and your curves. The smell of your shampoo, the birthmark on the bottom of your right foot. How beautifully you take every inch of my cock, how you ride me until you collapse. I think about fucking you every minute of every day, and at night, I dream of more ways I could defile you. It’s a visceral need Harper. There’s never a moment that I’m not hard and throbbing for you.”
“Rhys,” Harper turns her head to scowl pathetically, a tremble in her words and a searing hot flush in her cheeks. “There are people around.”
“I don’t give a fuck. I need you naked and in my lap in the next ten minutes or I’m going to cause a scene.” Switching off her phone, I hand it back and stand to leave. The outside air is a blessing, but it does nothing for the erection becoming obvious through my sweats. I wrap my hand around myself, leaning against the building wall, trying to relieve whatever pressure I can.
Harper has no idea how hard it is to be near her and not touch her. Literally hard and aching. The fact that I even try shows that she has me well and truly whipped.
I enjoy pain, revel in punishments, and actively seek retribution against the world, but I hate this. This is a torture unlike any I’ve ever known. She makes me bleed from the inside out, reopens old wounds that used to crave for affection and shows me a future I never believed possible, only to hold it just out of reach. I’m a monster. I’ve been pushing her away since before I even knew sheexisted, carving a path of destruction that would make me forever unlovable.
Unable to take the burning inside my chest any longer, I figure she isn’t coming. Striding down the hillside, I head back to my house, longing to hear her footsteps following. It dawns on me that I just fuckinglefther alone and vulnerable, which I specifically told Clayton I wouldn’t. Well, fuck him. If he wants to be her watch dog, then he’s welcome to it. I can’t be near her another second and not claim her brutally the way my soul desires.
Now faced with my empty living room, I don’t know what to do. The book throne is intact, although the rest of the texts have moved to make room for the nerds that occupy my pad every evening. It’s tempting to use my frustration to undo all of their hard work, tossing the hardbacks into the hot tub and using the paperbacks as fire fuel, but I don’t have the energy. Neither do I want the fleeting satisfaction of aggressively jerking myself off. I don’t even want a smoke.
I just stand here, arms by my side. I don’t often think about my way of life, since I’m stuck in an endless cycle of self-sabotage and vengeance, but I don’t think I can go on like this for much longer. The yearning, the intention to drop all of my anger and become Harper’s loyal simp, and then the hatred that settles in after. Since when did I care who I was and who I hurt? Since when did I feel like I have no place in the world without her.
The door slams closed behind me, pulling me from my thoughts. I turn just as a fist connects with my cheek. My head wheels to the side, my smile growing in an instant. All trepidation that I’m losing my touch vanishes as I gaze upon Harper, her green eyes feral and her fury palpable. I don’t need to change or be fixed. Not when my little minx is just as twisted as I am. Not when her hunger stems from a violence that’s dying to break free.
“That’s for leaving me behind. This is for pulling me away from helping my friend,” she shoves my shoulders and I allow myself to be forced back a step. “And this is for making me so flustered, I couldbarely stumble here whilst feeling my thong soak through.” She kicks my shin and I groan with pleasure. I fucking love it when she’s feisty.
“You’re wearing a thong today?” I bite my lip ring, not meaning to look smug as shit but I know I do. Harper narrows her eyes.
“You know I am. You broke into my dorm, replaced all of my underwear and burned my comfortable panties.” A chuckle radiates from my chest. Yeah, I did do that whilst she was out on a date with Clayton. It seemed like a reasonable response.
“What color?” I ask, slowly licking my lips. Harper tracks the response, her anger lessening. I can’t have that. “Because anything other than black won’t look very slimming—” Her hand grabs my throat and I narrowly dodge her kneeing me in the balls. Given how painfully hard I am, that would have put me down for days.
Harper moves the same time I do, our mouths colliding with enough force to bruise. There’s no hesitation, only lust burning through our veins. The hand around my throat is a command that strips me of every ounce of control I’ve ever clung to. Her tongue slides into my mouth, fierce and demanding, and I meet her head-on. She shoves at my jacket, nails scraping down my arms, while I grip her hair like it’s the only thing keeping me tethered to reality.
God, I need this. More than any amount of money or air, I need Harper straddling me. Dominating me. I let her push me back toward the stairs. Every step feels like surrender. My jacket hits the floor, her t-shirt joins next. We stumble upward, devouring each other, breath and sanity burning out between us. My pulse thrashes as Harper pushes me again, and I tighten my hold until our bodies crash together. I’m the one who usually cages, but right now, she’s keeping me contained. She’s holding me back because my wildness belongs to her.
By the time we reach my room, the sexual tension is blinding. My clothes are too heavy, too uncomfortable, my cock straining to be released. I pause by the dresser, tearing open the top drawer. Forcefully twisting Harper, I dare her to look at it. All of it. Leather, steel,restraints. All of the new tools I bought just for her, for us, laid bare for her use on me however she sees fit.
“Choose whatever you want,” I say beside her ear. Nudging her head with my nose, I realise she doesn’t have her receivers on. Tilting my head back, I make sure she can see my lips before repeating myself. It’s not just an offer, it’s a plea. I’m not asking for pain. I’m asking for her to decide what I deserve.
She looks down at the drawer, and for a second, I am almost giddy for what she might pick. Even if she can’t hear me, the intention is clear. I submit. An ache works its way through my being, one that leaves me utterly exposed. I close my eyes, lower my mouth into the curve of her neck, palming her breasts through her bra. I’m drunk on the anticipation, grinding against her ass as if I might die without the contact.
“No.” My eyes fly open. Harper turns to watch me like she’s seeing the rot beneath my skin, and she doesn’t fear it. The breath hitches in my lungs. Is this it? Her final rejection where she walks away and never looks back? “I don’t want you like this.”
I can’t breathe. My hands clamp around her arms, desperate to hold her here by sheer will. Could she be so cruel, to dig so deep into my soul and hurt me in a way no else can? A way I’ve allowed her to? Harper doesn’t flinch. Instead, she steps into me and rests her head over my heart. I hold her there, because if I let go, I’ll come apart. Then Harper whispers, her lips directly over the blackened heart she manages to crack wide open.
