Chapter 2: Fucking Mistake

I ignore him. Keep walking. But my heart does a skip.

Footsteps pound behind me and then a hand closes around my arm and spins me around. Cain is soaked through, hair plastered to his forehead, water running down his face and neck. Even now, crying and humiliated and wanting nothing more than to disappear, I notice the way his wet shirt clings to every line of muscle. The way his jaw is set.

“Let go of me.”

“You can’t walk home in this.”

“Watch me.” I yank my arm free, but he grabs me again, harder this time, fingers wrapping around my bicep, and pulls me toward the side of the house.

“Stop—”

“You’ll get hypothermia.”

“I don’t care!”

But he’s stronger than me, and he drags me through a door I didn’t know existed, a small dark guest house on the side of the property. He shuts the door behind us and locks it, and the rain becomes muffled, a low drumming on the roof instead of the assault it was outside.

I whirl on him. “Let me out.”

“No.”

I grab the door handle. “Move.”

He leans against it and crosses his arms. “Make me.”

“Don’t do this—”

“Do what? Save you from getting hypothermia?” His eyes move down my body with unhurried attention. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

“I didn’t ask you to save me.”

“You didn’t have to.” He smirks. “Someone had to stop you from doing something stupid.”

“Letting me leave isn’t stupid—”

“Walking home in a storm while soaking wet?” He tilts his head. “That’s the definition of stupid. But I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. You’ve always been stupid when it comes to making decisions.”

My hands curl into fists. “Fuck you.”

“You already said that.” He pushes off the door and steps closer. “Come up with something new.”

“Get out of my way, Cain.”

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll move you myself.”

He laughs. “I’d like to see you try.”

I shove his chest. He doesn’t budge, just stands there looking down at me with those dark eyes that make me want to scream.

“That all you got?”

I shove him again, harder. Still nothing.

“Pathetic.” He catches my wrists. “You really thought that would work?”

“Let GO—”

“Make me.” His grip is iron and I can’t pull free. “What’s wrong, Layla? Not used to someone actually standing up to you?”

“You’re not standing up to me, you’re being an ASSHOLE—”

“I’ve always been an asshole.” He pulls me closer. “You’re just noticing now because you’re upset.”

“I’m not upset—”

“You’re shaking.” His eyes drop to where my coat has fallen open. “And it’s not from the cold.”

Heat floods my face. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“I know you’re a hypocrite.” He releases my wrists. “You hate me for being cruel but you’re just as bad.”

“I’m NOTHING like you—”

“Really?” He steps back. “Then why do you look at me the way you do?”

“I don’t look at you any way—”

“Yes, you do.” His voice drops, gets quieter. “In the hallways. In class. At my matches that you claim you don’t attend.”

“I don’t attend your matches—”

“Liar.” He’s closer again. “You were there two weeks ago. Back row. Wearing that green jacket you always wear when you’re trying not to be noticed.”

My breath catches.

“You watch me fight.” His eyes burn into mine. “You watch me get bloody and brutal and you love every second of it.”

“I don’t—”

“Then why do you keep coming back?”

I have no answer for that, and we both know it.

“That’s what I thought.” He smirks. “You hate me. But you want me too. And that’s eating you alive.”

“You’re delusional—”

“Am I?” His hand comes up, hovering near my face without touching it. “Your heart is racing right now. Your pupils are dilated. You’re pressing your thighs together like you’re trying to stop yourself from—”

I slap him. Hard. His head snaps to the side.

For a long moment he doesn’t move. When he looks back at me, the easy arrogance is gone. His jaw is tight.

“Don’t.” His voice is deadly quiet. “Ever. Do that again.”

“Or what?”

His eyes flash. “Or I’ll hurt you in ways you’ll beg me for more.”

Heat moves through me before I can stop it. “You don’t scare me.”

“I should.” He steps closer, backs me into the wall. “Because right now, I’m giving you one chance to walk away.”

“I don’t want to walk away.”

“Yes, you do.”

“Stop telling me what I want!” I shove his chest. “You don’t know anything about what I want!”

“Then tell me.” His hands slam against the wall on either side of my head, caging me in. “What do you want, Layla?”

My chest is heaving. My whole body is burning. I’m so angry, at him, at Jace, at myself, that I can’t think in a straight line.

“I want you to shut up.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“I want—” I grab his shirt, pull him closer. “I want to stop feeling like this.”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m breaking apart.” My voice cracks on it. “Just for tonight. Just—”

“You really didn’t see it coming, did you?” His voice shifts, almost conversational. “With Jace.”

“Don’t—”

“Six months you trusted him.” His fingers trace the edge of my coat. “Six months of believing he was this perfect boyfriend who’d wait for you forever.”

“Shut up—”

“He was probably with her the whole time.” He leans in close. “Every time he texted you ‘working late’ or ‘hanging with the guys,’ he was with her. In his bed. Doing everything you wouldn’t let him do to you.”

For one second I just look at him, knowing exactly what I’m doing and hating that I’m going to do it anyway. Then I grab his face and kiss him hard enough to bruise.

He laughs against my mouth. “There she is.”

His hands yank at my coat and shove it off my shoulders. “The real Layla. Not the good girl. The angry one.”

“You want angry?” I bite his lip. “I’ll give you angry.”

“Good.” His hands find my bra. “Because nice girls bore me.” He rips it off. The straps snap.

“That was expensive—”

“I don’t care.” His mouth is on my breast. “Send me the bill.” His teeth scrape my nipple and I gasp, arching into him before I can think about it.

“You like that?” His voice is rough. “Like it when I’m mean to you?”

“Shut up—”

He bites down, hard. I cry out.

“That’s not an answer.”

“Yes!” I dig my nails into his shoulders through his wet shirt. “Yes, I like it—”

“Good.” He yanks his shirt over his head and throws it, and then there’s the snake tattoo, god, that fucking tattoo. Up close it’s worse than I imagined: curving down his throat, spreading across his chest, coiling around his bicep in thick black lines that make my mouth go dry. I’ve imagined tracing it with my tongue more times than I’d ever admit. I hate myself for it.

“Stop staring.”

“Make me.” I reach out and touch the ink on his chest. He catches my wrist.

“You don’t get to touch me.”

“Why not?”

“Because this isn’t about you getting what you want.” He spins me around and pushes me face-first into the wall. “This is about me taking what I want.” His hand tangles in my hair and yanks my head back. “And what I want is to hear you scream my name so loud everyone at that party knows who’s fucking you.”

“You’re insane—”

“And you’re soaked through.” His other hand slides between my legs, over my underwear. “Feel that? All of that?”

“That’s not—”

He presses against my clit through the lace. I whimper.

“What was that?”

“Fuck you—”

“Soon.” He pulls my underwear down and lets it fall to my ankles. “Very soon.” Then his fingers are on me, bare, and the sound that leaves my mouth is something I’ve never heard from myself before.

“Jesus Christ.” His forehead drops to my shoulder. “You’re so fucking wet.”

“Stop talking—”

“Why?” He pushes two fingers inside me. I gasp. It’s different from when I touch myself, thicker and deeper in a way that makes my legs unsteady. “Don’t want to admit how much you want this?”

I try to move but he has me completely pinned, his body against my back, his hand in my hair, his fingers inside me, and it feels, god, it feels—

“Let go—”

“No.” He works his fingers slowly. “You want to come? Beg for it.”

“Never—”

“Then you don’t come.” He pulls his fingers out. I whimper out loud and I hate myself for it. “That’s what I thought.” He spins me back around. “Get on your knees.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” His hand goes to his belt. “On your knees, Layla.”

“I’m not—”

“You want my cock or not?”

Heat floods my face, my chest, lower. “I want—”

“Then get on your knees and ask nicely.”

“Fuck you.”

“Wrong answer.” He yanks his belt off and drops his jeans. “Try again.”

He’s not wearing underwear. And oh god. He’s huge, thick and hard and already leaking, and my mouth goes dry. I’ve never seen one before, never touched one, never—

“Changed your mind?” His hand wraps around himself and strokes. “Scared?”

“I’m not scared of you.”

“Then prove it.” He steps closer. “Suck it.”