4: YOUR HATEFUL CUNT

GRACE’S POV

The bass from the frat house was a physical thing, pounding against my ribs like a second, shittier heartbeat.

I fucking hated Halloween. Hated the cheap costumes, the sticky floors, the whole performative chaos.

But my roommate had begged, and I was a sucker.

So here I was, “Little Red Riding Hood,” a fucking cliché in a too-short red velvet cloak, trying to get to the bathroom without some drunk asshole spilling his jungle juice on me.

And then I saw him.

Gideon.

Of course. The universe’s personal fuck you to Grace Miller.

He was leaning against the wall, a plastic cup in his hand, dressed as some kind of wolf. No shirt, just a fake fur vest open over his stupidly ripped torso, and a mask pushed up on his forehead.

It was tacky as hell, but on him, with those dark, predatory eyes and that permanent smirk, it worked. It worked way too well.

Our eyes met across the sweaty, gyrating crowd. A jolt, like touching a live wire, shot straight down my spine and settled deep in my core.

Fuck. No.

I tried to look away, to disappear into the mass of bodies, but it was too late. He was already moving, cutting through the crowd with a lazy, arrogant grace that made my teeth ache.

“Well, well. Look what the big bad wolf found.” His voice was a low growl that vibrated right through me.

He stepped in front of me, blocking my path, his body so close I could smell the whiskey on his breath and the clean, male scent of his skin underneath.

My traitorous pussy clenched.

“Get out of my way, Gideon,” I snapped, trying to sound like I wasn’t two seconds from either slapping him or climbing him like a tree.

“Or what, Red? You’ll huff and you’ll puff?” He leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. “We both know you’re all bark. That tight little cunt of yours, though… I bet that’s a different story.”

My face flamed. “You’re disgusting.”

“And you’re a liar.” His hand shot out, his fingers wrapping around my wrist. His grip was like iron. “You’ve been staring daggers at me all year in Poli-Sci, but your eyes… fuck, Grace. They scream. You look at me like you want to stab me and ride me all at once.”

“I just want to stab you,” I hissed, trying to pull away. His thumb stroked the frantic pulse in my wrist.

Suddenly, the fire alarm blared, a deafening shriek that sent the party into instant, screaming chaos.

People surged for the exits, a tidal wave of panic. In the confusion, Gideon didn’t let go. He yanked me, not towards the door, but down a dark, narrow hallway I hadn’t even noticed.

“Let me go, you psycho!”

“Shut up,” he growled, shoving open a door and pulling me into a pitch-black room. The door slammed shut, muting the chaos to a dull roar.

The lock clicked. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird.

I could barely see him, just the faint outline of his shoulders in the sliver of light under the door. The air was thick with the smell of bleach and mops.

A janitor’s closet. Perfect.

“What the hell is this, Gideon? Your idea of a romantic getaway?”

He moved so fast I didn’t have time to react. His body caged me against the wall, his hands slamming on either side of my head. I could feel the heat radiating off him.

“You’ve been driving me insane for months,” he snarled, his voice raw. “That fucking sassy mouth. The way you roll your eyes when I talk. That righteous little attitude. I’m so hard for you it’s a physical pain, Grace.”

“That sounds like a you problem,” I breathed, my body trembling. Fear. Anger. And a sick, twisting thrill.

“It’s about to be an us problem.” One of his hands dropped from the wall and fisted in the velvet of my cloak, right between my breasts. “You want to hate me? Fine. Hate me. But you’re going to come on my cock while you do it.”

And then his mouth crashed down on mine.

It was a hungry, devouring kiss. His tongue forced its way past my lips, demanding, claiming. I bit down. Hard. I tasted blood.

He just groaned, the sound dark and feral, and kissed me deeper, his hand releasing my cloak to fist in my hair, tilting my head back.

I was fighting him, my hands pushing against his chest, but my body was betraying me, melting into his, a low moan tearing from my throat.

“That’s it,” he rasped against my mouth, his other hand sliding down my body, under my dress, over my thigh. “Fight me. It just makes me harder.”

His fingers hooked into the side of my panties and ripped them. The sound of tearing lace was obscenely loud.

“You bastard,” I gasped.

“You love it.” His fingers found my pussy, sliding through my wetness. I cried out, my head falling back against the wall. “Fuck, you’re soaked. Dripping for me. All that hate… and your cunt is begging for it.”

He drove two fingers inside me, rough and deep. I screamed, the pleasure so sharp it was almost pain. My nails dug into his shoulders, drawing blood.

“You like that, huh?” he grunted, his fingers curling, hitting a spot that made me see the heavens. “You like being fucked in a closet by the guy you pretend to hate?”

“Yes!” The word was torn from me, a raw, honest confession. All the tension, the months of angry, heated glances, exploded. “God, yes, Gideon!”

He pulled his fingers out, slick with my come, and shoved them in my mouth. “Taste.”

I sucked his fingers clean, my eyes locked on his in the dark, the metallic taste of my own arousal making me even wilder.

He spun me around, pressing my front against the cold wall.

I heard the rip of a condom wrapper—thank god he wasn’t a complete animal—and then the blunt, thick head of his cock was pressing against my entrance.

“This is what you wanted,” he whispered, his mouth on my neck, his teeth scraping my skin. “This is what all that attitude was for.”

And he slammed into me.

I screamed as he filled me, stretching me to the absolute limit. It was too much, he was too big, and it was fucking perfect.

He didn't wait for me to adjust. He just started fucking me, hard and deep, his hips pounding against my ass, the sound of our skin slapping together echoing in the tiny room.

“Whose cunt is this?” he demanded, his hand tangling in my hair again.

“Yours!” I sobbed, my orgasm already coiling tight in my belly.

“Louder.”

“IT’S YOURS, GIDEON! YOUR FUCKING CUNT!”

He growled, a sound of pure male triumph, and his hand snaked around my hip, his thumb finding my clit.

He rubbed rough, frantic circles and that was all it took. My body shattered. I came with a wanton scream, my pussy clamping down on his cock in violent, pulsing waves, my vision whiting out.

He fucked me through it, his rhythm becoming erratic, and then he buried himself deep with a guttural roar, his own release shuddering through him.

For a long moment, the only sound was our ragged breathing, mingling in the dark. He was still inside me, his weight heavy and warm against my back.

Slowly, he pulled out. I felt empty. Aftershocks trembled through my legs. He turned me around, his hands surprisingly gentle on my hips.

He looked down at me, his expression unreadable in the gloom.

He didn’t say a word. He just leaned in and kissed me. And this time, it wasn’t a punishment. It was slow. Deep. Possessive. A kiss that felt like the start of a very, very dirty war.

When he pulled away, he rested his forehead against mine.

“The party’s probably cleared out,” he murmured, his voice hoarse.

“Yeah,” I breathed.

A slow, wicked smirk spread across his face, one I could just barely see.

“My place is five minutes away,” he said. “I’ve got ropes under my bed. And I’m not nearly done with you yet.”

A fresh wave of pure, liquid heat flooded my core. The fight was gone. All that was left was raw, untamed need.

I smiled back, just as wicked. “Then what the fuck are we still doing in this closet?”