Chapter 2: Shame 

ARIA’s POV

My body was on fire. My lips were swollen, throbbing from the brutality of his kiss. Every place he'd touched—my waist, my ass, my throat—burned like he'd branded me with his hands. The towel hung loose around me, barely covering anything, and I could still feel the ghost of his grip on my skin.

What is wrong with me?

I pressed my hands against my flushed cheeks, trying to calm down. But the ache between my legs only grew stronger, pulsing in time with my racing heartbeat. This wasn't normal. I'd never felt anything like this before—this desperate, clawing need that made me want to chase after him and beg him to finish what he'd started.

Reed had kissed me like he owned me, like he couldn't help himself. Then he'd looked at me with such disgust, called me a whore, told me I didn't belong here. The contradiction should have cooled my desire. Instead, it made me burn hotter.

No. Stop it.

I couldn't let this happen. I'd just gotten here. This was all wrong.

He was still standing there, breathing hard, his eyes raking over my barely-covered body one more time. That look—hungry and hateful all at once—sent another wave of heat through me. When he took a step forward again, his mouth claiming mine with that desperate hunger, something inside me snapped.

I shoved him hard and my hand flew across his face.

The slap echoed in the quiet room.

Reed's head jerked to the side, but when he looked back at me, there was no apology in his eyes. Only dark amusement and something else—something that looked almost like satisfaction.

"Pathetic," he said, his voice cold. He reached up to touch his reddening cheek, his lips curving into a cruel smile. "Can't even commit to what you want."

Then he walked out, slamming the door behind him.

I stood there, trembling, my towel barely clinging to my body. The ache inside me hadn't gone away. If anything, it was worse now—a deep, insistent throb that made my knees weak.

Why am I still so aroused?

Heat waves rolled through me, making my thighs clench together. My pussy was slick, swollen, practically weeping with need. This felt like the heat I'd read about—the overwhelming, animalistic need that female wolves experienced. But that was impossible.

I don't have a wolf. I'm useless, remember?

My hands shook as I locked the door. I couldn't think straight. The throbbing between my legs demanded attention, and I hated myself for it. Hated that he'd reduced me to this—desperate and aching for someone who despised me.

I'd done this before, late at night when loneliness crept in. But this was different. This was desperate, urgent, almost painful. Like my body would combust if I didn't find release.

I collapsed onto the bed, the towel falling away completely. My hand slid down my stomach, fingers trembling as they found the small vibrator I'd hidden in my suitcase—the one thing I'd been too embarrassed to unpack in front of Mom.

Just this once. Just to make it stop.

The cool air on my bare skin made my nipples peak into hard, sensitive points. I touched one, rolling it between my fingers, and gasped at how tender it was. Everything felt more intense, more raw.

I brought the vibrator between my legs and the first touch against my clit made me arch off the bed.

Oh, fuck.

The pleasure was instant, electric, a bright shock that made my toes curl and my thighs tremble. I bit my lip hard, trying to stay quiet. The walls here were probably thick, but what if someone heard? What if he heard?

The thought sent a shameful thrill straight to my core, made me wetter. I imagined Reed standing outside my door, listening to every gasp, every whimper. Knowing exactly what I was doing. Knowing it was because of him.

I pressed the vibrator harder, circling my swollen clit with a frantic rhythm. My other hand cupped my breast, pinching my nipple roughly—the way I imagined he would. Not gentle. Never gentle.

Reed's face filled my mind. Those dark, cruel eyes. The way he'd gripped my throat, not squeezing but owning. The bruising hold on my ass, fingers digging in like he wanted to leave marks. His voice, rough and hateful: "You want this. Want me."

Yes. God, yes.

I slid the vibrator lower, teasing my entrance. I was so wet it slipped inside easily, and I moaned into my pillow at the stretch. It wasn't enough. Not nearly enough. I wanted something bigger, thicker. I wanted him, splitting me open, making me take every brutal inch while he called me pathetic and worthless and—

My hips bucked frantically, fucking myself with the toy while my thumb worked my clit. The dual sensation was overwhelming. My free hand clawed at the sheets, then moved back to my breast, pinching and twisting my nipple until it bordered on pain.

"You look like a whore," his voice echoed in my memory.

The degradation shouldn't turn me on. It shouldn't make my pussy clench around the vibrator, shouldn't make more wetness flood between my thighs. But it did. God help me, it did.

I imagined him watching me right now. Standing at the foot of my bed with that cruel smirk, arms crossed, eyes dark with lust he refused to act on. Watching me fall apart, desperate for him. Maybe he'd finally snap, crawl over me, shove my hands away and replace the toy with his cock—

The orgasm hit me like a lightning strike.

I bit down hard on the pillow to muffle my cry as my whole body convulsed. Wave after wave of pleasure crashed through me, my pussy clamping down on the vibrator, my clit pulsing under my fingers. It was intense, overwhelming, white-hot.

But when it faded, the ache was still there. Dulled, but not gone.

I lay there panting, sweaty and trembling, staring at the ceiling. The vibrator slipped out of me, slick with my arousal. I felt empty. Hollow. Used up.

What have I become?

The shame crashed over me then, heavy and suffocating. I'd just masturbated thinking about someone who hated me. Someone who'd called me pathetic and told me I didn't belong. And not only had I gotten off on it—I'd gotten off on the cruelty itself.

I curled onto my side, pulling the sheets over my naked body. My skin still burned. Between my legs, that persistent ache hummed quietly, waiting.

This wasn't over. Whatever was happening to my body, one orgasm hadn't fixed it. If anything, it had made the hunger worse—shown me a glimpse of satisfaction only to snatch it away.

Morning came too soon. I'd barely slept, my body still humming with that strange, persistent need. Every time I'd drifted off, feverish dreams woke me—hands on my skin, lips on my throat, bodies pressing me into the mattress. I'd woken three times slick with sweat and arousal, my hand between my legs before I was fully conscious.

I got dressed carefully—jeans and an oversized hoodie that hid everything. Maybe if I made myself invisible, they'd leave me alone.

The smell of breakfast drew me downstairs. Voices drifted from the dining room, and I hesitated at the doorway.

All four Steel brothers sat at the table with Marcus and Mom. The moment I appeared, their heads turned.

Cole's eyes narrowed. Jasper smirked. Reed stared at me with an expression I couldn't read. Kai's dark gaze followed my every movement.

"Aria, come sit down," Mom called cheerfully.

I can't do this.

The weight of their hostile stares pinned me in place. My chest tightened, making it hard to breathe.

"I'm not hungry," I mumbled, backing away. "I'll just grab something later."

I practically ran outside, my heart pounding, desperate to escape their stares. The cool morning air hit my flushed face, but it did nothing to calm the heat still simmering under my skin.

"Need a ride?"