Page 85 of Forged By Shadows
Grabbing my chin, Wyatt drags my head down. I struggle against him, shoving at his shoulders but he doesn’t budge. He drags my leotard aside and pushes one long finger inside of me. On my gasp, his tongue enters my mouth. I thrash against him, but it only serves to increase his pace. The hand on my ribs lowers to my waist, pinning me with brute strength.
“Fight me all you want. You need this.” Wyatt holds my cheek still with his. My hands are clutching the shirt at his shoulders, but I’m not fighting hard enough. We both know it. I want deniability, while doing nothing to actually deny the desire building within. Wyatt’s mouth is at my ear, his hushed words barely audible between my stifled moans. “You’ve been begging me with your eyes. Every time I’ve let myself slip, you’ve been just as curious and eager.” A second finger pushes inside of my cunt and I clench. “Just as wet and tight as I imagined.”
So he has been thinking about me. His knee nudges mine wider.
“Oh, Avery.” I swallow hard then. My name lustfully muttered in his voice is my undoing. “Tell me this is good for you. Tell me I’m being so good for you.” My eyes snap open. Wyatt - good for me? After everything he’s said and done, he wants a clean slate. He wants me to admit I forgive him, before he turns around and throws this in my face too.
“No,” I grind out. Pushing his arm hard, his fingers fall free while I grab his crotch through his slacks. He’s painfully hard beneath my palm, gasping at my touch. Using the grip, I shoulder Wyatt aside and twist us both, using my free hand to slam his shoulder into the wall. He lets me, his green eyes hooded and cheeks flushed.
“You don’t get to do that to me.” Unbuckling his belt with sharp movements, I leave it hanging and unbutton his slacks. Tugging them to his thighs, his cock springs free. A trickle of defiance and a fuckload of foreboding hits me. He’s so thick, beautifully veined and circumcised. His head is plump and purple. My thighs clench, wetness seeping through my lycra. He just stands there, unmoving, not even breathing. I set my jaw and look up at him with malice.
“You don’t get to be an asshole,” I grab his shaft as tightly as I can.
“You don’t get to be jealous,” I pump him in angry jerks.
“You don’t get to finger fuck me.” Grabbing his tie, I wrap it around my fist and yank him into me. We’ve been here before, at the Fall Ball, but this time - I’m in charge. I still my movements, glaring into his dazed green eyes.
“You don’t get to be praised.” I use the fisted tie to shove him back into the wall whilst dragging my other hand up and down his cock. Not once do I release my tightened grip. I want him to hurt. I want him to remember this pain the next time he thinks to insult me. I want him to see how much hatred I hold inside, what his hot-and-cold routine does to me.
Beneath my hold, Wyatt slumps. He’s quivering, the collar at his neck pinched. Small, rushed pants cause his cheeks to hollow, the mess of dark hair on his head soon becoming damp with sweat. His hands are pressed against the wall, letting me use his body in any way I see fit. Is this the punishment he was seeking? My thrusts are slickened by his precum, the friction beginning to burn my hand.
“Get on the sofa,” he grinds out, daring to grab my hip. “Bend over the arm and let me show you just how much I don’t deserve your praise.” I jerk him sharply, snapping my hand free of his shaft and grab his balls. I squeeze tightly enough to draw a quick gasp from his parted lips.
“You’ve taken enough.” My voice is laced with anger. “You don’t get any more of me.” Wyatt’s thighs tense, his balls tight. Releasing his tie, my nails drag over his buttoned shirt, feeling the shift of muscle underneath.
I time it perfectly, dropping to my knees and deepthroating his cock. My jaw clicks, the smoothness surprising. A salty blend mixes with the pleasure of hearing his startled cry. He hardens impossibly more, a choked sound preceding the cum bursting into my throat. I swallow every drop. Then I bite down. All teeth and barely any tongue, I scrape the length of Wyatt’s shaft, up and down, on and on. He shudders, gasping in pain and jerking against me. His hands lightly touch my head, a faint plea for me to release him. It’s at odds with the way his dick is jumping for more.
Finally, I suck down his swollen length and release him with a pop. Sitting back on my heels, I watch Wyatt assess the damage, handing his reddened dick with careful fingers.
“Bitch.” Returning to my full height, I plaster a smirk on my face and tilt my head. His green glare is back in full force, but the tension isn’t the same. We’re thinking the exact same thing. I hate you so fucking much. When can we do this again?
Thumping sounds on my door, a call for the end of the intermission. All dancers need to be back on stage in five minutes. I stand aside, gesturing to the exit.
“Congratulations, Wyatt. You’ve had my fucking attention.” He carefully tucks himself away, not in any rush to leave. Righting his hair and suit, Wyatt steps forward, stopping when his bicep brushes my chest. The air is thick with lust but I hold my ground, until Wyatt turns and grabs my pussy roughly beneath my tutu.
“It’s cute you think you’ve won, when you’re the one who’s left soaking wet and unsatisfied.” There’s no use denying it. He can feel my heat. But if there’s one thing I’ve learnt from Wyatt, its’s to always have the last word.
“Your men are in the hallway waiting to deal with that.” His expression hardens.
“Of all the things, I never thought of you as a slut until-” The words have barely left his mouth as my open palm cracks across his cheek. Wyatt’s head whips aside, his chest heaving evenly. I’ve either pissed him off or turned him on further, and I can’t tell which one it is. A shudder rolls through his spine and he strides away, leaving the door wide open. Just as I expected, there’s a pair of suits leaning against the opposite wall of the hallway. I’m not an idiot, I knew there was a reason Wyatt wasn’t dragged out of here the second he closed us in together. And that reason is currently shedding his jacket and rolling up his sleeves.
“Four minutes isn’t long, Peach, but I do love a challenge.” Garrett strides in, making a show of checking his watch. Lifting me into his arms, my legs automatically lock around his back. Axel remains back, closing the door behind him, watching through hooded eyes. Dropping me onto the vanity, I grin at Garrett licking his lips.
“I give you two and half.”
Chapter Fifty Seven
Despite the interval intrusion, I finish my showcase with an overwhelming sense of accomplishment. Wyatt doesn’t return for act two, thankfully. Although, his scowl in the forefront of my mind fueled the fire to dance like I never have before. I danced in spite of him, committing to Nikko’s lifts and holds with renewed vigor. Dancing is a relief, my escape, but the applause. The compliments. The offers that came streaming in from agents and professional dance schools. My chest fights against the weight of it, my head dizzy and my limbs tired yet buzzing with energy.
Could I do this for the rest of my life? End each night on a stage, bowing low with poised feet until the curtain falls. It’s not a possibility I’ve considered, but I haven’t had my own band of muscular cheerleaders to spur me on before. Six-foot tall, brazen cheerleaders who are parading me through campus like the most important person in their world.
Garrett has me up on his shoulder, Axel’s hand banded around my ankle while he shoulders my bag. They refuse to let me walk, stating that my ballet-slippered feet are too precious to touch the ground. Dax returned at some point during the show’s finale, and now he’s trailing us beneath the streetlights, pretending he isn’t tense. I haven’t had the chance to ask where he went, and selfishly, I don’t want to. Not tonight. Not while I’m riding this high. I deserve to enjoy it.
“Did you see my girl tonight?” Garrett is boasting to anyone nearby. Phones are raised, capturing photos which they’ll no doubt try to sell to the press. I don’t let it dampen the smile spread across my face as my butt jostles on Garrett’s shoulder. “Did you see her?! She’s incredible!”
“Are you finally claiming me then, Garrett?” I muse in a voice only meant for him. Peering up with glistening brown eyes, there’s an earnest tilt to his smirk.
“Oh, Peach. It was never really a question of me claiming you, was it?” I stroke my fingers through his messy, dark hair. The flash of vulnerability is gone in a blink and I settle further into his hold, his hands on my thighs and long strides gently jostling.
