DAX
AGE 19

I'M STILL BLOODY AND BRUISED FROM THE FIGHT. But I barely feel the pain. All I feel is her. Anguish darkens blue-violet eyes. I suspect Cleo only brought me here to ease her guilt. I wait for the I'm so sorry and the I never meant to hurt you to come.

To my surprise, she says nothing. Cleo simply stares back in resigned silence. There's not a shadow of denial, no bullshit, etched on her lovely features, just a bleak look of acceptance. It triggers something in me.

Why isn't she playing the victim card?

I want to see the fake tears. I want to hear a sob story. Her lies will give me something to anchor my hatred. A needle-like vice clenches my chest. Fucking hell. I don't understand why hurting her hurts me, too.

I'm a mess.

Even as pain writhes with every beat of my heart, my cock has grown harder than steel. I must be a goddamn masochist. There's no other explanation. After everything she put me through, I can't believe I'm here again with Cleo.

Back in her room.

On her bed.

As I glare down at her sinfully sweet face, I'm not sure whom I hate more right now.

Cleo?

Or myself.

Her eyes are wide, shining with emotion. Like she's holding back tears. Both hands remain locked over her head. She's pretending to be a good girl. My good fucking girl. I know better. Cleo Fitzgerald is the spawn of Satan, and she has no right to look this fuckable. No right to look so broken. I shouldn't feel sorry for her.

I should save that sympathy for myself. With the two drops of blood left in my brain, self-preservation argues with my dick. If you fuck her, it'll only fuck you up even more. But I can't seem to walk away. A twisted part of me wants to stay. I want to destroy Cleo tonight. To remind her of everything she could've had with me. Instead of him. I want her desperate, crying and begging as I rail her to the point of no return. Maybe then I'll be able to move on.

Maybe then I can forget her.

There's only one thing stopping me from carrying out this petty-ass plan for revenge, and it has everything to do with the raging boner between my legs. I still want Cleo, damn it. All it took was five seconds of fondling her perfect tits and pretty pink cunt—and I'm a goner. My dick has no shame. He's throbbing now, so painfully thick that I might die if I can't have more of her.

Fuck me.

I'm the desperate one here. I still hate being touched, but not with Cleo. I always want Cleo. My hunger has only grown. Violence used to be my oxygen. Now it's her. No matter how many breaths I suck in, it's never enough. The need for more, more, more keeps tightening around my throat like a goddamn chokehold.

Desire is a terrible thing.

Relentless.

Suffocating.

My knees sink into the mattress as my soul sinks into a pit of self-loathing. Scowling, I position myself until Cleo's entire body is caged beneath mine. Up close, she looks even smaller. Much too thin. Almost frail. An unwanted surge of worry rises in me.

Why isn't Travis taking better care of his woman?

If Cleo was my girl, I'd make damn sure that she eats more than a few pieces of kale for din—

I stop in mid-thought as I catch myself.

Shut the fuck up, I repeat in my head, she's not yours to worry about.

"Hey..."

"Yeah?" I grunt.

"Everything okay? You seem... distracted."

She caught me.

My gaze narrows sharply. Cleo looks worried again. About me. Fuck that shit. I can't stand the concern in her eyes. It looks too real. Too genuine. A hollow pang hits my chest, reminding me that she never wanted me the way I wanted her.

"Since when did you care about how I feel?"

Breath catches in her throat. "I-I always cared."

I let out a harsh laugh to show my derision.

Cleo coughs. "Anyway, I thought you might like to know..."

"What?"

"I'm on the pill."

Caught off guard by her confession, I blink several times.

"And I'm clean."

Which means Travis is clean, a shitty little voice whispers inside my head. Jealousy rears its ugly head.

"Awesome," I mutter bitterly, wanting to kick myself for letting the bastard get under my skin.

She eyes me warily and asks, "What about you?"

Her lips stretches into a tight, thin line. I recognize this look on her. Cleo often wore this exact expression whenever something was bothering her. I bet Cleo is dying to ask if I've been fucking other girls. But she keeps her mouth shut. Bitch is smart enough to know she has no right to ask me anything.

With a guarded expression, I answer, "I'm clean, too."

Through hooded eyes, she continues in soft, low tones, "I guess this means anything goes tonight."

My breath shorts as understanding settles in.

The meaning behind Cleo's words hits like Christmas morning, and this invitation to fuck her bareback goes straight to my dick. My hardness nearly punches through my jeans. At this point, I want her so bad that it hurts. With a groan, I unzip myself.

When my achingly solid shaft pops out, I feel pissed off all over again. "I hate you so much."

Eyes wide, her gaze drifts down. "Then why are you hard?"

"Fuck you."

Mischief lights up her face. In response, Cleo spreads her thighs a little more, knowing full well the effect she has on me. Keeping her eyes on me the whole fucking time, she sinks her teeth into the lush fullness of her lower lip as she begs, "Please."

Little brat.

I can no longer pay attention to what she's saying. My greedy gaze is too busy drinking her in from head to toe. Every wicked curve on her body is shaped like temptation. Every naughty dip begs to be worshipped. Her skin is soft and smooth everywhere. Except for her face. Those cuts and bruises are no fucking joke. They look almost real. I scowl against my will. I hate seeing her this way. Even when I know the injuries are nothing more than Halloween makeup.

My fingers itch to relearn and retrace every inch of her. Cleo's breaths quicken under my scrutiny. Our eyes lock, blue on blue, and, for a moment, I'm lost.

I forget that Cleo Fitzgerald is the unforgivable bitch who cracked my heart in two.

I forget all the reasons why I should stay away from her.

Right now, I only want to touch her, and I want her to touch me. There was always a line between us that wasn't meant to be crossed. She was Brookes Fitzgerald's little sister. She was Travis Reynold's girlfriend. She was forbidden. Off-limits. It drove me crazy. It's still driving me crazy. I want to ram through this barrier over and over again. Just like the first time, years ago, when we crashed through it together.

***

Brookes' birthday is tomorrow. We're celebrating at his place.

Tonight.

Instead of cake and presents, however, Brookes wants to get high and play drinking games until we all pass out. Works for me. Right as we round up enough shitheads for beer pong, however, a voice distracts me. I hear Savannah Larson shout something down the hallway, "We should totally play Seven Minutes in Heaven!"

Seven Minutes in... Heaven?

From the corner of my eye, I see Savannah dragging someone away. I catch a glimpse of unmistakable lavender hair.

Fuck.

It's Cleo.

Alarm rises in me.

"Hold on," I grumble to Brookes. "Be right back."

"The hell, Dax!" Birthday Boy groans. "We were about to start!"

I ignore him and stalk toward Savannah and Cleo. I know it's none of my fucking business. Cleo isn't my girl. We're not dating. We've only been talking in class. Hanging out at her house. Getting high and listening to music together at parties. It's no biggie. Nothing serious. But the thought of Cleo making out with some handsy asshole in a small, dark closet doesn't sit right with me.

I charge into the living room like a man on a mission. Cleo's mouth forms a surprised O when she sees me. Our gazes touch. My heart gives a funny, little flip. Then, I turn away from her to do a quick sweep of the room. There are four guys and four girls. Pretty sure they're all single. One of the girls is bi.

The odds aren't in my favor.

"Oh, hey, Dax," Xander Ramirez exclaims, "you here to play?"

I look over to Cleo again, capturing her gaze when I answer, "Count me in."

***

"This sweet little hole," I groan as I slide two fingers, knuckle-deep, inside her, "is the only thing I missed about you."

A trace of hurt flashes over Cleo's pretty features but defiance lifts her chin when she glares back. "That's because I'm the best you'll ever get."

I feel a ridiculous urge to laugh and cry at the same time because she's probably right, and I resent her for it. I hide my displeasure behind a smirk. "My dick and I have been doing fine without you."

My hand drifts between her legs. Cleo moans softly in anticipation, "Don't be a prick."

I trace her crease with my fingertip. Slowly. Up. Down. Over and over again. Soon, her wetness kisses my skin. I pump into her once. Twice. "This is me being nice."

"You're right. It does feel nice." She squirms to get closer. "Don't you dare stop. Keep going. Please."

At this point, I'm ready to beg her to let me keep going. Cleo feels fucking slick, tighter and hotter than I remembered, but nowhere near wet enough for how hard I want to take her tonight.

With renewed determination, I start finger-fucking her from a different angle, purposely rubbing against the ridges along the upper walls that always drove her crazy. I curl my fingers—just so—teasing, tormenting, and playing until Cleo is a moaning, writhing mess. Her eyelids flutter shut in bliss. I don't stop. I continue pushing her to the very edge. Right as she's about to come, a stroke of evil genius hits me. I dip down to suck on her clit, way too fucking hard, and wrench her climax back down to earth. Cleo's entire body jerks in response. She gasps under her breath, "The fuck! You son of a bitch."

Cleo scowls and tries to reach for my cock. Immediately, I pull away and remind her in harsh tones, "No. Touching."

She grits her teeth, grumbling, "You and your stupid rules."

But Cleo puts her hands back where they belong. I praise her, soft and low, "Good girl."

That's one thing I still appreciate about her, I guess. Cleo understands how much I need to be in control. Especially when it comes to touching and being touched. She's the only one I ever told. The only one who knows about what happened to me in Mr. and Mrs. Krause's house.

"Dax?"

"Yeah?"

She smiles faintly. "What will it take?"

"The hell are you talking about?"

"For you to stop hating me. I wanna know. What will it take?"

I roll my eyes. "Hell will freeze over first."

Her smile fades. "What if everything you believe about me is a lie?"

I snort. "Everything I believed about you was a lie."

My younger self once believed Cleo to be a misunderstood outcast with a heart worth fighting for. An angel with demons as dark as mine. I never expected my angel to fuck me over.

She hesitates. "There's something I should've told you a long time ago."

I frown. "What?"

"That night. At the party. I-I never slept with Tr—"

A bright red flag flutters before my eyes. My hands ball into fists.

"Stop," I cut her off in strained tones.

Is Cleo trying to tell me that she didn't cheat on me?

My mind races back. To the past. I recall day I asked her point-blank. Did you fuck him last night?

Technically, she never confessed to anything. I simply took her silence as an admission of guilt.

Shit.

This changes everything.

Or does it?

I don't know.

What if she's lying?

Self-preservation screams. Whether or not Cleo fucked Travis while she was fucking me doesn't matter anymore!

God, I don't know what to think or what to feel. She's cruel to bring this up. It's too little too late. Cleo already broke me a year ago. She could've told me this shit sooner. She had plenty of time to fix us. What's done is done, and I'll lose my shit all over again if Cleo hands me even a shred of hope.

"I don't want to hear it."

"But—"

The heartbreak on her face chips away some of my resolve. Gruffly, I give her one last chance to make things right, "If we have this conversation, are you gonna leave him?"

Her beautiful face crumples with distress. Cleo's silence gives me the answer I need. It kills what little sympathy I felt for her. My moment of weakness comes to an end as I snarl, "That's what I thought."

She's trying to put a Band-Aid on a severed limb.

"Don't try to turn us into something we're not. All we ever had was sex," I tell her in a cold, detached voice. "You were a good fuck. Nothing more."

Cleo looks away from me and insists, "You know that's not true."

"All I know is that I was dumb enough to eat up your bullshit."

Her gaze finds mine again. "Sometimes people are forced to lie. Even when it's the last thing they wanna do."

"I never lied to you," I counter. "Even now, after everything you put me through, I wouldn't lie to you."

"I wish I could be more like you."

"Not possible. I have a heart, and you have a hole in your chest."

She laughs bitterly. "If that's what you think of me, there's no point for us to talk."

"Then shut up already. Everything you say keeps pissing me off."

"You piss me off more."

My thumb finds her clit. Dark, violent emotions churn through me, but I keep my touch light and gentle. I circle the nub, round and round and round, and wait for her to push up against me, seeking more friction and pressure. Nothing feels resolved between us. If anything, we just dumped more fuel on the fire and lit that shit up with a flamethrower. I hate her. I want her. I hate that I want her. My stupid cock has never been harder, and she's growing wetter, hotter, and slicker by the second. It doesn't take long for Cleo to begin panting and moaning all over again. My mouth waters at the sight of her glistening cunt.

Jesus.

It's been too long. I feel like an addict who needs a hit. I need a taste. I want her pussy on my tongue.

Right.

Fucking.

Now.

Easily, I scoop up her body in my arms. Cleo yelps in surprise when, without warning, I roll onto my back while flipping her on top. I hoist her up my chest until she's straddling my face with her legs. Shocked and intrigued, Cleo looks down at me with a question in her eyes. "Dax?"

"Ride me," I command hoarsely.

Her breath hitches when she realizes exactly what I intend to do. "I thought you hated me?"

I slide my arms under Cleo's thighs, pulling her honeyed cunt closer. I feel like a goddamn masochist when I reply, "I fucking despise you. But I'm still gonna make you come harder than he ever did."

***

I take a seat with the group. The smell of smoke and alcohol stains the air as we settle onto the leather sectionals. Savannah places an empty amber-colored beer bottle on the coffee table and squeals in a tipsy slur, "Ooh! Why don't you go first, Cle-o!"

With a grim expression, Cleo reaches over to give the bottle a good spin. I watch it rotate round and round in a blur.

Please, please, please, I beg silently, don't let it land on Xander.

Or Bradley or Parker or Jason or Lindsey or Raquel or Heather.

Or Savannah.

My hands curl into fists. It's hard as hell to stay calm. But I have to pretend like I give zero fucks in front of our friends. Cleo is Brookes' sister, and her boyfriend's in a coma. I can't claim her as mine.

The spinning bottle starts to slow.

It passes by Xander.

Then Raquel.

Then Parker.

Oh, shit.

It stopped on me.

With a conspiratorial, drunken chortle, Xander and Bradley grab both of us and shove Cleo and me into the nearest closet. Cleo doesn't even have a chance to protest. As the door slams shut behind us, I'm suddenly all too aware that I'm stuck in a small, dark space with Cleo. My cock gives an unruly twitch. Whether these next seven minutes will play out like heaven, or hell, has yet to be determined.

Just beyond the door, the party rages on a few feet away. Savannah's muffled voice hollers from the outside, "Have fun, you two! I promise I won't tell Brookes about what you're doing with his baby sister!"

"Fuck off," I curse back loudly, hiding my nerves behind a scowl of annoyance.

This isn't the first time I've been in such close proximity to Cleo. We almost kissed in her pool. I sit next to her in first hour every day. We mess around. Sometimes. I know what her tits feel like in the palm of my hands. She knows how I feel when her fingers are wrapped around my hard, throbbing dick. Our clothes always stay on, though. We never cross that line. We haven't even kissed.

This is the first time I've wanted to free-fall over the edge with her.

"Hey," I mutter anxiously.

Cleo smiles. "Hey, um, so..."

I prompt, "Yeah?"

"We don't have to do anything unless—"

"Unless what?"

"Unless you want to," she mumbles under her breath.

I want to do everything with her.

Cleo's standing so close that her boobs keep brushing against the front of my hoodie. It's impossible to concentrate on anything else. I make my move, reaching for her in the dark. Right as my hand closes around her wrist, Cleo takes a step back from me. She stumbles into a rack of coats and jackets. Her eyes grow wide as she flails toward the ground. "Oh, shit!"

My other arm shoots out to catch her before she falls. "Careful."

She gazes up at me, looking a bit sheepish. "Thanks."

Cleo tries to pull away, but I only tighten my hold around her waist.

She stills. "I thought you didn't like it when people stand too clos—"

I grumble, "It's fine."

Cleo watches me intently. "You sure?"

"I don't mind," I murmur, "when it's you."

She inhales sharply. "Then I'm not going anywhere."

"I thought you wanted to stay the hell away from me?"

My fingers dig into the flare of her hips when Cleo replies, "I... changed my mind."

"Since when?"

A sheepish chuckle falls from her lips. "Since you took over my fucking brain. I can't stop thinking about you, Dax."

"Really?" I mutter with wide, hopeful eyes.

She nods with a smirk. "Especially when I'm playing—"

"Playing?"

"With myself."

All the blood drops from my brain and shoots straight to my cock.

Depraved images flash across my mind. From the dark, bent core of my imagination, I can see her as clear as day. Beautiful blue-violet eyes are squeezed shut with pleasure as her hand dips between her thighs. A flush pinkens her cheeks. Cleo starts rubbing. Her movements are slow. Sensual. Two fingers disappear inside her cunt. But they don't slide all the way in. She's teasing her hole, tracing her slit, flicking her clit, until her pussy becomes a glistening wet mess.

My throat feels drier than the Sahara. "Fuck, Cleo."

She holds my gaze. "So... what should we do for the next seven minutes?"

Heat burns my ears when I reply, "Whatever you want."

"Whatever I want?"

My dick is already a rock. I jerk my chin down then up in a definitive nod.

An adoring smile lights up her gorgeous face. Cleo rests her hand on my chest. My heart starts thundering against her palm. Softly, she asks, "Is this okay?"

Yes.

Yes.

Yes.

I take in a deep breath and revel in her closeness. I breathe in her scent. Jasmine and honey. Cleo's hand drifts lower.

Lower.

Lower still.

She grazes the tent near the crotch of my jeans. Anticipation builds. My pulse quickens. So far so good. The moment Cleo's fingers come into contact with my hard-on, however, my pleasure dissipates. Seth's smirking face creeps out from the dark of my mind. Ugly memories of his hand slipping into my pants make me want to wretch. Every muscle in my body spasms, rejecting his touch from the core of my being.

I flinch like a little bitch. Cleo retracts her hand.

No, no, no!

Come back!

But my cock and my heart are at odds with my head.

Fuck!

I shove the godawful images away. I hate myself for freezing up in front of Cleo. I don't want to be this way. All I want is to kiss her everywhere and make her feel good.

Ashamed, I mumble, "Sorry."

She whispers back, "Don't be."

I feel like shit.

This isn't the first time I've freaked out around Cleo. She's an angel about it, though. She never asks stupid questions about why I react the way I do. Never makes me feel weird or fucked up. Even though I am weird and fucked up. Last time I freaked out, Cleo offered me one of her earbuds. Just like the first time we met in her guesthouse. We listened to her music, sitting right next to each other, not touching, until I felt sane again.

But I'm scared that her patience will run out one of these days, and I'll lose my shot with her for good.

With a thoughtful expression, she suggests, "What if..."

I glance over, waiting on bated breath for Cleo to continue.

"What if I keep my hands behind my back? You can touch me. If you want. But, for the next seven minutes, I won't move. I promise."

I blink in disbelief. I can't believe Cleo is willing to do this for me. "You serious?"

She nods shyly. "What do you think?"

With a hammering pulse, my imagination runs wild once again. The thought of Cleo, completely submissive and under my control, sears my veins. Right away, my cock finds his second life, growing stiff and solid again between my legs. A slow smile spreads across my face. "I think that's the hottest fucking thing anyone has ever said to me..."