“Most days…” he breathes out painfully. I know he’s not lying, and yet, it makes me want him more.
“You’re adorable,” I add as my grip tightens across the muscle in his neck. “And, unfortunately for you, it only makes me want this more.”
“Wan–” His words are cut off by my hungry mouth, slamming against his.
I’m ready to devour him. I’m not gentle, not one bit. His hand moves to my throat, closing around it harshly as my tongue swipes along the seam of his lips, demanding access he tries to deny. His hand tightens its grip before he eventually surrenders with a part of his lips. It’s a collision of hate and need when he kisses me back. Our tongues gently glide against each other, dancing in unison as if we could erase the rot that surrounds us with this passion.
Zayden fists my shirt, pulling me into him, as I deepen the kiss. My body molds against his, and for a moment, he clings to me like I’m the only thing keeping him tethered to the floor. My hand falls to his waist, rubbing the evidence of our shared arousal against each other. I want to fill him. I want to do this with no clothes on.
But I know this is a rare event, a moment of weakness that will result in a fist to my face. And yet, I welcome it. Because even when he hits me, it means he feels something. Zayden’s breath is ragged against my lips when we finally pull away to breathe. I’m a little taller, so when I look down at his eyes, there’s a flicker of something dangerous. Something I’m addicted to seeing. Want, rage, and shame.
All of it. All at once.
I press harder against him, groaning as our cocks rub against each other. Hating the fabric that separates us, our hips grinding, the friction fucking unbearable. Zayden’s body betrays him beautifully, while mine begs for more. Small sparks of electricity flow through me, heat pooling deep in my core. The familiar feeling of the edge closing in has me moving frantically,grinding my cock into him while kissing and biting his lips. I’m about to fucking cum, and I wonder if he’s close too. My fingers hook around his belt loops as he matches my movements.
“Fuck, Ruas, I think…”
I cum even before the word leaves my lips, and by the groan that escapes his mouth, I know he did too. And just like that, the safety bubble that wrapped around us pops. As expected, his hand shoves me away before his fist collides with my face.
“Stay the fuck away from me,” he snarls just as the door slams open.
We both freeze, my eyes darting to the wet spot in his black uniform pants that glistens with his cum. Zayden storms out of the room, not bothering to fully fix his clothes, before stepping out into the cold with a ball in hand.
Elijah grins, but doesn’t speak. He only stares. “You know some chick was hanging outside the door?”
My heart stutters, and my eyes go wide at his words. It’s one thing if the boys found us like this; they are part of Velarium. Unfortunately, they’ve seen my cock in Zayden’s mouth more times than I can count. That isn’t the issue here; I could fuck Zayden in front of Elijah, and he wouldn’t bat an eye. But to the outside world, Thiago Safra is a playboy—one with a life perfectly laid out for him. Wife and kids. I smile for the cameras and can charm my way into any girl's bed.
Yet all I want is for that broody asshole to let me in.
“Do you know who it was?” I ask, my voice tight.
Elijah shrugs. “Nah. She’s not one of the usual girls who hang around.”
That small piece of information is useful, but not helpful at all. I need to find out who was lurking around and why. “Can you at least tell me what she looks like?”
He scratches his chin and lazily replies. “I don’t know, long black hair looks like a goth Barbie.” And based on hisdescription, I know exactly who it is. The only question now is why? I fix my disheveled clothes and shove my hands into my pockets. My gaze roams over Elijah, who seems nervous but is trying to hide it. I don’t ask, and maybe I should. But I don’t. I only pat his shoulder on my way out and stalk to the fields where I know Zayden will be.
The air is cold and thick with tension that he tries to play off. Zayden runs down the fields, uniform clinging to him, damp from sweat, with the ball between his feet. His movements are swift while he tries to outrun the inevitable. He doesn’t wear any cleats, and neither do I. This is as even as we ever get.
I jog onto the pitch, flanking him on the right. He doesn’t look at me. So, I steal the ball. Right before he’s about to kick it, he growls and chases me down. Our bodies collide, elbows and knees rubbing against each other, as our feet fight for control. It’s not soccer—it’s war. And I love every second of it.
1. my little lion
Chapter Sixteen
Zayden
With the Valentine’s Charity event, The Feast of Gods, only a day away, it’s been nonstop prep. The annual auction—where students volunteer to be bought for a date—all under the guise of doing something great, is one of the greatest fundraisers of the year. Ironically, donating the funds to survivors of sexual assaults and underprivileged families. The finest decorations mask the greatest human trafficking ring right before their eyes.
The volunteers move like clockwork—stringing lights, wrapping vines, adjusting the fake clouds that hover above the stage. Gold drapes, marble columns, and clouds of vanilla-scented fog fill the gym, as if Olympus itself has descended on Villalargos. Everyone pretends it’s for a good cause, about love and generosity. Those of us who know better know this about power. It’s about who owns whom when the bidding starts. It’s supposedly consensual, but that word loses meaning when even participation isn’t a choice. When you’re forced to stand under the lights, displayed like cattle, and given a price, you learnquickly how little agency you actually possess. I wipe the sweat from my forehead and glance around the gym.
The soft melody coming from the piano as Thiago practices his solo has my nerves settling. It’s not much… My phone buzzes inside my pocket, and I pull it free and look down at the screen. A text message from an unsaved number is front and center.
Greyson:
You around tonight? Let’s go for a ride and finish what we started. ??
I stare at the message for a second, conflicted on what to say. I know exactly who it’s from. Greyson. For a moment, I consider ignoring the message. I don’t care for him, but information is always valuable. After going back and forth, I finally type out a reply.