Revenge at Raleigh High Page 13

  I forget to breathe as I watch him create his masterpiece. It dawns on me as he closes his eyes, straightening up, tilting his head back, the flow of the music darkening, lowering down into a frenzy of dark, bassy, frenetic notes, that this music is Alex. It describes every part of him so perfectly that I realize he isn’t just playing a song for me. He’s showing me who he is, sharing himself with me in the most intimate, moving, personal way he knows how.

  I set my guitar down, propping it up against the wall by the window, planning on closing my eyes so I can focus on nothing but the music. I can’t do it, though. Alex has to be seen like this. The tattoos on the backs of his hands shift as his fingers fly up and down the strings—a rose and a wolf, performing in concert, one asking a question and the other answering without skipping a single beat. His dark hair has fallen into his face once again, obscuring his features, but I catch the charcoal outline of his eyelashes against his cheeks, the tiny frown line between his brows, the white flash of his front teeth gouging into his bottom lip, and each individual feature makes my heart surge.

  He’s easily the hottest guy I have ever laid eyes on. No question of that. But like this, with a guitar in his hands, playing like he’s been possessed, he is more than just a man. He’s a force of nature, a storm trapped inside a glass bottle, raging and desperate to get out, and I can’t fucking look away.

  The music rises, rises, rises, more frantic with every second. Just like the other night in the guest bedroom, he has me by the throat and it feels like he’s squeezing. I press my legs together, my nipples throbbing painfully, unable to sit still. I’m so turned on by what I’m seeing, what I’m hearing, that I don’t actually think I can stand it for another second—

  The music ends abruptly, cutting off on a discordant, jangling note.

  I gasp out loud.

  It feels as though I’ve just misstepped, distracted, and I’ve just walked off the edge of a cliff. I have to firmly press my palms against the tops of my thighs to stop myself from wobbling on the stool. Alex opens his eyes, brushes his hair back with a casual sweep of his hand, and then arches a sardonic, amused eyebrow at me, smiling like the very devil himself. “What? No standing ovation?” he murmurs. Fuck, his voice is like gravel, rough and raw, just like the music he just severed from his body. My ears are fucking ringing.

  “So damn arrogant, Alessandro Moretti,” I rebuke, but I’m breathless, my voice uneven and feverish. He can hear the effect he’s had on me. He bites back a smile, turning the guitar over in his hands, looking down at it for a second appreciatively before he sets it to one side, leaning it against mine. Next second, he’s on his feet and closing the already narrow gap between us. I shiver as he cups my face in his hands, tilting my head back so that I have to look at him.

  He's a towering masterpiece in a Kings of Leon t-shirt and holy fuck do I want to climb him. He breathes deeply and then sighs, angling his own head to one side as he studies my features. “Well? What do you think? Was it okay?” He sounds curious now. Intrigued. Genuinely interested to hear what I thought. What a ridiculous thing to ask; his question is akin to Mozart asking Justin Bieber if he thinks ‘Rondo Alla Turca’ is any fucking good. I’m basically nowhere near qualified to answer.

  “Ahh. Y’know. It was all right.”

  Alex grins like a fiend. “All right?”

  “Yeah. All right.”

  He nods, still smiling broadly, running his tongue over his teeth. “You’re a harsh critic, Argento. I’ll have to do better next time.”

  If he does any better, he’s going to set the fucking world alight. I can’t find the words to tell him this, though. His smile fades from his face, a serious look taking the place of his amusement. “Why are we here, Argento? You haven’t been up here since…”

  Since the shooting. Since Alex hurried me inside the sound booth and told me to lock the door behind me. He’s right. I haven’t been up here since that day. I was scared out of my mind when Jacob, Cillian and Sam held me down and forced themselves on me, but that fear didn’t even come close to the fear I felt in that sound booth. I wasn’t just afraid for myself, then. I was terrified for Alex, so petrified something would happen to him that it felt like I was going to have a nervous breakdown behind that insulated, reinforced door.

  Measuring my words, weighing each one, I explain why I wanted him to meet me here, in a place that now feels haunted by dark memories. “I figured it was time to reclaim the space. After everything that happened with Jacob, I used to come and play here during my free periods. It was a sanctuary. I want it to feel that way again. Plus, I’m going to have to start teaching after school again soon, and I won’t be able to do a good job if I’m on the brink of a panic attack every time I step foot through the door now, will I?”

  Alex nudges my knee with his leg. “You can take your time, though. No need to rush everything all at once. If you’re not comfortable here…”

  I look around, taking in the sheet music tacked to the cork board, the scales chalked onto the board, the brass music stands in a regimented line against the opposite wall, and I’m surprised when I reach an unexpected conclusion. “Hmm. Really. I’m okay. Being here hasn’t affected me the way I thought it would. I thought we could eat lunch here, since it’s too cold for the bleachers. You hungry?”

  The concern on Alex’s face transforms into something altogether different. Something mischievous and Machiavellian. “Oh, Silver. You have no idea how hungry I am.”

  It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that’s he’s not hungry for the pastrami sandwich I made for him this morning and packed in my bag. A hot blush creeps up my neck, a shiver of anticipation chasing down my spine. It’s criminal that he can make me feel this way with nothing more than ten little words. In fairness, I was already turned on by the sight and sound of him coaxing that tempest out of the guitar, but still…

  “Huh. Sounds to me like someone’s mind’s in the gutter. I’m surprised,” I say airily.

  Alex fastens his bottom lip between his teeth again, pinning his flesh there for a second. He’s biting down hard enough that his lip has turned white. In one casual, possessive move, he reaches out and palms one of my breasts through my t-shirt, growling at the back of his throat. “And why is that?” he muses. “Let me think for a second. Could it be that you wanted me to hurt you the other night, and I haven’t touched you since?” I suck in a sharp breath when he jerks my shirt down over my shoulder—the shoulder that bears the bruised wound where his teeth broke my skin. His eyes are hard, appraising and unreadable as he considers the half-healed mark. I let out another surprised gasp when he yanks my bra strap down, shoving the lacy cup of my bra out of the way, and he frees my breast altogether. My skin burns under his ravenous gaze more than it does against the cold air of the room.

  “Yes,” I admit. “I thought you were mad at me.”

  His dark eyes seem bottomless as they bore into me. “And why would I be angry with you?”

  He pinches and rolls my nipple, squeezing sharply, and a spear of pain jolts between my breasts, firing on a direct path to my clit at the apex of my thighs. “Ahh! Because!”

  “Because? Tell me, Dolcezza.”

  “I—I don’t know. Fuck, Alex. Someone could come in.”

  He pointedly ignores me. It only takes a second for him to pull down my shirt even further, removing the other strap from my shoulder and tugging my bra down all the way, so that both my tits spring free. He fills his hands with me, angrily kneading the swell of my breasts. It hurts, but in the best kind of way. A way I’ve been craving for a long time now.

  “The truth, or you’re gonna get punished,” Alex warns. “Tell me the truth, and I’ll eat your pussy right here and now. I’ll make you come so hard you’ll need me to fucking carry you out of here.” A low, deep rumble emanates from somewhere deep in his chest. “If you don’t, I’ll use your mouth to make myself come. And I won’t be gentle. I’ll be rough. You won’t be able to breathe. I’ll fuck you
r mouth so hard your gag reflex will hate me until we both turn thirty.” His voice is soft, almost apologetic. Electricity relays up and down my torso, snapping and firing at the nape of my neck, crackling in the pit of my stomach. The thought of it, the prospect of his hands in my hair, holding me in place as he thrusts himself deep down the back of my throat—it makes me so damn nervous but so fucking turned on at the same time that I almost whimper out loud.

  As if he knows precisely what I’m thinking, Alex places a rough palm against the slope of my neck, sliding it around until he’s firmly holding the back of my neck, his fingers pressing firmly, deliciously into my skin. “Are we going to continue with the charade, Silver? Or are you going to admit it? You want me to use your body for my own pleasure, however I see fit, don’t you? Especially if it’s just that little bit degrading. Especially if it hurts.”

  “I—Alex—” I’m breathing so fast, I’m beginning to feel a little dizzy. Shame flowers on both my cheeks, bright crimson blooms of embarrassment that make me want to hide my face from him. He has hold of me, his grip like steel, preventing me from turning away.

  “No. No, own it. Face it,” he commands softly. “And when you’ve done that, tell me why you want that.”

  Panic snakes its way around my insides, some kind of wall forming a partition in my mind. “I don’t know why. It’s just—it’s normal, okay? Some people just like it. I wouldn’t have thought you’d be narrow minded about—”

  “Don’t deflect. I’ll give you anything you want, Silver, always…so long as it’s for the right reasons. I’ll hurt you until you’re screaming and you can’t fucking take it anymore, if that’s what you really want. My pleasure’s rooted in yours. If you’re turned on by something, it will drive me fucking crazy too, because it’s what you need. But you need to face the why of it, Dolcezza. You want to be hurt. You want to be hurt sexually, and there’s a reason for that.”

  I have no idea what he’s talking about. I try to figure out what he could possibly mean, but all I’m met with is that endless, impossibly high, featureless wall inside my head that cannot be scaled. Alex is the one with vine tattoos up his arms and around his throat, but it feels as though there are spiked thorns beneath my skin right now, scratching against one another uncomfortably. “Alex, stop. Please. Whatever point you’re trying to prove, it isn’t making any sense. I just—I just fucking want you. Isn’t that enough?”

  We lock eyes, and I see the conflict in him. He wants to press this, to keep digging at it, worrying at the subject like a broken tooth until I give him the answer he wants to hear. I can’t, though. It’s impossible for me to give him what he wants. My eyes are pricking so strangely, it’s bewildering. “Please, Alex.”

  I watch his resolve crumble. “Okay. Fine. It’s okay. I’ll stop.” His hold on the back of my neck loosens. I feel like I’m floating up off the stool, toward the ceiling, when he lets me go.

  Both my shirt and my bra have slipped down around my waist now. Alex slowly sinks to his knees, his black t-shirt pulling taut across his chest as he rocks back onto his heels, taking hold of me by the thighs. His fingers find the button of my jeans, popping it open, and he carefully unzips them, tugging the denim down over my hips.

  “I thought I was going to be punished?” I try to sound joking, but there’s a hint of disappointment in my words that must be obvious to Alex. God, what the hell is wrong with me?

  “I’m afraid we’re gonna have to meet somewhere in the middle on this one,” he tells me. “I’m all for games, Silver, but they’re only fun when both parties are aware that they’re playing.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means lift your ass right now, so I can get these pants off you. I need your pussy on my tongue before I officially lose my shit.” His tone brooks no argument.

  I obey him without question.

  As soon as he’s ripped my pants and my underwear from my body, he falls between my legs with a fury that makes my head spin. His mouth is so hot, it feels as though he’s painting my clit with fire. “Oh my god! Alex! Alex, that’s…that feels so fucking good.” It’s a miracle I can even get the words out. My synapses are short circuiting, sending my thoughts scattering in every possible direction.

  I have to bite back a scream when he forcefully pushes his fingers inside me, nipping at the inside of my thigh with his front teeth.

  “Quiet,” he orders. “Make a sound and I’ll stop. Is that what you want?”

  I almost make the mistake of answering him. He narrows his eyes, giving me a warning glance up the length of my body, and a manage to stop myself just in time. “Well?” he asks. I see that his lips are wet from the slick heat between my legs and I have to try doubly hard not to cry out. Instead, I nod, letting him know that I’ll obey his rules, even if it kills me.

  “Good.” He drives his tongue back between the folds of my pussy, flicking and laving, grinding the flat of his tongue into me so hard that I find myself bucking and rocking against his mouth. Just as he did with the guitar, he uses his hands to conduct a symphony, except this time my body is his instrument. Using both his index and his middle finger, he fucks my pussy, pumping them quickly inside me, harder than he has before, and my body feels as though it’s coming alive.

  I’m balancing so precariously on the stool that I’m probably going to fall off any second. I have to cling to the smooth wooden seat beneath my ass to prevent myself from tumbling to the floor.

  “Fuck, your tits look amazing when they bounce like that,” Alex snarls. He takes my left breast in his free hand, clasping hold of my nipple between his thumb and his index finger, and he rolls the swollen knot of flesh so hard that I can’t help it.

  “AHHH! Alex!”

  The cry is out before I can pull it back. Alex growls, baring his teeth, withdrawing his fingers from inside me. “Disobedient,” he accuses.

  “Please. Please. God, Alex, I need to come. Please.”

  “You’re making it worse.”

  I bite down on the inside of my lip. I will not speak. I will not moan. I will not make a sound. Alex waits a second, his eyes running me through, stretching out the moment, torturing me just a second longer…but then he flicks at my clitoris with the tip of his tongue, thrusting his fingers back inside me, and my head lights up with fireworks. This time when he pinches my nipple, savage enough to make me want to pull away from the burning agony of the pain, I don’t make a single fucking sound.

  Alex sucks at my pussy, massaging my clit with his tongue at the same time, and my head rips back, hanging loose between my shoulders.

  For all intents and purposes, I’m naked. My tits are bare, my legs are spread as wide as they can go, my pussy exposed to anyone who might walk into the music room, but I don’t care. All that matters are Alex’s teeth applying a dizzying pressure to my clit, promising more pain, and his fingers, which are now slamming into me so hard that I can hardly breathe around the sensation.

  I chant to myself, the words searing the back of my throat. Fuckfuckfuck. Please…let me come. Alex, let me come. Down to the last muscle, my body tenses; I’m a quivering wreck as I hover on the brink of annihilation, waiting for it to claim me. The crushing sensation builds and builds, ready to crash over me any second. Alex reads my body as easily as an open book. He rumbles, curling his fingers inside me, beckoning me toward my climax, and that one small movement sends me hurtling over the edge.

  My body takes over, my thighs clamping hard around Alex’s head. His teeth find the sweet, sensitive spot just to the inside of my thigh again, and I can’t take it anymore. I let the tumbling, falling madness take me, riding it out blindly, my eyes rolling back into my skull.

  “That’s it. Good girl. Show me. Show me how much you need it,” Alex hisses.

  I convulse against him, everything suddenly much too much, too sensitive, the feeling of his fingers inside me, his thumb against my clit, enough to make me squirm off of the damn stool. “Shit, stop, stop, stop. I can’t…I c
an’t…”

  Can’t handle how good it feels one second longer.

  You see, Alex knows this as well as I do: Pain and pleasure are interchangeable. What should cause us to cry out in agony sometimes evokes ecstasy. And the afterburn of an orgasm can sometimes feel so intense that tolerating it for one moment longer becomes physically impossible.

  Alex laughs darkly as he withdraws his fingers, enjoying the way I shake and shiver just a little too much. “It’s like watching a star explode when you come, Argento.”

  I’m too slack-limbed and dazed to ask him whether that’s a good or a bad thing. Getting to his feet, he draws me to him, letting my head rest against his stomach for a second while I catch my breath. I feel like a cat, deliriously content and satisfied as he gently pets me, running his hands over my hair, whispering things to me in Italian.

  “Shhh, respire cuore mio. Rilassare. Tutto a posto. Sono qui, mi prenderò cura di te.”

  I persuade myself not to ask him what he’s saying. His voice is hushed, little more than a whisper. I get the feeling the soft susurrus of his words are for himself and himself alone. The silence is shattered a split second later by the blaring shriek of the bell. Both of us nearly jump out of our skin. “Fuck.” Alex snatches up my jeans and thrusts them at me in a hurry. “Quick, Argento. We need to get the fuck out of here. Immediately.”

  I’m laughing, my heart beating out of my chest as I pull my clothes back on, hands fumbling over my bra straps, my heels getting caught inside legs of my pants. A clamor of voices and footsteps echo up to us through the open door to the music room, signaling that not one but a number of people are racing up the stairs towards us. I’ve just jammed my right foot back into my Converse when Sophie Maines comes flying through the doorway, her eyes as big as saucers. Three other freshman bustle in behind her, all young girls I don’t know.

  “What the fuck are you doing in here? Haven’t you guys heard?” Sophie pants, slapping her palm against her chest. “There’s all kinds of crazy shit going on outside Darhower’s office. Cillian Dupris was found half frozen down by the gully. They think he’s been out there for hours.”