Playboy Princes: A Dark College Romance(29)

“Probably explains why he’s such an overbearing asshole,” I muttered before I slipped away from the guys, making my way with the crowd. Jordan’s laughter followed me.

When I got into the main hallway, I started to follow the arrows—not that I needed to. Quite a few students were making their way back. I got a lot of looks, and I almost wished for a black cloak to cover my purple ass.

Standing out was great, if it didn’t put a massive target on your back.

My weapon was still in my hand though, so I doubted anyone was going to take me on right now.

Of course, there was always an idiot in the crowd who had to show the woman who was boss.

“What makes you think you can play with the big boys?” a dude walking nearby sneered at me. I had no idea who it was; he wore a face cover like everyone else.

I slowed, twirling my blade as I smiled at him. “Hmmmm, maybe the fact that with both ‘big boys’ I fought, I kicked their asses.”

He wasn’t smiling, and I continued on my way… only to have him wrap a tight hand around my arm, yanking me toward him.

For fuck’s sake. Here we went again.

“You should learn your place, bitch. You have a cunt, you don’t fight.”

A snort of laughter left me, even though he was holding tight enough to leave massive bruises. “What about if you are a cunt? Because that would rule you out,” I said in a sing-song voice.

Never let them see you sweat.

Before he could reply, I swung the hilt of my weapon, using the hand he’d stupidly left free, and slammed it down on his wrist. I knew the best place to hit to break a bone, and sure enough, I was rewarded with a satisfying crack.

Asshole howled, dropping me on instinct as the pain overwhelmed him, but he shut the fuck up when my blade pressed against his throat.

“I should kill you right now,” I said, with no humor in my voice anymore. “Leave you in this fucking maze to bleed out. No one would find you. No one would miss you.” Everyone else had cleared out when we stopped, so it was only the two of us here now.

And that made my threat all the more terrifying.

A whimper was his only reply.

“Come on, Violence,” a low drawl said from behind me. “Leave this sorry excuse for a human to crawl his way back. You have bigger fish to fry.”

The dick on the ground looked between Rafe and me, and I was shocked I hadn’t heard him approach. I’d been sure we were alone, but that sneaky bastard was fucking Spider-Man or something, scaling walls and blending into the night.

“F—Fallen Angel,” the loser stuttered out. “Was just”—he swallowed hard—“trying to make her stop fighting. It’s not a place for bitches.”

Rafe swung his leg out and kicked him straight in the face, shutting him the fuck up.

I shrugged, sheathing my weapon for the first time. “See, I didn’t overreact. He got what he deserved.”

Rafe’s lips, visible under his mask, twitched just a little. I took that for a win.

“You are well named, Violence,” he said, sounding amused. “Murder is your first thought when someone pisses you off.”

I shrugged. “What can I say, most of the time, people respond to death threats better than a stern lecture.”

He stepped closer, towering over me, but fear was the last thing I felt racing through my body.

“You don’t have to tell me,” he murmured. “I was born in violence and there I have stayed.”

What the fuck does that mean?

I knew so little about Rafe, but I had guessed before now that there was darkness in his past. No one was the way he was without being burned in the pits of hell and surviving. I knew that for a fact.

“Who hurt you?” I whispered and almost immediately wished I could take that question back.

Rafe wrapped his hands around my arms, but unlike the previous asshole who had already crawled his way out of the tunnels, this didn’t enrage me.

I wanted this biting grip.

“What makes you think I’ll share my past with you?” Rafe said close to my ear, voice hard. “Why do you fucking torment me so?”

I wasn’t quite sure what that last part meant, and I couldn’t even recall what the first part was because my head was all kinds of fucked up with him this close.

“What do you want with me?” I breathed back, waiting for him to push me away.

Only he didn’t.

Before I could blink, he’d hauled me into his arms and slammed me back against the rough stone wall. He yanked my purple catsuit down, leaving me in my black sports bra. Rafe pulled my sword out and sliced along the black material, so close I could feel the edge of my blade, but somehow he didn’t break my skin.

My tits fell free, and he stared for many seconds, his eyes dark and stormy. “Fuck,” he muttered before he lowered his head and sucked one peak into his mouth. He laved at my right breast first, followed by my left, leaving me a moaning, turned-on mess.

It was the fighting. Seeing it. Being part of it.

I was fucking wet before this had even started, and add in Rafe… I had no fucking chance.

My hands clawed at his shirt, the black material bunching in my fingers as I yanked hard, getting it over his head. Our masks remained in place even if we were half naked. Somehow that added to the entire fucking vibe.

Rafe lifted me a little, and I ignored the pain in my back from the rocks. I was too wound up to worry about pain. The pleasure was dominating my senses.

He got the bottom half of my suit off, sliding it down so it was off one leg and then the other. He had to lower my feet to the ground to do so, and when he dropped lower, his face was pressed right to my underwear-clad pussy.

I groaned as his tongue stroked right across my aching clit, working it through the material, making my knees weak as I pressed both hands into the wall to keep some balance.

He dug his hands around my thighs, forcing them further open, and my back arched to accommodate. His tongue traced along the edge of my bikini line, slipping under and tasting the wetness pooling there. My underwear disappeared in the next instant, and he fucked me with his tongue until I unraveled under his touch. He must have learned from last time though, because he didn’t remove his hands, keeping me prisoner against the wall as he drew every last ounce of pleasure from me.

“Rafe, fuck,” I groaned, rocking harder against him, needing more.

I was never gonna have enough.

He was as skilled with his tongue and hands—and especially his dick—as he was with fighting.

A true master.

He spun me around, putting my face against the hard stone and both hands firm against the wall as he caressed my exposed ass. Normally I was not about ass play, but having Rafe stroke me like this, I was reevaluating my stance on that.

His fingers spread my legs farther apart, and I could feel the long hard length of his cock against my pussy. He was a little too tall for this to be comfortable, but that didn’t matter since he was able to lift me and slam inside without faltering.

“Fuck,” he groaned again, the first word he’d spoke since we started this. “Ever since you fucking left me in the hall, I’ve wanted this.”

“Is th—this my punishment?” I moaned in return, voice breathy.

Rafe’s laugh was husky, low, and filled with darkness. “No, Violence. This is the prelude to your punishment. So pay attention.”

“Not possible,” I bit out as he changed the angle, shifting my hips higher. Three more strokes and I was once again on the edge of an orgasm, my body tightening as swirls of pleasure surged in my center.

Rafe didn’t let me get there though, pulling all the way out, slowly, before slamming back in again and changing the rhythm. My body desperately tried to adjust, needing that high it was chasing. But he changed the pace again, his strokes differing, and when he pulled out again, I was once again standing on my own two feet, pressed against the wall, chest heaving as everything inside of me shook and cried for more.

Spinning around, I shoved him. “What are you doing? Be man enough to finish me.”

His lips twisted cruelly, but he didn’t back away.

“Life is a competition, and you are learning how much I like to win.”

Fuck!

I wanted to scream, but since I was standing here naked, one leg of my fucking costume bunched around my ankle and a motherfucking mask on, I decided that I was done playing this game. If Rafe wanted to throw down a challenge, I was going to take it.

Our faces were close, so he didn’t notice at first as my hand slipped down between my thighs, fingers stroking across my wetness. It wasn't until the moan slipped from my lips, that his eyes left mine, locking on the way I was playing with myself.

If he wasn’t going to give me the release I needed, I’d take it for myself.

Fuck Rafe and his fucking games. Okay, sure, I might have sort of started it, but this was so much worse, and I was super-pissed.

Time to show him just how easily I could come all on my own. Good thing I’d had plenty of practice.

And Rafe handled it right up until my eyes fluttered closed for a brief moment and a breathless groan escaped.

Then he punched the wall.





Chapter 22





Rafe sucked a sharp breath through his teeth and glared at me like I was to blame for all his issues.

“Oh suck it up, princess,” I muttered under my breath, wrapping the strip of torn t-shirt fabric a little tighter around his hand than it really needed to be. “Nothing’s broken, as far as I can tell. You just need some ice.” I quirked a brow at him, trying to hide my amusement. “Surely the big bad Fallen Angel has had split knuckles before?”