Falling for Rex by Shayne Ford

7

LUNA RAE

My thoughts keep spinningas I walk up to the second level.

I find a nice couple in the main room and chat with them for a few good moments before shifting my focus to a platter of food.

Between chatting, drinking, and eating, the minutes slip by quickly.

More people cluster together in the house while I find myself back on the terrace.

I amble to one of the corners and tip my gaze down, not knowing what to expect and afraid of what I might find.

I don’t know what, if anything, would make me happy right now.

Frankie and Carlos must be inside the house. Rex Jackson is nowhere in sight. So much for meeting him tonight.

My knees begin to shake.

Leaning against the handrail, I pin a blank stare on the crowded terrace below. The people Rex walked in with are still there.

His brother is nowhere to be found as well.

Why would he be so callous and say those nasty things to me? Even if Rex spends the night with someone else, why do I need to know about that?

What is it to him? What is it Rex sleeping to someone else to Kian Jackson?

Kian didn’t care about Rex or me when he said that. He took pleasure in relaying the information.

And what’s the story with that woman?

Rex said she’s only a friend. Yeah, right... I noticed how she looked at him.

She may be a friend to him, but he is more than a friend to her. Can’t he see that?

Are men that twisted? Are they blind? Should I stop believing everything they say?

Or am I misreading the signs?

Sighing, I pull away from the lights and the people, away from the snapshot of life below.

The terrace is quiet, and the dark ocean is magnificent as it sprawls in front of me, shimmering from the stars' reflection and the glowing moon.

I should follow Olivia’s advice, calm down, and let the man be a man. She was smart–– smarter than anyone I know–– when it came to men.

A soft breeze rolls over my face, playing with my hair.

I brush it all back with my fingers before checking my phone again.

What if I write him a text?

Why would I?

And then, I change my mind again.

He was the one who invited me here, so I’m well within my right to know what happened this evening.

I type a few words. They sound so lame, I growl with frustration.

The man had his hands on me last night. He had me naked in his arms. And now, I chase him?

No way.

Pissed, I toss my phone into my purse and shift my eyes to the stretch of water when paced, heavy footsteps inch closer from behind.

I find it odd since I thought the terrace was empty, so I start to turn around to check, when two strong arms loop around me, a hard chest blocking my move, forcing me to face the ocean.

“Smart choice,” the man mutters, sending a chill down my spine.

I jerk back to free myself, ready to scream for help, when he shoots his hand up and clamps it over my mouth, his weight coming onto me.

He spins with me until his back faces the water, and his rear is propped against the handrail, darkness engulfing us.

An intoxicating smell of flowers drifts from nearby, blending into his masculine scent.

“Leave me alone,” I shout against his hand, my voice resonating in my head more than it does in my ears.

I wrestle with him–– his arms are locked around me like unforgiving pliers, his thick laugh chilling my blood.

“Don’t scream. It won’t do you any good.”

His voice is steady, even, not a trace of emotion in his tone.

Tense, I jerk again, writhing in his lock, my dress rubbing against his suit jacket. The more I fight him, the less air flows into my lungs.

I suddenly feel weak and dizzy. Dazed.

“You fucking like it, don’t you?” he mutters, his voice vibrating against my neck. “I bet you’d like so much more from me.”

The more he talks, the more his prediction morphs into reality.

“Let me go,” I shout against the thickness of his hand, wasting precious oxygen, no one hearing me.

He spins with me again, pulling me away from the handrail and crashing with me against a wall nearby, his body coming onto mine.

He presses his chest against my back, kicking my legs apart with his thigh while forcefully muzzling my mouth.

“He’s a fucking liar,” he mutters to himself in a reverberating, hoarse voice.

Whatever the meaning of his words, it falls straight past me when it registers with me who he is. Although I knew when he put his hands on me and even when he neared me.

Rocking his hips slightly, he rolls his thigh under my skirt, touching me between my legs.

Panic shoots through me, yet I respond to him... By not shutting down.

Not pulling away.

Not freezing or turning to stone.

Not spewing hatred toward him.

Not resenting him or cursing him.

I react... by getting aroused, warm, tense, and wet precisely where he strokes me.

He touches me again.

I clench my thighs against his touch. It makes no sense.

I jolt against him, slamming myself against his frame, not once, not twice, but several times.

He’s stubborn, and so am I–– if this is even us. The real us. Or an invisible force has taken over us.

I jerk harder. He holds me tighter.

I feel his balls and hard length against my lower back. He’s big, his flesh bursting with heat and blood.

The more I slam myself against his bulge, the darker and denser the shadow around me. I breathe fast, too fast, getting dizzy and sweaty, mixed thoughts swirling in my brain.

What brain?

It’s all a lump of fog and unrestrained impulses. Unleashed, dark, dangerous impulses.

I’m no better than him.

“Kian... Let me go,” I bark, living on tiny bits of oxygen, the pleasure spinning, the force bestowed on me getting me drunk... Drunk on what?

He’s crazy.

I’m not much better.

“I bet he had a good time with you,” he growls against my hair before moving his mouth down, tracing the column of my neck and biting me hard.

I yelp as loud as I can, the sound shooting against his hand, becoming a dead muted snippet.

What are the odds of biting the spot his brother sucked on last night? The pain is excruciating, warm drops of blood trickling down my neck.

My thoughts go to my dress, the stains, and the embarrassment I’ll have to face when walking out of the house if I ever leave this place alive.

He licks my blood, giving me chills, yet all I feel is heat pulsing in my sex. He shoves his knee deeper between my legs as I lock him with my thighs.

“What if...” he rumbles. “What if you come for me? Would you still be his?”

I don’t know what that means when he slips his hand inside my dress and pulls a shoulder lower.

The fabric rips open, revealing my skin.

His hand goes down my neck, walking on the paths of pain. I groan and curse him, venting my frustration.

He finally twirls me to face him and checks it out for himself, his eyes going down my skin.

Soaked in soft moonlight, his white shirt looks sharp against his skin, his eyes blazing fire.

Roughly, he tugs my dress down, revealing my chest.

I no longer fight his grip, his hand sliding off my mouth.

“What did he do to you?” he asks, his eyes hovering over my neck.

“Interesting question coming from the man who tore my dress apart?”

His eyes flicker for a moment before going dark. His body comes onto me so hard he almost topples me over.

Looping an arm around me, he keeps me standing, his free hand going up, his frame leaning hard against me.

“One day, you’ll be mine, little princess. And I’ll chew on and spit out every piece of flesh you have until there’s nothing left of you.”

His breath sets my lips ablaze, his words spearheading through my bones like nails.

He cups a breast and squeezes it hard.

In that regard, he is no different than his brother.

I shudder against his touch, my shoulders covered in goosebumps, my teeth chattering.

“I’m not afraid of you,” I say.

Slightly tilting back, he observes me for a moment.

Amusement flashes through his gaze.

“Oh, but you should be... You’ll be nothing when I'm done with you. For now, I let my brother play with you. Give you a taste of what’s to come. But he knows it, and you know it too. You will be mine.”

He cups the other breast too.

“Everything will be mine,” he mutters. “Your body, your heart, and your damn mind.”

He slips his fingers higher, collects a few more drops of blood, licks them clean, and swallows before crashing his mouth onto mine.

Taking me by surprise, he pushes his tongue into my mouth, not caring in the slightest that I’m frosted.

Frosted, but I’m far from being cold inside.

Heat comes from his lips in waves, sweeping through me with a vengeance.

My hand trails down, following the contour of his chest and abs, going past his belt and falling between us.

I can’t reason with myself and can’t find an explanation as to why I’m doing what I’m doing, but I find myself palming his bulge.

I can’t stop myself from falling into the abyss he's pulling me into without displaying the slightest shred of conscience.

He grinds into my hand–– hard and hot and stirring.

He is like me.

He thrives on pain–– not his. The woman’s.

Abruptly, he breaks away, adjusts his package, and starts stepping backward, running the back of his hand over his mouth and wiping away drops of blood, just as mixed voices resonate not far from us.

Our eyes stay locked for a few more seconds, his stare brimming with dark fire, while mine remains frozen as if I’m not half-naked and have the fingerprints of a sinful, immoral crime all over me.

I should do something not to get caught, yet I can’t make myself move.

Without saying another word, he spins around and vanishes inside the house while I bring shaky fingers to my dress.

It takes a few more seconds before I plug myself back to reality, filled with guilt.