Angry God

“Oh, God,” I muttered.

“An angry one,” Vaughn’s metallic voice hissed from afar. “Just remember, it’s me who’s doing this to you, not him. We both know that. That’s who you’re imagining underneath you, Len. Me. Past. Present. Future. It will always be me.”

I wrapped one thigh around Pope’s shoulder, running my fingers through his silky hair. The pleasure built inside me like a hurricane. Every inch of me burned with lust.

“Just like you’ve sucked me off thousands of times.” He continued talking, hijacking this moment with Pope. “From the first blow job till the last, it was you I saw.”

Pope sucked on my lips, hoovering them into his mouth, darting his tongue out and massaging my clit.

“Since that day behind the fountain, we’ve wanted to get our rocks off. We just didn’t know how to name it. Now we do.”

I exploded with a near-violent orgasm, seeing stars, rocking my body back and forth, my groin chasing Pope’s lips, but it was Vaughn’s name in my throat. Wave after wave of pleasure coursed through me. I looked down to see my best friend smiling devilishly at me, his lips swollen and glistening with my cum.

“Delicious.” He swiped his thumb inside me one last time, gathering more of my juices with his eyes still on mine.

Pope was beautiful like a poem. You could read his face every day and still find something new to admire. One day, someone was going to snatch this talented, gorgeous man, and she was going to be so lucky. Luckier than I would ever be, because I was undeniably fixated on Vaughn, the most complicated guy in history.

I looked up at Spencer. He was quiet, his gaze holding mine. I didn’t expect an extravagant show of emotion, but his lack of response was high on the Creep-O-Meter.

“Pope, get the fuck out,” he clipped.

Pope sent me a questioning look as he stood, and I nodded, rising on my toes and kissing his lips softly. He flicked my ear, turned around, and walked to the door. There he halted, tapping the doorframe, his back still to us.

“I’m not scared of you, Spencer, and your little I’ll-fuck-you-up speeches do nothing to interrupt my sleep at night. But just for the sake of full disclosure, I have no romantic interest in your girl. She’s my friend. Which means I will always have her back. Which also means that if you make her happy, I’ll have no problem with you. But if you hurt her…” he trailed off, shaking his head on a chuckle. “Your big mouth and rich daddy won’t be able to save you from what I’ll do. ’Night, kiddos.” He shut the door behind him.

Vaughn stared at me, so furious his smooth skin was lined with wrinkles around his pinched eyebrows and twisted mouth.

“Take the handcuffs off,” he ordered.

I grabbed the keys from my nightstand and released him, forced to lean against him as I did. I could still feel the dull, pulsing heat of Rafferty’s mouth on my pussy, and it made me shudder above Vaughn, who clenched his tense jaw to the point of snapping, not even daring to breathe in my direction. As soon as I released him, he stood up, tightening his bootlaces.

He was leaving.

I pretended not to care, throwing myself on the mattress and picking up the fantasy book on my nightstand, taking out the bookmark where I’d left off. If he wanted to be a hypocritical bastard, he very well could, but not with me.

I thought he was going to walk out the door and come back once he’d cooled down, which would be in approximately a decade, judging by his mood. Instead, he launched toward the corner of my room, grabbed the drafting table, and smashed it against the wall, breaking it in half. Next came Pope’s shirt, which was still lying on the floor. He opened a window and threw it out, proceeding to turn to the wall and slam his fist against it. I heard the crack of bones and darted up, swallowing a yelp.

His hand.

“What are you doing?” I cried. “You’re going to hurt yourself. You’re not going to be able to work.”

Ignoring me, he walked toward the beige cloth, his hand dripping blood across my floor. He picked up the cloth and threw it aside, exposing my biggest weakness.

The sculpture.

Ruined. Destroyed. Yet somehow, still perfect in its own way.

He stood in front of it, tipping his chin up, whistling low, finally regaining some of his self-control.

“Someone caught feelings and decided to throw a fucking fit,” he bit out, not an ounce of pleasure in his tenor.

I ran to him, grabbing the cloth from the floor and shoving it back over the assemblage.

“You had no right.” I pushed his chest.

“Right?” He laughed bitterly in my face, pushing me back.

It was the first time Vaughn had been physical with me in a way that wasn’t consensual or warranted, the first time I’d ever heard him raise his voice. “There’s some dudebro walking around these halls with pussy breath and a shiny-ass mouth because you used his face as a seat, and you talk to me about rights? You’re fucking insane.” He shook his head, like he couldn’t believe he’d gotten involved with someone quite so deranged.