Follow the River (River of Rain Book 1) Page 18

  And then the asshole flicks his tongue out in a wicked caress against my lips.

  Oh, fuck this shit.

  My arms drop the woodpile, not giving a flying fuck if they land on either of our feet. Because I’m about to lose my damn mind and completely forget the task at hand.

  No, not collecting firewood.

  Ignoring him. Avoiding yet another confrontation.

  I shove him in the chest. Hard. I must’ve caught him off guard, because he stumbles back, tripping over a log that landed behind him. My hands connect with his pecs again, pushing him to the ground while he is still off balance, sending him to his ass in a mound of snow.

  I stare down at him, both lust and fury raging through my veins. The fact that fighting with him like this gets me hard as a rock only serves to piss me off more.

  It’s an endless cycle and from the grin on his face, he seems to thoroughly enjoy it.

  “I’m fucking done with your shit, River. I’m over it.” My hand slices through the air in outrage as I shout the words at the top of my lungs. Screw being quiet or civil, I’m not afraid of anyone hearing our dispute. My heart is pounding inside my chest, as if it might explode right along with my mental fortitude. I drop my voice, letting it drip with ice. “Stop taunting me. Stop trying to mess with my mind like it’s your favorite game. We’ve been here nine days and we have at least twenty-five more to go. You’re driving me insane, on purpose. Do us both a favor and don’t test my fucking patience. Or I swear to God, I’ll bend you over right here and fuck you into submission.”

  I don’t bother waiting for a response, just spin and start for the house. Except I don’t make it more than three steps before a force slams into my back. I stumble into the side of the shed and grip it for balance, but River is there, yanking on my shoulder until my back is pressed into the rough wood siding. Before I have the chance to make a move, River’s hand is gripping the front of my throat, the other resting against the shed above me, and his hips pining me in place.

  I can feel his cock, thick and stiff against my thigh.

  From the sinful smirk on his lips, I’m painfully aware he can feel how hard I am too.

  “I’m not the one submitting tonight,” he growls fiercely.

  “Riv—” I start, but my protest is cut short when he crashes his lips into mine.

  His mouth is hot and insistent against mine as he pours his pent up rage into this kiss. It’s harsh and volatile.

  It’s fucking transcendent.

  He tastes of peppermint and rivalry and forbidden desire and something addictively masculine. A flick of his tongue against my lips causes me to gasp, which he takes full advantage of by slipping his tongue inside where it tangles against mine in a brutal battle for dominance.

  My hands fly to his chest and I grip the fabric of his sweatshirt between my clenched fists as panic floods my body.

  Fuck, this is the first kiss I’ve had in four years and it’s with the most infuriating motherfucker I’ve ever met.

  Whether or not the bigger issue of my thought is that I can’t stand him or that he is a he, I can’t say at this moment. All I can do is attempt to push him away, off of me.

  Because I don’t want this.

  But for some inexcusable reason, my hands do the exact opposite and hold onto him for dear life. Even when he is the very thing causing me to feel like I’m drowning in the first place.

  The dual sensation of his lips on mine and his body pressed tightly against me causes my dick to get impossibly harder, and when he moans into my mouth, deep and husky, I almost lose it completely.

  River’s hands move to grasp each side of my face and tilt my head for better access. For more control.

  It shouldn’t surprise me that the way he kisses matches the way he teases and taunts and fucks with me every chance he gets. Making me fucking desperate. To make it stop or for him, I couldn’t say. And hell, the confidence in it. The insistence and demand, taking what he wants from me like he knows I’m going to just stop everything to give it to him.

  And. I. Fucking. Do.

  But the second his hips shift, causing his erection, and subsequently my own, to grind behind our clothing, I manage to detach my lips from his for a brief moment.

  That only seems to spur him on more, though. He moves his mouth to my throat and his hands fly between us. The fumbling of his belt and zipper greet my ears as wet, open-mouthed kisses are plastered against my neck, from my jaw to my collarbone and back up again.

  “River. No,” I pant, the lust in my voice causing the words to come out no louder than a hoarse whisper.

  Either he didn’t hear me or he doesn’t give a fuck, because he doesn’t stop.

  “Why do you fight it, baby?” he whispers, his breath hot on my neck. “Why do you deny yourself when you know I can make you feel so good?” It’s not a taunt, but a legitimate question. One, for the life of me, I don’t have the answer to.

  His fingers swiftly unfasten the button of my own jeans right before his hand slips down inside both them and my briefs to make contact with my aching cock. A hiss escapes my lips as his fingers curl around my length, but it is promptly hushed by another scorching kiss. With a firm grip on me, he starts jacking me slowly, using his free hand to tug my jeans down past my ass.

  “River, stop.” The words, like my protest, are weak.

  Powerless.

  We both know it.

  Still, River releases my cock, and I groan in protest. Or thanks? After all, he did what I asked.

  Except he didn’t, because then he drops to his knees right there in the fucking snow and takes me into his warm, velvety mouth, sucking me deep just like he did in the locker room. His head bobs on my cock, the tip hitting the back of his throat a few times.

  I’ve got to hand it to the guy. Even though I’d never admit it aloud on my deathbed, he gives the best head I’ve ever received.

  And deepthroats like a fucking champ.

  “Please,” I plead.

  He has to stop. We can’t keep traveling down this path of destruction.

  This. Has. To. Stop.

  Because I’m not gay.

  His words from the hotel after the away game in Portland come rushing back to me.

  “A mouth is a mouth, doesn’t matter if it belongs to a girl or a guy.”

  Fuck. Me.

  River releases my cock with a pop, causing me to shudder at the now cold, icy feeling wrapping around my length from the frigid temperature in the air. It doesn’t last long, though, because the fire between us continues to ensue.

  He pulls his own cock from his jeans and I take a moment to marvel at it. I hadn’t seen it in the shower the other day, so this is my first glimpse of it.

  And sweet Jesus, it’s fucking...more than perfect, whatever that might be.

  Thick and long, rivaling my own nine inches, with the slightest curve upward and a silky mushroom crown. Pre-cum glistens against the tip and I’m horrified by the instinctual urge I have to lick it clean.

  Because I’m not gay.

  River rises from his knees, catching where my gaze is focused, and smiles. I feel the tips of my ears burning red as he licks his lips and leans in, his mouth a whisper from my own.

  “It’s okay, Rain. You can look all you want. I already know you want me too.”

  It’s on the tip of my tongue to deny it, but I don’t have the chance before he spits in his palm before pressing into me again, taking both our cocks into his large hand. His mouth descends on mine once more and he nips at my bottom lip as he begins jacking our cocks together.

  Shit. This is going too far.

  I’m able to rationalize his blowjob and even fucking him in the shower. Those are things that could and did happen with any number of the girls I’ve been with.

  But two dicks rubbing together?

  No one with eyes could stand there without coming to the conclusion that this is about as gay as it can get.

  And for fuck’s sake, I’m. Not
. Gay.

  I. Don’t. Want. This.

  Except… I do.

  “River,” I cry against his lips. My resolve is beginning to crack as the contradiction of my mind and my desire rip me in two. Never in my twenty-one years of life have I ever felt such extreme pleasure and anguish at the same time.

  It’s catastrophic.

  Because Jesus Christ, I’ve never done anything like this. And if that isn’t terrifying in itself, let's add in the fact that nothing has ever felt this good.

  “Rain,” he groans, repeating the nickname that…fuck, I don’t hate it from his lips anymore. Not right now, in this moment.

  Our cocks slide together in his palm, coated with his saliva. He twists his hand around the heads, gathering the precum from both our crowns and spreads them down our lengths. My hips can’t help but jerk with his strokes, the added lubrication from our mixed juices helping our dicks glide against each other without friction.

  I feel my balls begin to draw up in the telltale sign I’m about to come.

  Shit.

  “River, please,” I sob out the plea, but I don’t know what I’m begging for anymore. My mortification of this encounter will only increase exponentially if he finishes me off. Because I can’t write off this untamed desire for a third time. Because he will know, without doubt, my body wants him, even when my mind doesn’t.

  And he will have gained the upper hand.

  But even still.

  I don’t want him to stop.

  River takes my bottom lip in his mouth and tugs it between his teeth, biting hard enough to draw blood at the same time he squeezes our cocks in his firm grasp on an upward stroke.

  “Fuck, Rain. I need you there with me,” he pants, licking the blood from my lips.

  And as the coppery taste of my own blood fills my mouth and our dicks are clutched together so tightly they might as well be one, I come like I’ve never come before.

  Pleasure shoots up my spine and straight to my fucking brain as my hot, sticky cum spills out over River’s hand. He continues to stroke me through my orgasm and bring himself to his own climax, all while still lapping at my wounded mouth and pride like it's the best thing he has ever tasted.

  To him, it might be.

  That might be the most agonizing part of all of this.

  Even with every fight I put up and every victory I claimed against him, they all just became completely meaningless.

  Because while I may have won countless battles, he’s won the fucking war.

  I look down at the mess of cum and spit and fucking dignity between us, a couple silent tears of defeat slide down my cheeks. They mix with the blood dripping over my lip before he manages to lick those from my face as well.

  Fuck me, I haven’t cried or found myself vulnerable with another human in years.

  It had to be him who changed that feat.

  Releasing me, River bends to wipe his hand off in the snow, and like the animal he is, picks up a handful to clean off his cock as well before tucking himself back into his clothes and standing in front of me.

  I expect the look on his face to be smug or even triumphant.

  Instead I only see conflict.

  Gentler than he has ever touched me before, he cups my tear-stained face in his hands and places a soft, sweet kiss on my swollen lips. His tenderness is giving me whiplash. It’s like he is a completely different person now.

  His lips move over mine, and goddamn me, I kiss him back.

  Once. Twice.

  A third time.

  He pulls back and brings his forehead to rest against mine, our lips are a whisper apart. I keep my eyes closed as I feel his breath caress my lips.

  “Accept this is who you are, so you can start to enjoy being stranded in a fucking cabin in the woods with me for another four weeks.”

  Sitting at the desk in my bedroom, paint brush in hand, I do my best to forget.

  About my parents and how they are pieces of trash. About this mess I’m in. About my demons that haunt me.

  About him.

  But I can’t forget. Everything in my life has come to a tipping point and all I can do is helplessly wait to get flung overboard. To be tossed off the cliff I’m desperately clinging to, just like Doctor Fulton said I need.

  And it's a lonely, bleak existence, constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop.

  The forbidden moments with River, first in the locker room, the shower, then against the shed were the only times I didn’t feel like I was drowning. Like I could finally fucking breathe.

  An escape from my life. My problems.

  Myself.

  But as soon as I was alone again, no longer in the warmth of his presence, my demons began to devour me. Just as they are right now. They always know which emotions to pick at in order to eat me alive. Ever since that morning in the shower, it’s been one emotion.

  Guilt.

  You raped him, my conscience screams at me.

  What the fuck does that say about me? That I got off on his torment?

  I always knew I was fucked up but, Jesus Christ, this is downright depraved.

  Sadistic.

  But the way his ass felt wrapped around my cock was pure magic.

  I want to feel it again. Fuck him again.

  I’ve never craved someone like this in my life.

  But. I’m. Not. Gay.

  That’s been my mantra since the first run-in at school in the locker room. It’s been my mantra since I was four-fucking-teen. It’s my mantra still. But River broke down the barricade around my mind outside the shed and I’m struggling to rebuild it.

  And goddamnit, no matter how hard I try, I can’t stop replaying his words.

  Accept this is who you are, so you can start to enjoy being stranded in a fucking cabin in the woods with me for another four weeks

  Fuck.

  I don’t want him to be right. But he is.

  I don’t want to want him. But I do.

  Four weeks is a long damn time to sit around this cabin, avoiding him and his tempting as hell ass. It hasn't even been two weeks and I already feel like my sanity is slipping away.

  And I’m grasping at straws, coming up empty when I try to think of how to hold on. Nothing is working.

  Except River.

  Whenever we fight, I stop thinking and worrying because all I want is to rip his clothes off and fuck him into submission. It’s explosive.

  It’s fucking chemical.

  So maybe…

  God damnit, I’m going insane to even consider this.

  “Screw it,” I grumble, slamming the brush down and shooting up from the chair.

  Ripping open the door, I head down the hall to his bedroom. I knock softly on his door before calling out to him, hating the butterflies flying in my stomach.

  “Riv?”

  I wait a moment, head canted toward the door to listen for footfalls.

  Nothing.

  I open the door, letting it swing into the room and look around to find it empty.

  Nothing.

  My brows furrow as I pull the door back shut and continue down the hall to the living room.

  “River?” I call, when I notice that room empty too. Same with the kitchen.

  Dread floods my system and before I can stop myself, I shout his name at the top of my lungs, my voice thundering against the walls of the cabin.

  Relax. There’s no way he left you here. You would have heard the four wheeler start. A car door slamming. The crunch of tires under the snow.

  Just relax.

  I can’t fucking relax. Where is he?

  Yanking the front door open with enough force to rip the door from its hinges, I swing my head around the porch in search of River.

  “River?” I yell into the silence of the forest.

  Fucking. Nothing.

  I check the shed for the ATV to find it still sitting where we parked it last week, as I figured. Glancing at the ground, I scan the area for fresh tracks, but there hasn’t
been snow in a few days, and since I’m no motherfucking boy scout, I can’t differentiate the fresh from the old.

  “River!” The scream comes from deep in my soul, I don’t even care that the panic is present in my voice. His name echoes off the trees and the mountains and the snow. But when the echoes fade, I’m left with nothing.

  Just silence.

  It’s been five fucking hours of pacing and panicking and still no sign of River. I’ve called his phone, but no answer. Not like I get the best reception out here anyway.

  I glance at the clock above the stove.

  Shit, it’s going to be getting dark soon.

  Okay.

  If he isn’t back in thirty minutes, I’ll take the ATV into town and…

  And what?

  Jesus Christ. I’m a rich fuck from suburban Pennsylvania. I’m not equipped to deal with this kind of MacGyver bullshit.

  As I’m about to head down the hall to change into sweats, the front door swings open.

  My heart stops when I see it’s River.

  Relief instantly flows through my body at the sight of him, clearly in one piece. His cheeks are red, probably from the wind, and he looks a little out of breath.

  He doesn’t notice me standing at the edge of the hallway, so he lifts his feet, one at a time, resting them on the bench next to the door to take off his boots. His ass flexes beneath his jeans, causing my dick to thicken behind my zipper.

  Fuck, I want him.

  It’s the most confusing and fucking infuriating thing I’ve ever experienced.

  Whipping off his jacket and beanie, he tosses them on the hook behind the door, then spins around to face me. He pauses, finally catching me staring at him. I track his hand running through his brown locks, attempting to fix his unruly hat hair.

  I want to be the one to run my hands through them.

  What. The. Shit. Where is this coming from?

  Pulling his AirPods from his ears, he tucks them into their case and tosses them on the kitchen island before meeting my eyes again.

  “Hey,” he says softly.

  And I just…snap.

  I’m pinning him back against the island, my hips pressing firmly into his, my hand around his throat before I can even blink. My teeth grind together in aggravation.