Veils of Rivalry Chapter 16

Blaise's POV

“Such a good fucking boy.”

Fuck me dead. Those whispered words and the anger they evoked when he used them as a weapon to taunt me drove me mad, but not only that—desire licked over my heated skin beneath my soaked clothes.

Trapped in my pants, my cock pulses as I sprint down the hallway like my life depends on it, pushing myself more than I ever have on the football field.

My boots thunder on the floor, and my legs pump harder and faster. Beneath the consuming fear and anticipation burns a fire that sets me alight. I’m alive.

I go flying around the corner, colliding with the wall opposite, my shoulder taking the brunt of the impact. The pain barely registers. My head already throbs from the blow that sent me flying into the swimming pool. I didn’t see it coming, and that’s what’s so fucking thrilling. I felt his hard dick grind against my ass back there, his fingers twitching in my hair, the barely restrained control behind every breath.

Expecting him close on my heel, I throw a quick glance behind me, and my heart rate spikes to dangerous levels when I find the hallway empty. I skid to a halt, spinning around. Where the fuck is he? I swear he was behind me seconds ago. Music blares, throbbing in my veins. I slowly back up against the wall, scanning the dark hallway while trying to catch my breath.

My attacker is aroused by the chase, and the small flicker of doubt of not knowing what his true intentions are sets me on fire. What does he want with me? How far will he take this? Who the fuck is he?

I swipe my damp sleeve across my eyes to wipe the blood away as my heart thrashes. I might need stitches.

“Jesus,” I whisper, closing my eyes and wincing when another sharp stab of pain sears my skull. He didn’t hold back when he knocked me down.

No, focus, dammit.

Shaking my head, blood pouring in a steady stream from a cut on my eyebrow, I push off the wall and continue down the hallway, glancing behind me every few seconds.

He’s nowhere in sight, and I soon find out why when I turn the next corner.

Moonlight streaks through the window beside him, bathing his imposing form in an ethereal glow as he watches me from behind his mask.

I’m unsteady on my feet, dizzy from the blow, and he cocks his head, intrigued.

I sway, trying to focus, but it’s difficult when I see two of him.

Tightening his grip on the hockey stick in his hand, he steps toward me, and I inch back, cursing my fucking dick for twitching at the sight of the weapon in his hand—the damage it can do if he catches me.

Focus, Blaise.

I need to remove his mask somehow. Expose his identity so that I can destroy him for thinking he could threaten me without consequences.

His blurring shape morphs again, splitting from two into three before merging back into one. I chuckle as I stumble back, blood stinging my eyes. I’m so fucking screwed. But hey, that’s what makes it so damn exciting, right? Very few things in life thrill me, and this masked man might be as unhinged as I am.

I extend my arm, pointing at him, and flash a feral smile. “Catch me if you can, fucker.” Spinning around, I run in the opposite direction, flying down the next corridor, ignoring the stabbing pain in my skull and the burning muscles in my thighs.

The faster I run, the more excited I get, and the more I wish—no, hope—that he’ll beat me bloodied with the stick before fucking me hard and making me feel something real for once.

Wait?

Fuck me?

Yeah, I’ve lost it.

The thought has more laughter spilling from my lips. I must have a concussion. Why else would I be this enthralled by a masked psychopath with an erection chasing me like a bloodthirsty lunatic? This is the stuff of horror movies, and I’m here for it.

I throw a glance behind me, seeing him getting closer.

Shit…

Darting inside the nearest lecture hall, I slam the door shut, ramming my shoulder against it, but I’m not fast enough, and the wood crashes against his hockey stick.

Jesus fuck… I grunt, shoving harder against the stick, then spin around, my eyes darting across the empty hall. The only other exit is across the room.

When the door pushes against my back, I make a rash decision to dash for the rows of raised seats.

I fly up the steps, throwing myself into one of the rows, jumping over the back of seats, ascending higher and higher. I’m weak, and my attacker laughs, knocking the hockey stick against the furniture.

“Where are you going?” he shouts as I scale a bench, and the sound of his voice sends me crashing to the dirty floor between two rows.

I wince in pain, clutching my elbow. Fuck me, that hurt! My chest shakes with silent laughter. How the hell did I find myself trapped in a lecture hall by a fucking madman whose cock I’ve sucked?

Grabbing hold of the nearest seat, I pull myself up, grimacing as pain jabs at my skull. I’ll feel fantastic tomorrow.

I breathe through gritted teeth, my eyes tracking his every move while I try to gain control of my body. There are two more rows behind me. If I’m quick, I might reach the doors at the top.

When he’s at the end of my row, I swallow down a spike of exhilaration, watching him approach. Dark eyes peer at me through his mask. He takes his sweet time, one booted step in front of the other, his black jeans straining against his muscular legs.

Kneeling on the floor with my injured elbow clasped tightly against my heaving chest, I bare my bloodied teeth while trying my damn hardest not to stare at his thick bulge. But fuck me; I can see the outline of his hard dick. I’m an injured animal, playing dead at the feet of his attacker. Something about that turns me the hell on.

Not only that… Something about my attacker reminds me of Cole. I can’t put my finger on what it is, but it’s there in the tense sway of his broad shoulders and that searing gaze.

My heart thuds harder in response, and I allow myself to indulge in the fantasy of my tormented stepbrother being my late-night stalker. How far would I let him descend into the dark night with me before steering him back into the light where he belongs? Or would I take him hostage, dragging him farther into the shadows? He’s too good for a soul like me and too fucking pure, but that’s what makes him so irresistible. I want a taste.

As the hockey stick slides beneath my chin and tilts it up, I stare into the gleaming eyes behind the mask, and for one moment, it’s Cole who stares back at me—conflicted, aroused, fucked up.

A smile plays at the corner of my lips, my heart finding a steady rhythm as I dig my fingers into my palms. The thing about injured animals who play dead is that they don’t stay down for long. It’s a ruse—a game of ‘pretend’ to buy time.

I launch myself at his ankles, taking him by surprise and sending him crashing to the floor. He throws his arms out, but it’s too late—his breath gets knocked from his lungs.

Hurling myself on top of him, I try to grab his mask, fighting with his flailing arms and wriggling body. We roll in the small row like tumbleweeds, knocking against the seats, grunting and cursing, flinging punches until we’re both sweaty and out of breath.

When I start to succumb to my injuries, the weaker of us, I jump up and try to launch myself over the back of the row, but my attacker grabs hold of my ankle and hauls me down.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.