Veils of Rivalry Chapter 18

Cole's POV

The ringing of my phone wakes me from my deep sleep, and I wince when I try to move, my body battered and bruised from last night’s antics.

Everything is tight and tense, and so is my rigid cock standing to attention beneath my duvet, straining in my pants.

I shove my hand south and fix it to a comfortable position, groaning from the tingling sensation. I didn’t get off last night. My full attention was on Blaise and making sure I owned full dominance.

I think, deep down, I didn’t want to dominate him – wearing the mask and hiding who I was just made it that bit easier to breathe.

What exactly was it I wanted? To beat Blaise? To touch him?

No.

I’m just confused with the way I’m feeling. Allie claims to love me, yet spreads her legs for anyone and everyone, and then Blaise is just…everywhere.

Another buzz from my bedside, and I sigh and rub my hand down my face. I need to go back to sleep, I’m exhausted.

With one eye open, I reach for my phone, rejecting the call from Allie. It’s three in the morning, and going by the bazillion messages apologizing, she’s cheated on me again. I should call her back and demand to know who she’s fucked – and I will, just so I can save myself any embarrassment and go beat up the asshole, but she can panic for a little while longer.

She calls again and again and again. Exasperated, I give in and answer the phone. “What?”

“Baby,” she cries, and I want so badly to hang up. “I didn’t mean it. I wasn’t planning on doing anything, I just needed to talk to him about my course work!”

“You fucked your professor again.” Not a question, and by the way she starts sobbing, I’m correct. “Why exactly are you with me if you keep fucking around?”

Sniffing, she coughs, and then I hear a door opening and closing. Her voice lowers. “We haven’t had sex in months, Cole.” Her throat cracks. “You don’t come near me, and if you do, you pull away. We barely talk. We barely message each other. When we do, you’re dry or emotionless or you just seem bored with me.”

“So instead of breaking up with me, you cheat?”

“I think you’re cheating on me too.”

I snort out a laugh. “That’s the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever said.” Technically, I have cheated. I fucked Blaise’s throat and stroked him to an orgasm, but that doesn’t count. “I’ve never given you any reason to think I’ve cheated.”

She sniffles, and I pinch the bridge of my nose.

“We had sex at Samson’s party,” I say, sitting up, leaning my back to the headboard.

When she stays silent, I shake my head. “We should probably just call it quits, Allie. You obviously want the single life, and I’m not going to embarrass myself any further.”

“No!” she shrieks. “Please. Please, don’t end this. I’ll do better.”

I sense movement in my dark room, and I glance to the side to see the shadow of someone sitting on the floor with their back to the wall.

She’s still crying and begging me, but I hang up on her.

Blaise.

Leaning over, I turn on my lamp, lighting the room with a soft glow. My eyes land on all the bruises littering his face, the gash on the side of his head covered in dried blood, the swollen eye from my fists.

“Blaise?”

He doesn’t look at me when I say his name. His hair is a mess, as if he’s been running his hands through it. And he’s in the same clothes. They’re still damp, surely?

I gulp and sit up more. The silence is deafening, and I’m getting a little nervous at the tension here. There’s a tightrope between us, and I don’t know if it’s wrapping around my throat or pulling me toward Blaise.

“What happened to you?” I ask, knowing fine well it was my fists that did all that damage. “You look like shit.”

He doesn’t give me any response, or even acknowledge that I’m asking him anything. He’s vacant, unblinkingly staring at the wall opposite him.

The urge to go to him annoys me. Why the fuck would I do that?

I grab my ringing phone, silence Allie and, for fuck’s sake, a message from Mia pops up asking if Blaise is home.

Why is everyone awake at this fucking time in the morning?

I frown at my screen, then look at him again. “Mia is looking for you.”

Nothing. He’s not even asking why his girlfriend has my number. I don’t have hers saved, but from the millions of times Blaise has called me from it to either give me shit, ask me to pick him up, or to get ahold of one of our parents, I recognize the number.

Why is he not speaking? Did I fuck him up that good?

“Rough night?” I ask him, and I feel like slapping myself.

Of course it was a rough night. I beat the shit out of him, then forced myself on him. Rough night is an understatement. Saying that, my body hurts too. If he really wanted to, he could have stopped me. There was an opening he could’ve whipped off my mask, but he chose pleasure from an unknown.

And I was hard from it – the thrill of chasing him, watching him, hitting and touching him. I was so hard that I was losing my vision. I nearly took it too far, wanting more, to go further, to fuck him up really good and to feel from it, but the look in his eyes when I wrapped my hand around his cock? It floored me.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

Chewing my lip, I glance around my room to make sure I definitely packed away the mask and black hoodie – they’re in my bag in the closet.

I don’t have any bruises or cuts to my face to show that it was me, but what if he recognized my voice? My left eye was visible through the crack. Did he realize?

Maybe it was my cologne. Fuck. Does Blaise know I’m the unidentified masked man who’s been fucking with him? Does he know his stepbrother forced him to suck his dick, then stroked his cock until he came?

I swallow and sit on the edge of the bed, my knees bouncing, stopping when I lean my elbows on them. “Are you going to stay silent and stare at nothing, or are you going to tell me why you’re in my room?”

He’s only been in here twice since me and Mom moved in years ago. Once when he was drunk, and I had to lead him to his own room and hide the fact he was fucked up. The second time, he stormed in after an argument and tried to choke me out. We fought for what felt like hours before his dad broke us apart and blamed it all on me. I was the bully, and he was the victim.

Every. Fucking. Time.

“Did you take something?” I ask, nerves catching in my throat.

“Just…” He sighs, closing his eyes. “Let me sit here.”

Why does the way he says those words stab me in the chest?

For the next ten minutes, we stay silent, my phone buzzing repeatedly from Allie – but this is more important. I hate Blaise. I really fucking hate him, but there’s something within me that also wants to protect him. Plus, I think he knows and he’s trying to process it. Maybe he’s readying himself to walk down for breakfast in a few hours and tell our parents I basically forced sexual acts on him. He knows I’ll get disowned and my schooling will be done. I’ll lose my spot on the team, and if I get kicked out, there’s a high chance my dad will try to swoop in to save the day.

Not that he will. We ran when Mom finally had enough, and he never tried finding me.

I was the son nobody wanted.