Chapter 32 Chapter 32
Aslan
“Not so brave without your protectors, lion?”
His rough voice sneered right next to my face as I twisted beneath him, trying to shake him off. It didn’t work. I planted my feet instead and shoved my weight into him, and we rolled across the floor in a messy tangle of limbs, fighting for leverage.
“What the hell are you doing here, you psycho?” I snapped as we struggled.
He laughed—low and dark—then drove his elbow into my ribs. The air burst from my lungs in a sharp, humiliating rush.
“You wanted to hit me,” he said. “And you wanted me to beat you just as much. Remember?” His breath was hot against my cheek. “You agreed we weren’t done.”
“You’re out of your mind. Get off me!” I shouted.
“No,” he growled back. “You get off my fucking life!”
“No!” The word tore out of me as I shoved with everything I had, flipping him onto his back. I scrambled on top of him, clumsy but determined, straddling his hips and pinning his wrists above his head before he could claw at my face.
He froze.
His blue eyes burned into me, menacing even in the dark.
“I’m warning you… Let go of me,” he snarled. Menacing. The vibration of it ran straight through me.
“No. I want you to listen. I’ve done nothing to you. All I’m trying to do is—”
My hips moved, and the words died in my throat when I felt his bulging groin beneath me.
I stopped, and my eyes went wide as something unfamiliar unfurled low in my stomach.
What the fuck? Is he having an erection?
He looked at me, realizing—his eyes just as wild, because he knew I’d noticed it too. When he regained his composure, he gave me a murderous glare, repeating the order, but this time enunciating every word. “Let. Go. Of. Me.”
My brain completely short-circuited. All I managed was a stupid "Riiight..."
My cock wasn’t hard for once. I was trying not to get punched again—and that usually wasn’t a turn-on for me, but apparently it was for him. He was turned on because of me, which made absolutely no fucking sense.
The guy hated me. He’d made that crystal clear a million times—and honestly, I hated him right back. All he’d ever done was make my life a living hell.
And yet, my own dick was now starting to press against the fabric of my pants.
Every time the thought—he's hard for me—repeated in my head, it gave another interested twitch.
"It's just fucking adrenaline," he spat, his voice tight with anger. "Now get off me."
But I didn't.
Instead, I did something insane. Something my brain wasn't even processing; it just happened. My hips shifted once more. Just the slightest bit. The friction of our uniform pants, our bodies pressed together on my bedroom floor, was enough. A weird feeling in my gut detonated, flooding through every part of me. It was the only thing I could feel, the only thing I knew.
I did it again. A slow, deliberate grind. I wasn't even thinking, just acting on some fucked-up impulse to prove a point. I was trying to get a reaction, to make him admit this was real. His whole body went rigid under me, and a sharp hiss escaped his teeth. It wasn't a sound of pain. It was a sound of something else.
I could feel him. He was getting harder, pressing insistently against my thigh through all those layers of clothes. A sick, victorious thrill shot through me.
Fuck… He wanted this.
I kept the rhythm slow, torturous, his threatening but hungry eyes fueling every movement. I was grinding against him, rubbing my body along his, and the worst part was how good it felt. The friction, the heat, the sheer wrongness of it all.
His resistance was melting. The tense line of his body softened, and his hands, which had been pushing against my chest after I released them, were now just resting there. Then I heard it. A low, broken sound from the back of his throat. A moan. His hips lifted up to meet mine, a small, helpless movement that answered my own.
He wasn't fighting anymore. He was moving with me, his breath coming in ragged pants, his head turned to the side, his face flushed. He was enjoying it. And I was the one making him.
For the first time, I felt powerful. In control. And it was the most addictive thing I had ever felt.
"Stop," Garrett said again, his voice a ragged whisper. "Just... leave me alone." But the usual threat, the bite that always accompanied his words, was gone. It was weak. Hollow.
"No," I said, my voice low and steady. "You could throw me off if you wanted to. But you don't want to, do you?" His jaw tightened, anger and something else warring in his eyes, but he didn't move. Not an inch. "That's what I thought..."
"Stop," he breathed out, a last-ditch effort.
"Make me."
We stared at each other, the challenge hanging in the air between us. His resistance was fading with every passing second, with every thrust against his groin.
As he closed his eyes, breathing heavily now, I decided there was too much damn clothing between us. My hands moved, fumbling with the button on my jeans, then his. I unzipped us both, the sound loud in the quiet room. I reached in, wrapping my fingers around both of our cocks. He was slick with pre-cum, and I used it to coat us both, stroking them together in my fist before I let them rub against each other again.
"Stop... cub," Garrett groaned, the word a broken plea.
I leaned forward, pressing his face against the floor, my lips right against his ear. "I am not a cub," I whispered, my voice rough with a power I was just discovering. "I'm a grown lion... and you can't tame me anymore..."
I rubbed harder, my body pressing against his. I was going to make him say it. "Say I am your lion..."
A shudder ran through him. "You are," he choked out. "My lion..."
"Now say that you want me untamed..."
"I... I want you untamed..." he whimpered, completely lost in the sensations. In the things I was doing to him.
I thrust harder, my own erection pulsing painfully against his, at the needy sounds coming from his mouth. "Then I wanna hear you say I am the one who owns you."
He hesitated for only a second. "You own me..."
A triumphant, vicious grin spread across my face. "Exactly. I own you now," I growled. "The guy you hate, the one you can't stand and bully every day. The one you said was nothing, garbage, no one... is the same one who's gonna make you come in your pants—" I paused, a new idea striking me. "Actually, not really…"
I lifted my weight just enough to yank his pants down his thighs, exposing completely his raging hard on, pulsing and slick for me. I grabbed his face and turned it toward me so he could watch me fist his cock.
“Fuck, Aslan… please—” Hearing Garrett say my name, pleading, wanting me… was the most turned on I’d ever been in my life, and it was messing with my head in such a way that, as much as I knew this was wrong, I couldn’t get myself to stop.
I looked right at him, jerking him hard and fast as he cried out, his body arching off the floor, writhing beneath me. With a loud, broken shout, he came all over himself, his release coating his stomach and chest.
I stopped for a second, just watching him pant and shake. Then I grabbed my own cock, stroking it quickly. It only took a few pulls before I was spilling my load all over him, marking his trembling body with my cum. I was stunned by how incredible it looked and how much I enjoyed seeing Garrett covered with my cum.
Holly shit… My cum.
The thought startled me as we both looked at each other in silence, breathing heavily. It wasn’t until the high began to wind down that panic set in.
.