Chapter 17 Kristen
My wrists ached. Not from pain, not really. More like absence—of his hands, of the cuffs, of the sharp edge of control that had held me suspended between torment and bliss. The moment Leo leaned in, everything else fell away. I didn’t care about the restraints, the rules, or whatever game he thought we were playing. All I could think about was him. The way his breath ghosted over my skin, the scent of him—leather, smoke, and something darker, something that lived under my skin now.
God, I wanted him.
I wanted to drop to my knees and taste every inch of him. I imagined wrapping my fingers around the base of his cock, feeling the hot, thick weight of it pulse in my hand. I wanted to hear him groan—deep and low—as I licked the head, teasing slow, then sucking him in until my throat tightened. I pictured his hips jerking, the way they might lose control when I took him deep, my lips stretched wide and slick. I wanted to feel the tension coil in his stomach, under that hard, tattooed chest I’d touched in my dreams, in my most frantic, sweaty moments alone.
My hands itched to roam over him, dragging my nails down the line of muscle, over the ink scrawled across his skin. I wanted to fist that silver-streaked hair, pull him down to me, feel his mouth on my clit, his tongue flicking hard and fast while I gasped his name. No slow burn—just raw hunger.
And he was right there. So close I could feel the heat of him, could see the slow flare of his nostrils, the shadow in his eyes. I tilted my chin, just a little, lips parted, ready to kiss him. I didn’t care if it ended messy. I didn’t care if he pushed me away. I was already undone.
But he moved first.
He pulled back. Cold. Controlled. Like I was some wild thing that needed a cage, not a girl strung out on the edge of wanting him.
The vibration cut off. That merciless buzzing that had kept me trembling for what felt like hours. He powered it down, sealed it back in its case like it was just another tool, not the instrument of my unraveling. My breath hitched as he knelt beside me, metal clicking between us. The cuffs fell away. The chill of freedom bit into my skin.
Then came his voice—sharp, flat, final.
“If you pull this shit again, Kristen, I might not be there to save you.”
He didn’t wait for a reply. Just walked away like nothing had happened, like he hadn’t just broken me open and left me raw on the floor.
I rubbed my wrists slowly. The red marks stared back at me, fading fast, but I didn’t want them to. I needed them. Proof that it had been real. That he had touched me, restrained me, fucked with me. That I had begged for more.
But that wasn’t why I came.
“I didn’t come here for this,” I said quietly, just loud enough for him to hear.
Leo didn’t stop. He didn’t look back. He grabbed a jacket from the hook near the door, as if this was just a pit stop in his day. I stood slowly, legs trembling, and stepped toward him.
“I came to talk.”
That got him. He turned, not fully, but enough to give me the edge of his profile. His jaw was clenched tight, that vein in his neck pulsing like he hated needing to hear what came next.
“I hate it there,” I said. My voice cracked. “The academy. It’s cold. It’s… hostile. Everyone walks around like they’ve got something to prove. Like they’re waiting for you to break.”
He rolled his eyes, barely.
“It’s college, Kristen. Suck it up.”
I flinched like he’d slapped me.
“Not everyone’s built like you,” I snapped. “Not all of us walk in and own the room. I’m trying. But I don’t have friends. I don’t even have a safe place to breathe.”
His expression didn’t change. Not at first. He just stared at me like I was being dramatic. Like I was wasting his time. That sting sank deep, hot and fast, and it twisted everything that had been soft between us just minutes before.
I stepped toward him. “You think this is about a vibrator and a few bruises? You think I showed up here just to get off?”
He didn’t answer. Didn’t have to. The answer was written all over his face.
“Unbelievable.”
He turned away, walking toward the front of the apartment, and I followed, furious. The walls between us weren’t made of stone anymore. They were glass. Thin enough to see through, but thick enough to still keep me out.
“You’re an asshole,” I muttered. “I’m trying—”
“Trying isn’t enough.” His voice snapped like a whip, hard and fast. “If you can’t survive there, you shouldn’t be there.”
“I’m not you!”
He stopped walking. The air in the hallway went tight.
“You think this is about me?” he said. “I’m not your fucking therapist. I’m not your cheerleader. I’m here to protect you from evil—not your drama.”
“Then what the hell am I supposed to do?” I shouted. “Cry in my dorm? Wait for someone to finally talk to me? What—what do you want from me?”
He turned fully now, eyes blazing.
“Make friends. Join a club. Throw a fucking party. I don’t care. Do something.”
I stood there, stunned. Every word hit like a slap. Not because he was wrong—he wasn’t. That was the worst part. He wasn’t wrong.
But God, it still hurt.
I didn’t say anything after that. Couldn’t. I just walked to the door in silence, swallowing every angry comeback, every tear that wanted to rise. My throat burned. My hands curled into fists at my sides. I didn’t look at him again until I reached for the handle.
“Wait.”
His voice was low now. Not soft, but less cruel. I turned, not sure what I was hoping for. An apology? A scrap of tenderness? A touch?
Instead, he reached into his coat and pulled out a small black object. A pocket knife. Sleek. Compact. Deadly.
“Keep this on you,” he said. “Always. Just in case.”
He held it out. I hesitated, then took it, feeling the weight settle into my palm like it belonged there.
He stepped closer, took my phone from my pocket, checked something, then nodded. “Still got me on speed dial.”
I didn’t trust my voice, so I nodded.
There was something in his eyes. Something unsaid. He looked at me like he wanted to speak, but whatever words he had caught in his throat and died there. He just stood still, breathing slow, and then stepped back.
“I have to go,” I whispered.
He didn’t answer. Just watched me with that unreadable expression as I opened the door and walked out into the night.
The cold bit through me as I crossed the street to my car. The adrenaline had worn off, but my body still hummed with a tension I couldn’t shake. I got behind the wheel, shut the door, and just sat there for a second. Breathing. Remembering.
His voice. That pressure between my thighs. The way he’d looked at me when I was tied down and trembling.
I reached into my bag slowly and pulled it out—the small, sealed vibrator I had taken when he wasn’t looking. My fingers closed around the smooth case. I stared at it, heart pounding, heat blooming low in my belly.
It was stupid. It was reckless. But I couldn’t help it.
I wanted him.
Still.
Maybe even more now.
As I started the car and pulled onto the road, one thought settled heavy in my chest, anchoring itself with a dangerous certainty.
This wasn’t the last time.
Not even close.