Page 103 of The Club

Rafael wanders away from the broken lamp. He knocks a painting off the wall. I stare at him, stunned.

Next, he snags the iron poker from the fireplace. He whips it across the mantel, sweeping everything to the floor.

He turns to face me from across the room. His gray eyes are steely. His jaw is hard. He looks angry. He looks psychotic.

I huff a small laugh. I don’t really know how to react. Rafael smiles like a fucking lunatic—and cracks the iron poker against the wall behind him.

For a while, I just stand there and watch him demolish my father’s office. He’s a force of fucking chaos—and so goddamn beautiful that I stop really thinking about my father and start thinking about him. How he moves. How his cock is starting to lift against the front of his sweatpants.

Eyes laser focused on my face, he comes sauntering my way. He sets the poker on the desk, grabs my face, and kisses the hell out of me. It’s an aggressive kiss, a dirty kiss, all tongue and teeth. It unlocks me. I grab his hips and haul him against me, lit up by the feeling of his hard cock. I moan as my dick swells. I deepen the kiss, devouring him as he’s devouring me.

Grabbing his hair, I pull his head back, breaking the kiss and exposing his throat. I bite and suck and rub my face all over him. I’m frantic with it, unable to believe that I’m doing this here.

His fingers scrape at me, my chest and abdomen, my back and ass. He grunts and pants and arches toward me.

Then he reaches for something on the desk and pushes it against my hand. It’s my father’s crystal ashtray. As I take it, Rafael draws aside, clearing my path but still touching me. His hand goes under the hem of my t-shirt to feel my abs then trace my waistband.

I start breathing hard, aroused and getting angry. It bubbles up slowly, moving sluggishly through the ice that’s been in my blood the whole time we’ve been in this house. Then I hurl the ashtray across the room. It cracks into the wall, cratering the drywall.

Rafael makes a sound of appreciation and draws away to start going through the desk drawers. He finds a black marker and walks to one of the walls. He writes in huge letters across the wallpaper,Fuckstick.Then,Shitpants.

I laugh. “What are you, twelve?”

He grins over his shoulder and draws a picture of a cock.

I rifle through the desk for my father’s fancy knife.

I still feel a little weird as I stand over his leather office chair. I force myself to stab the seat. I force myself to stab the back. Then I fucking lose it.

I slash and hack until I’m grunting and panting and making all kinds of fucked-up sounds. Heat roars through my body. I pick up the chair and hurl it across the room. It hits the couch and bounces over it, tumbling into the fireplace.

I storm across the room and pick up another chair. I throw it too. I tear down the last painting and rip it to shreds. I yank the curtains down, tearing the rod from the wall. I whip the rod free of the curtains and throw it like a spear out the door.

Chest heaving, fists clenched, cock hard as fuck, I turn to look for Rafael. He’s standing by my father’s massive desk. Obscene drawings decorate the walls all around him. His lips are tugging in a wicked smile, his eyes are dark with arousal, and his cock is tenting his pants.

I stalk toward him.

“Wanna help me flip this desk?” he asks.

“No,” I say, snatching the marker from his hand and tossing it away. I sweep everything off the desk. “I have a use for it.”

I grab at his shirt, practically ripping it from his body. He starts scrabbling at mine. I slap his hands away and tear it off myself.

I grab him by the throat. “Vandalism is very naughty.”

His eyelids flutter. “Then punish me.”

“Oh, I will.”

I release his throat to spin him around. I slam him down on the desk. I fish in the pocket of his sweats and find what I expect. With the sachet of lube in hand, I yank down his pants. I shove my own to my thighs and tear open the lube. I slick my stiff, angry cock then pour the rest into my hand and slap it against Rafael’s ass.

“Hurt me,” he breathes.

I press my cockhead to his hole and push into him He shouts and squirms and cries out as I forcefully penetrate him, pushing past his body’s resistance.

I know it hurts, but I slap his ass anyway. “Stop crying like a bitch. You can take it.”

I need him to—and he does. He accepts the pain, makes himself relax into it as I thrust. Then his cries become needy, desperate moans.