Born To Be Your's

Chapter 15

The final class of the day was Gym, and the tension between Blake and Liv was a physical presence that stretched across the bleachers. They sat next to each other and removed from the sweaty chaos below, trading sarcastic comments about the pathetic attempts at volleyball being played on the court.

Blake was mid-sentence, dissecting a guy's form with cruel wit, when Bethany, Xander's girlfriend, stopped directly in front of their feet. She was wearing a perfectly coordinated, expensive gym outfit, and her eyes were cold and sharp.

“It’s nice you do charity work for the poor, Liv,” Bethany sneered, her gaze sweeping dismissively over Liv’s black clothes and then over Blake’s messy, handsome face. “You make out with the little faggot brother, now you’re cozying up with the big one. What’s next? A family discount?”

Liv didn't look up, instead fiddling with a loose thread on her jeans. “What can I say, Bethany? I like to keep it in the family. It’s a good return on investment.”

Bethany’s smug expression tightened, seeing her cheap shot didn't land. She paused, recalibrating, a malicious glint entering her eyes.

“Is that why you keep getting passed around into foster homes?” Bethany asked, her voice dropping to a theatrical whisper. “Because you like to ‘keep it in the family,’ honey? You sluts always find your way together, don’t you?”

Liv’s smirk vanished instantly. The shift in her demeanor was shocking. Her jaw tightened, her eyes going dead and cold, returning to the impenetrable mask Blake had seen that first day. Bethany had struck the one nerve Blake knew existed—the profound shame of her abandonment.

“Oh, did I strike a nerve?” Bethany chuckled, emboldened by Liv's sudden, dangerous silence.

That was the line.

Liv moved before Blake could even shift his weight. It wasn’t a sloppy, emotional attack; it was a quick, sharp, precise strike. She surged off the bleachers, pulling her hand back and delivering a clean, hard right hook directly to Bethany’s face. The sound was a sharp smack.

Bethany cried out, stumbling backward and hitting the floor. But Liv wasn’t done. The silence was broken by the sound of Liv scrambling onto Bethany, delivering a furious, controlled flurry of punches, her trauma exploding outward.

Blake was instantly on his feet. He was about to pull Liv off—not to stop the fight, but to prevent Liv from catching a suspension that would jeopardize Francis’s tuition money.

But then he saw Xander, flanked by his two remaining football cronies, barreling toward the fight. Xander’s eyes were locked on Liv, and his hand was reaching out to grab her.

Blake didn’t think. He didn’t question. He just reacted.

Instinctively, Blake pulled his fist back—the strong, powerful fist that had hauled copper and knocked Xander down before—and punched the football captain squarely in the face. The sickening crunch of bone breaking was audible over the shouts. Blake had re-re-broken Xander’s nose.

The gym erupted. Blake immediately turned his attention to the two remaining cronies, delivering a vicious elbow to one and driving a hard knee into the other’s gut. Blake was consumed by the protective, cold fury that only his family—or, now, this girl—could evoke. He fought like a man trying to dismantle a threat to his survival.

A frantic whistle blew, and gym teachers and the principal's office staff came sprinting onto the court.

“Oh, s**t. Time to go, Liv,” Blake hissed.

He grabbed Liv by the arm, pulling her off the sobbing Bethany. Blake shoved a student out of the way and dragged Liv out of the gym, ignoring the chaos they left behind.

They ran through the school hallways, the sound of their heavy boots echoing off the concrete. Blake, remembering his years of evading detection, spotted an old janitor's closet—a small, dark pocket of forgotten space.

“In here!” he gasped, fumbling for the handle.

He yanked the door open and dragged Liv inside, slamming the door shut and securing the flimsy lock.

They stood pressed together in the pitch-black darkness, breathing heavily, their adrenaline surging like an electric tide. The muffled sounds of shouting and whistles echoed outside the thin door.

Blake felt the heat radiating off Liv’s body, the desperate intake of her breath. He looked at her, his vision adjusting to the dark. Liv was a beautiful, volatile mess—her dark hair disheveled, her cheeks flushed, her eyes blazing with a mixture of terror and savage triumph. Just like him.

Liv’s gaze snapped to his face. She gently reached up, her fingers tracing the small, fresh cut on his bottom lip where he must have been hit during the scuffle. A tiny bead of blood welled up.

Blake looked down at her, his own breathing ragged. He saw the beautiful, frantic chaos in her eyes. The air was thick with sweat, violence, and forbidden desire.

Without another thought, Blake leaned down, crushing his lips into hers, kissing her passionately.

The passion that erupted between them was a violent release of every suppressed desire, every shared trauma, and every hostile glance they had exchanged for weeks. Blake didn't wait for permission; he only waited for denial.

Liv didn't push him away. Instead, she met his desperate force with an equal, desperate need. Her arms shot up, one hand threading tightly into his thick, damp hair, pulling his head down harder, while the other roamed his back, gripping the hard lines of muscle beneath his shirt.

Blake felt her unquestioning, consenting acceptance and let his own control dissolve. His hands immediately found the hem of her sweatshirt, moving beneath the fabric, tracing the smooth, warm skin of her stomach. He found her perfect breasts, cupping them in his big, strong hands, gently squeezing the yielding flesh.

Liv moaned against his mouth, a muffled, primal sound that only fueled him. In return, her hand slid down his body, tracing the hot skin of his abdomen before reaching the line of his jeans. With a quick, sure movement, she found the zipper and yanked it down, freeing his thick, hard c**k.

Blake groaned, the combination of her touch, her scent, and the raw urgency overwhelming him. He broke the kiss long enough to lift her easily, placing her on the cold, shallow edge of the old sink. He quickly dispensed with the rest of her layers, yanking off her boots, jeans, and lace underwear, the cloth scattering forgotten on the floor.

She met him with equal, feverish urgency, her eyes blazing. She crashed her lips into his, pulling his head back down. Blake felt her heat, her readiness—she was soaking wet, trembling for him. He didn’t hesitate. He pulled her hips forward and thrusted inside her in one deep, defining movement.

Blake groaned, the sound torn from his chest. She was impossibly wet, scalding hot, and intensely, physically tight around his large c**k. The sensation was unlike anything he had ever experienced—a shockwave that traveled straight to his core.

Liv gasped, feeling herself stretch to accommodate his size, her arms wrapping around his neck, her thighs clamping around his waist. “f**k,” she choked out against his shoulder, gripping his back with desperate strength.

Blake paused, allowing her body the necessary moment to adjust. Then he began to move. He started slow, deep, and deliberate, letting the pressure build, then increasing the tempo, thrusting harder, faster. The thin walls of the closet could barely contain their desperate moans and ragged gasps.

Liv tightened her grip on his back, her hips rising to meet his desperate rhythm, her inner muscles contracting tightly around him. Blake gripped the backs of her thighs, burying himself deeper with every powerful thrust. He could feel her tightening, getting closer to the edge, the pleasure overwhelming the remnants of their anger and trauma.

It happened simultaneously. Blake felt the exquisite, demanding pressure of her tightening around his c**k, and he screamed her name, “f**k Olivia!” into her neck, his body seizing with release. Liv gasped, her whimper muffled against his strong shoulder, her own climax shaking her entire small body against his.

They collapsed against the sink, holding each other, slick with sweat and the aftermath, breathing heavily in the small, dark space. This was not the transaction of s*x Blake was used to; this was a fundamental, violent collision of two broken halves, a truth they had both desperately tried to avoid.

Blake finally pulled back just slightly, his eyes half-lidded, his breath still ragged. He kissed her temple softly, a simple, tender act of affection that felt heavier than the fight and the theft combined.

“That… was incredible,” he whispered, the admission stripped of all sarcasm.

Liv didn't respond immediately. She was still processing, her body trembling slightly. She slid off the sink, pulling the crumpled, black lace underwear from the floor, and quickly dressed herself, yanking on her jeans and boots with harsh, efficient movements. Blake watched her, zipping up his own pants, ready to reach out.

But before he could touch her, before he could try to define the terrifying emotional space they had just created, Liv turned away. She unlocked the closet door and walked out without a word, leaving Blake alone in the silent, dark closet.

Blake stood there, his body still humming with the aftershocks, confused, elated, and utterly abandoned.