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What is it with the men in this family, always seeming to orbit around me?
As if it bothers you when the younger one ‘orbits’ you, you liar,some mocking voice in my head says.
Despite how we left things on philharmonic night, I think about him every night before falling asleep.
“William, son, how are you?” the older man asks, ignoring the icy tone in his heir’s voice.
To my embarrassment, he doesn’t answer.
Not remotely interested in staying in the middle of their tug-of-war, I make my excuses and leave the library without saying goodbye.
I only manage a few steps down the hall before someone grabs my arm.
I don’t even get time to shout because, next thing I know, I’m being pulled into another room and pinned against the closed door.
I feel a bit dizzy as his scent hits me, the way he’s holding me...the way he’s looking at me.
His jaw is clenched, and I can’t tell if it’s anger or desire.
I don’t have to wait long to find out; he takes my mouth in a kiss that makes the ones before feel like mild afternoon strolls.
At the same time, his tongue invades me, sending waves of pleasure through my body; his rigid frame presses against mine, forcing me to feel every part of him.
My legs go weak, but I don’t need them because his hands slide down to my backside, lifting me so I can wrap my thighs around his waist.
I moan when he bites my lower lip, and I bury my fingers in his hair so he doesn’t move away.
I don’t know how long he kisses me, but when he finally pulls back for air, I can’t even open my eyes yet.
“You’re delicious.”
I rest my head on his shoulder, but I only manage that for a second or two before he sets me down on the floor.
I’m startled and open my eyes. The man standing in front of me now isn’t the passionate one from a moment ago; he’s cold and distant.
“What were you doing with him?”
“What?”
“You and my father.”
I’m not slow, so I immediately realize what he’s implying. “The first time you accused me of being your father’s lover, you didn’t know me. You can’t use that excuse anymore, Mr. Marshall,” I say, stepping toward the door. “Don’t touch me again. I’m not a toy you can snatch from your father just because you’re mad.”
“Do I need to snatch you from him?”
I should just say no—he’s old enough to be my grandfather, for God’s sake—but I’m too furious at him for even thinking that about me. Instead of giving him the satisfaction of the answer he expects, I open the door. Then, before leaving, I turn back.
“That’s none of your business,” I say before dashing out of his presence.
An idea or description of an imaginary country, society, or reality in which everything is organized in an oppressive, frightening, or totalitarian way—contrasting with a utopia, which would be an ideal world. In short, a dystopia is a world worse than the reality in which we live.
Taylor
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“I appreciate it,but I’m really tired,” I reply for the third time tonight to the waiter who started working at the bar a little over two weeks ago.
He’s very handsome, and at first, as I tried to move on from what happened with William, I thought letting him get close was a good idea. It only took two shifts for me to realize what a dumb idea it was. The guy is suffocating. Just tonight, he’s already asked me three times to go to some party.