Page 42

But then a tear falls.

I realize my eyes are just watering.

I cast them upward slowly, all the hurt transforming into seething hatred.

Over the edge of the bed, Wicker is staring down at me with wide blue eyes, face pale. “Shit, I didn’t realize you were—” That’s all he gets out before my balled fist slams into his perfect fucking mouth. “Fuck!” he howls, lifting his hands to defend himself from my barrage of punches. “Ow! Watch the fucking face—would you just—!” Growling, he snatches both my wrists, yanking me close to bark, “Chill the hell out!”

I clamp down on the tangle of hurt inside my chest because it doesn’t belong. Wicker can’t hurt me there. I’d never let him. It was just the moment—that stupid fantasy—of warmth and comfort being shattered so wholly.

“Are you trying to kill me?” I roar. Or, I try to. In reality, my voice cracks, and I have to set my jaw to stop myself from showing this man something he doesn’t deserve.

Wicker’s eyes narrow. “If I were trying to kill you, you’d know it, what with being dead and all.” He drops my wrists only to grab the front of my nightgown, hauling me close to inspect my head. “It’s just a bruise. I’ve had worse from sleeping with Pace. Don’t be such a baby.”

“A baby?” I shove him away, sneering. “Ababy. That’s a good point. I wonder what Lex would think about you launching his precious fetus off the bed.” When he freezes, I add, “Or your father.”

I’m halfway to the door when I hear Wicker’s feet pounding toward me, his body suddenly blocking mine. “Whoa, hold the fuck up.” He touches my shoulders, eyes frantic. “You don’t need to tell anyone.”

I bark a low laugh. “Oh, I don’t?”

“No, because,” he wets his lips, eyes zipping side to side. “Because… because Lex, you know, he’ll take you down into the exam room and poke and prod you, probably send you off for x-rays, and Father will…” A shadow falls over his expression, and I don’t imagine the flash of horror in his eyes.

“What?” I smugly ask, possessed by visions of Wicker having his back whipped. “What will Father do? Hmm?”

Wicker’s arms fall away, his blue eyes locking with mine. “Oh, you fucking bitch.” His mouth pinches into a bitter, humorless smirk. “So this is the game now, huh? Gonna run to Daddy every time one of us makes you cry?”

Snorting, I reply, “I’m not crying.”

“You were a second away from sobbing.”

My fists clench. “You’re a second away from losing that pitiful excuse of a dick.”

He thumbs the corner of his mean grin. “Finally admitting you want my dick?”

“In a jar,” I grind out. “On my mantle.”

The standoff is atmospheric, like the crackle in the air right before a lightning strike. I can practically taste the ozone on the back of my tongue, watching Wicker’s nostrils flare out.

“Fine. Name your price.” Even when he relents, it doesn’t look like it. Doesn’t feel like it. He lifts his arms to lace his fingers behind his head, putting the full breadth of his body on display for me. “Want to grind on my cock? Use my body like a dildo?” After a moment of my gawking at him, he tugs his lip through his teeth, giving my body a charged once-over. “Nah, that’s not quite right, is it? I know what you really want.”

He locks gazes with me, slowly descending to a lazy-eyed kneel.

Maybe I’m actually still dreaming.

That’s the only way to explain Wicker Ashby on his knees before me, a palm reaching out to curl around my calf.

“What are youdoing?” I ask, incredulous.

“Don’t pretend you don’t want it. I eat your cunt, you keep your mouth shut. Fair transaction.” The way he’s touching me is electric, his tongue painting his lips with shiny saliva. Wicker is good at what he does, and what he does is this:

A single glance turns my bones to gelatin.

But I’ve been around him long enough now to understand it’s just what he called it before. A game. Beneath the lascivious glint in his blue eyes burns spite that’s hot enough to burn this whole city to the ground.

I should take it.

There’s no way of cutting him deeper than this. To use him like a convenient, pretty body, just like those rich women at that party he took me to. I’d show him this is where he belongs; on his knees, between a woman’s thighs. I’d ride his tongue and make him taste how bitter I am.

Instead, I place my foot on his chest and shove, watching him sprawl back with an affronted frown.