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But when I unfold it, peering inside, all I see is another bag, this one smaller, the size of an egg, and made of cloth. Warily, I pluck it out and turn it over, dumping the contents into my hand.

Seeds.

When I look up, Wicker looks away.

“What are these?” I ask.

“They’re seeds,” he answers dryly. “You can plant them in the solarium.”

Narrowing my eyes, I ask, “What will they grow?”

He finally meets my gaze, blue eyes flashing in irritation. “Well, it’s a surprise, isn’t it? If I just told you, what would be the fun in planting them?”

Our gazes lock in a challenging stare for all of three seconds. “I’ll just ask Danner,” I say, dropping the seeds back into the pouch. “No doubt he got it from the same catalog as my new pruning shears.”

Wicker meets my challenge with a steely smirk. “Danner didn’t get them. I got them myself, from the Ag department’s heirloom seed depository.”

I frown, looking the pouch over once again. “What could they be?” Then, my head snaps up. “Oh god, it’s not more roses, is it?”

“It’s not roses,” Wicker insists. “It’s a surprise.”

I tilt my head, assessing the size of the seeds. “Is it fruit?”

Wicker’s eyes bug out. “Do you understand what a surprise is? Jesus Christ.”

“I’m just asking—”

His hand snaps out, cradling behind my neck, and he mutters, “Just shut up and take it,” before tilting his head and slanting his mouth over mine. The battle between us is short-lived. I’m pressed against his hard body, clutching the gifts in my hands, being forced to admit I asked for this. Trading one complication for another.

As Wicker slowly pulls back, a satisfied smirk lingering on his lips and the thrum of blood pumping in my veins, there’s no doubt that out of the two, this complication feels so much better.

14

Wicker

Thursdays suck.

Usually, my brothers and I will run jobs together, but they’re both busy with their own bullshit on Thursdays, leaving me to take care of Father’s petty chores on my own. It’s right after my last class that I’m walking across the quad, ready to get this fucking errand over with, and I see her standing near the fountain.

My stride falters when I see what she’s wearing; a skirt two inches shorter than what I know is standard in her closet and a soft gray sweater. It looks sweet, but the way it clings to the growing curve of her tits is nothing but pure temptation. Same goes for the over-the-knee boots. It’s not the first time this week she’s turned up at school like this. It’s like she’s inside my fantasies and putting them on display.

I’m starting to wonder if I talk in my sleep.

Catching her like this, all carefree and easy, red hair cascading down her back, is even more jarring since I’d left the house early for morning practice. I haven’t seen her since we detangled from one another in the bed, her warm body like a siren’s call. Predictably, I’ve been dealing with a semi all day, even after rubbing one out in the shower. You’d think after sleeping next to my finely sculpted, shirtless body for four nights, some of that staunch refusal in her eyes would have faded some.

It hasn’t.

If I don’t get my dick in a hole soon, I may explode.

Her laughter carries over, and I frown when I see that the person she’s with is her DKS lackey. It’s not his presence that annoys me. I’m used to him lurking around and adept at ignoring him. It’s the easy smiles they share. The way they laugh together like they’ve got inside jokes. Want her or not, she doesn’t belong to them. She belongs to us.

It’s that primal need that takes over as I approach her. My movements are seamless, taking the backpack off her shoulder with one hand and lifting her chin with the other. Her mouth parts in surprise, and I take advantage, bending my head and sweeping my tongue inside. Her entire body tenses, and her nails dig into my bicep. She hates it when I do this, but this is the deal everyone wanted. On campus, we treat her like she’s our Princess, and this is how I do it: massive amounts of PDA, and my wicked, skillful tongue. With every stroke, she starts to loosen until she’s kissing me back. Dropping my hand from her jaw to her ass, my fingers graze the flesh just under the hem of her skirt.

A cough draws us apart.

When I rub my thumb over her bottom lip, she looks up at me with dazed eyes. She’s not the only one. Several groups of girls in the general area are giving me heart eyes. Jesus. Chicks are so easy.

Without looking at the DKS, I say, “You’re dismissed.”