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Good fucking luck.

But Verity isn’t me. I watch her eat it slowly, as if she’s savoring the taste. Her pink tongue swipes out against her pink lips, and not for the first time, I’m struck with a ripple of fascination, wondering what makes this girl tick. It’s an idle thought that no one else would understand, this idea where I could maybe slice her open to inspect what’s inside. Learn her secrets.

“You like sweets,” I guess, cutting into my meat. She’s obviously still pissed at me, but isn’t willing to sacrifice an offered pleasure. A promising trait in a Princess.

She says, “Who doesn't?” but has only consumed two squares of it when she gently re-folds the foil, placing it back in the sachet. The longing in her eyes lingers as she sets it off to the side. She clearly wants to eat more, but she won’t.

She’s saving it for later.

Self-indulgent, but also disciplined.

“What else do you like?” I ask, spearing a carrot. When all she does is stare at me, I clear my throat. “Wicker mentioned something about gardening.”

Her lip curls back disdainfully. “Are you making small talk?”

“It’s not that small.”

Her grin is sharp enough to cut. “I wouldn’t know.”

Sighing, I put down my fork, deciding to be honest. “Look, we don’t have much longer to create. Whatever grudges we’re all holding, we’re going to have to set them aside and try harder.” At the flash of indignation in her eyes, I bitterly concede, “I’mgoing to have to try harder.”

I’d meant what I said to Bruce. For all that Verity might be a narc and a traitor, she treats her duty as Princess seriously. In some ways, that’s more important than a Princess who’s loyal.

“Whatever,” she mutters, glancing at the chocolate once again. “It’s not your fault you’re not attracted to me.”

Her words bring me up short, and I falter, shifting as my back prickles with a wave of biting itchiness. I’d said those things the other day in the heat of the moment, striking out as sharp as a lash, because I knew precisely how badly they’d sting.

“You and Wicker go at it a lot,” I say, knowing the thought seems random when her brow knits with tension. “In all kinds of places, too. The second floor landing. The backseat. The library. Right here where I’m eating my dinner.” The thought almost makes me pull a face, only I’m remembering the way her body jolts with his thrusts, her slender fingers scrabbling for purchase against the dark cherry wood of the table. Raising my gaze to hers, I say, “I watch the videos when I jerk off for the syringes.”

Her mouth goes slack.

They’re not exactly sexy videos, either. She’s fully clothed for most of them, and she always looks troubled, even when her eyes get that glazed, needy look I’ve become so fixated with.

Her eyes don’t look glazed right now. They widen, jumping up to the ceiling as she searches each corner for a camera she’ll never see. The longer she tries, the tighter her teeth clench. “Is there any privacy in this house?”

“No.” Snorting, I poke at a potato. “Not even for us.”

Especially for us.

“So you like watching your brother fuck me. Great.” She folds her arms, pinning me with a glare. “Something you and Pace have in common.”

I can feel my patience for her attitude running thin, but I bat down the ire. “I like watching you get fucked,” I correct. “And you weren’t wrong before. Wicker doesn’t put in enough effort when he does it. If it were me, I’d–” I clamp my teeth down on the thought.

But she looks at me with a challenge in her eyes. “You’d what?”

So I ease back a little, lowering my voice in the way I know she likes. “I’d peel your clothes off and take my time. Suck your tits until you’re squirming. Eat your pussy until you’re dripping down my chin. I’d make you come your brains out right before I fuck you, hard and slow.”

There it is.

That dazed look glazes over her eyes as she wets her lips. “Hard and slow?”

I pitch forward, resting my elbows on the table as I rumble, “And deep, too. I bet you could take all of me, couldn’t you? You’d probably want more, even. Three of my fingers in your mouth as I–”

“Stop,” she suddenly says, her reddening cheeks pulling into a frown. “Why do you do this to me if you don’t want—”

“Because Idowant it,” I snap, pushing away from the table in a move that makes me instantly wince.Shit.Fire rolls across my back, making my voice emerge in a harsh growl. “Jesus, I haven’t had a good fuck in months, and suddenly there’s a naked woman spread out on my exam table, moaning my goddamn name. I’m still a man. Of course I want it.”

Hell, I want to fuck her right now. I wanted to fuck her the moment she walked into the room. When I wake up in the mornings, it’s the first thing that pops into my head. When I go to sleep at night, it’s to fantasies of how hard I’d nail her on my exam table if I could. She’s not special or anything. Sure, she has a great rack and a pussy that’s seared into my memory like the answers to an o-chem test, and every second I have to be in her presence without pushing her up against the nearest solid surface and drilling into her like a jackhammer is actual fucking torture, but she’s not.