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Grabbing the supplies, he leaves, and the lashes across his back are the last part of him I see. I flop back, feeling the pulsing heat wane like the sound of his footsteps, and reconcile the truth. No one lives in the Palace and emerges without bleeding.

Without scars.

I don’t lookat him until he’s coming, after he closes his eyes, resting his jaw on my shoulder. It’s his reflection that I stare at, the bathroom counter between me and the mirror, my hips getting a fresh layer of bruises.

It sucks because he’s so fucking pretty, all cheekbones and long lashes.

It also sucks because after having Lex’s mouth on me, I’m desperate for more.

“Jesus, Princess,” Wicker groans, cock twitching as he unloads. “If you got any tighter, I’m not sure I could get in.”

He cornered me in my bathroom while I was getting ready for school, a hasty, “Beat it,” directed at Stella, who scurried quickly out of the room.

I wait for the yank, the hard withdrawal as he pulls out, but he waits for a long beat, cock in place.

“Are you uh, stuck?” I ask, wondering what’s going on. Wicker is the definition of ‘wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am.’

His forehead presses into the back of my head. “Just giving it time.”

“It.”His sperm. All those little, virile swimmers, rushing toward my embryo.

I stand there, hips smarting, feeling his weight pressing down on my back, until he finally does pull out, fingers replacing his cock, pushing any wayward semen back inside.

Content, he grabs a towel off the bar and wipes down his dick. He tosses me the dirty cloth and looks past me to his own reflection. He licks his fingers and rakes them through his hair. “I need you ready tonight. Six o’clock.”

Ready? I fight an eye roll. The tiny, incremental progress I’ve made with Pace and Lex has been impossible with Wicker. He’s too fucking self-absorbed. “So no panties,” I venture. “Assume the position?”

“Funny,” he says, completely deadpan, zipping up his jeans. “We’re going out, and I need you to be shined, plucked, and dressed appropriately.” I turn as he strides across the room, flings open the closet door, and rummages through the racks.

“What are you doing?”

He pulls out a hanger and holds up a dress. It’s pale pink–strapless, sheer–with a bell-shaped skirt that hits above the knees. He decides, “This’ll work. The car will be waiting downstairs.” He passes me, thrusting the dress into my hands with a sleazy wink. “But yeah, now that you mention it, ditch the panties. It’s going to be a busy night.”

That’s how I end up in the back of the SUV with him, pulling at the short skirt while I ignore the layer of crinoline attempting to wedge between my ass cheeks. “Where are we going again?”

“Trudie Stein’s house.” He was already in the car when I got in, sprawled across the seat with his chin propped up on his knuckles. He looks bored. I sit across from him, taking in the expensive charcoal gray suit paired with a dark blue tie that matches his eyes. I shift in my seat, crossing my legs, and his eyes dart down to the exposed skin. That’s when I see that he’s also got a shiner, a ruddy bruise purpling at the top of his cheekbone.

“What happened?” I lean over and reach for his face, but he jerks back, giving me a hard look.

“Took an elbow from Decker during a scrimmage. Didn’t stop me from scoring though.” His fingers gently probe the bruise, and he pauses, asking, “Is it bad?”

The truth is that it makes him look even hotter than before, scuffing up his pretty boy looks in a sexy, dangerous way.Notthat I’d tell him that. “It’s noticeable.”

“Shit.” He grimaces. “I’ve got to perform.”

My eyebrows hike upward. “You’re playing the cello tonight?”

He gives me a flat, exasperated look. “Yeah, Red. Why else are we going to Trudie Steins’?”

“How would I know? You guys never tell me anything.” I sigh and grab my purse. Rummaging around in the bottom, I find the makeup kit Stella stashed inside for ‘touch-ups.’ Pulling out the bottles of concealer, I pat the seat next to mine. “Come here and I’ll cover it up.”

Wicker eyes both me and the bottles skeptically, but moves across the empty space to the seat next to mine. His legs are long and take up so much space, and I feel the warm press of his calf against mine. He smells good, clean with a hint of something spicy. I take his chin in my hands and twist his face until I see the bruise.

“He got you good.”

Wicker grunts in response, quiet as I squeeze a small amount of concealer on my fingertip and coat the swollen spot with a thin layer. Our skin tones are different, but it works well enough. Stella’s had to cover my own bruises at times, like the ones Lex left on my throat, and the combination of tones works on any complexion. Wicker’s skin is perfect, unflawed other than the bruise and a thin white scar just under his chin.

I brush against it with my thumb. “What’s that from?”