Page 160

But I can feel her wetness growing as she rocks against me, her slick folds gliding over my half-hard cock. It’s a sensuous, womanly motion that catches me off guard, and suddenly, I’m rolling us over, the kiss deepening as I let out a raw, ragged groan.

She reacts instantly, winding her smooth legs around me, welcoming. Inviting.

It’s only when her fingers tangle in my loose hair that I feel the tickle of awareness. It takes me a moment to decipher it because I’m a little busy thrusting fruitlessly against her heat, but her teeth drag against my lip and it zings through me like an electrical current.

I jerk back, staring down into her dazed, green eyes. “We kissed,” I realize.

She gives me a couple heavy blinks. “What?”

“Last night,” I say, jaw clenched tight. “We kissed when we were fucking.”

She frowns, flushed all the way down to her tits. “Well… yeah.”

It hits me like a fucking sledgehammer to my solar plexus and I roll off of her, reaching for my boxers on the nightstand.

“Lex?” Her voice is cautious, small. It just makes my muscles tense even harder. I shove my feet into the boxers, yanking them up, but I can see her in my periphery, the worried crease in her forehead deepening. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I lie, trying to make my voice measured and calm. “You’ll need to ice your left wrist.”

Her response is hard and frustrated, hands clawing at the sheets to cover herself. “Don’tdo that. Don’t shut down and treat me like… like your fucking patient!” More plaintively, she demands, “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Everything is wrong!” I explode, whirling on her. My chest feels tight and too full, and when she flinches, the tightness turns to fire. “You don’t get to decide how I create. What gives you the fucking right?”

She stares at me, mouth agog. “Because we kissed?”

“Because this is a duty,” I seethe, gesturing to the satin sheets, “and you led me into this ridiculous bed and used me to fulfill your stupid fucking Prince fantasy.”

Outrage fills her eyes, and when she lifts her fists, there’s no ignoring the bruises encircling them. “In what universe isthisa fantasy?”

Unmoved, I snatch a shirt from the nightstand. “The one where only one of us wakes up with a post-coital glow.”

“This is insane!” She tumbles her way off the bed, hands scrambling to cover her breasts. “You wanted to kiss me!”

I roar, “I know I did!”

The sound makes her freeze, face paling–or maybe it’s the words. Maybe it’s the way I can’t keep the truth off my face, the envy from my eyes, or how my hands are unsteady with rage as I pull the shirt on, my movements jerky and stiff.

“Lex,” she starts.

But I shake my head. “Forget it,” I say, turning for the door. “If you need those wrists wrapped, ask Pace. I’ll be out all day.”

It’s as I reach for the door that she speaks again, voice rushed and tense. “I made sure you were looking at me.” It makes me freeze, hand suspended over the knob. There’s a hitch in her voice, like maybe she’s fighting back tears. “It wasn’t like you’re thinking. I didn’t–I wasn’t like Wicker. I didn’t just take what I wanted.”

I turn just enough to meet her gaze, green eyes welling as they drill into me. It’s not sadness in them, or regret, or anything like that.

She looks so fucking bitter.

If I cared enough to wipe it away–if I even understood it–I’d tell her the truth. That it should have been mine. That I’m jealous of someone who doesn’t exist. That I fall asleep and become something different, and that version of me has everything thatthisversion of me can’t. That I’ve wanted to kiss her since the first time we danced at the masquerade, but I knew better.

I’d tell her that I know she didn’t take what she wanted.

She took whatIwanted.

I watch some of the resentment bleed away from her eyes when I offer a small, understanding nod. It’s as close to a thanks as I can give with this fire gnawing away in my chest. “I’ll see you tonight for my third deposit.”

The coffee is terrible,just like always, but it’s strong as fuck, zapping right into my veins. For that, I’ll forgive it. Looking around at the familiar faces, I realize that for once, I’m not the last person here. Remington Maddox is already in his seat, a foot propped on his knee as he idly doodles something onto the side of the white sole of his shoe. The three LDZ pledges are here, as well as a cutslut and a Beta Rho–the Barons’ house. There are a couple people who are house-aligned, but not a member of a frat.

And then there are the sorority girls, who started filtering in a couple weeks ago. One of them, a North Side refugee who’s struggling in the wake of Lucia’s destruction, is slumped over in her chair, looking about halfway to vomiting on Maddox’s shoe.