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When I get downstairs, I find Pace waiting by the door, running his fingers through his messy hair. His eyes snap to mine when he hears my approach, something dark and satisfied swelling within their depths.

“Let’s go,” he says, wrenching the door open and gesturing to the car idling on the drive.

I follow him with slack movements, because it doesn't matter where he’s taking me. I already know what’s going to happen and who’s going to do it. It’s nearly midnight. In twenty minutes, Wicker will have complete and total dominion over my body–for the next twenty-four hours. Between Lex’s medical exam and what just happened with Pace, I haven’t had time to prepare for what exactly that will entail. Probably, it’ll be just like last time. Hard. Painful. Humiliating.

Just like everything else here.

Pace is quiet as we enter the car–a sleek luxury sedan that he doesn’t seem to know the controls for. In his leather bomber jacket and loose sweats, he almost looks like a normal guy when he starts the car, mashing his forefinger into the button on the console. I know better, though. The lights from the dash collide with the angles of his face, illuminating the scowl that’s always fixed there.

His eyes look weary. “You hear me?” he asks, fiddling with his phone.

There’s a staticky sigh, and then Lex’s anxious voice answers through the speakers. “This shit’s about to go 237 for us, Pace. I’m not sure I can stop him.” I look between the console and him, confused.

Pace hits the accelerator, pointing the car toward the gates. “We’re leaving now. What’s happening?”

“Some bitch is riding him,” Lex answers. I can hear tinny music in the background, the sound of rowdy yells and hearty laughter. “Grinding all over his lap.”

“Goddamn it.” Pace hits the bridge and slams the gas, the momentum pushing me back into the seat. “We’re over the bridge. Can’t you just talk some sense into him?”

Lex scoffs, his voice lowering. “Not when he’s like this. He’s trying–I can see he’s trying. But Pace, these bitches are feral. Rink skanks are bad enough when the playerisn’ta Prince.”

“Fucking pucksluts.” Pace growls, slamming his palm into the steering wheel. “Father knew this would happen. We all fucking knew!” I jerk, startled at the outburst and he glances at me, jaw tightening as he up-shifts. “Get the girl off his dick. I’m going as fast as I can. I don’t think the highway patrol is going to care about Operation: Pussy DoorDash.”

There are mumbles in the background, the sound of a girl slurring something just out of range of being audible, and then Lex’s huff. “Pace?”

He makes a hard turn, knocking me sideways into the door. “I’m still here.”

“Get her wet for him,” Lex commands. “I don’t want to spend the next three months patching up his hatchet jobs.”

I wait to feel it. The heart-dragging dread. The shudder of fear. The roil in my stomach that I’ve grown used to since becoming Princess. I brace myself for the wave of sickening humiliation, but it doesn’t come.

All I feel is defeated.

Pace glances at me, shifting the car into fourth. “Take off your panties.”

“This is about Wicker, isn’t it?” My voice is flat, mouth pressed into a tight line, but I’m not expecting an answer. When I reach beneath my skirt to tug down my underwear, I have the thought that I already miss my body–the dwindling sense that it’s my own.

Keeping his eyes fixed on the road, Pace shifts in his seat. “Spread your legs.”

I part my thighs and lift my skirt, fighting back nausea as the cool air brushes against my center. Outside the window, the lights of Forsyth sparkle and shine as Pace reaches over, his long arm crossing the distance between us. His fingers trail up my thigh and quickly find my center, invading my folds.

It’d be so much easier if my body rebelled against it, forced him out. But the reality is that Pace’s fingers are deft and experienced, just like Lex’s, and I turn toward the window as I begin responding. It’s not like it was back in the security room. The air isn’t suffocating and charged, saturating me down to my marrow. This is slow and unbearably pointed, his forefinger gliding down to enter me before trailing back up to my swollen clit.

“Status?” Lex suddenly asks, jarring me.

Pace makes another turn, but his fingers never stop stroking me. “I’m passing the shops now.” There’s a pause when he buries his forefinger to the second knuckle, voice growing gruff. “She’s still wet from me.”

I shudder at the memory of his release running down my leg as I walked back to my room. Wicker and Lex… both of them left me with a mess, but Pace…

It just kept coming, dripping out of me with every step. By the time I reached my bathroom, it was down to my calf, and still leaking out of me.

“I’ll wait for you outside.” Lex’s words are punctuated by a crackle, and then silence.

Pace makes a low, gritty sound, spreading the slickness back up to my clit. “You just went to bed with all my cum in there, Rosilocks?”

My nostrils flare as I glare out at the city. “I’m trying to get pregnant.” The lie is better than telling him the truth. I tried cleaning it up. He just came so much that it was impossible.

He hums, the glide of his fingertips making my belly clench. “We still have six minutes,” he says, eyes snapping to where I’m open and exposed. “Quickies aren’t generally my thing, but they’re better than nothing.”