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“Next time you need something like this,” he adds, stepping in front of me, “you ask for it. Don’t go around begging for handouts. It makes us look bad.”

Before I can feel any indignation at the command, Wicker is ducking in for a kiss, overwhelming me with the scent of his body, the slick taste of his tongue. The post-offering kisses are, I now know, more of a public performance than anything.

But god, he’s good at it.

He reaches up to cradle my cheek as he licks against my tongue, the motion so smooth and electric that the box nearly slides right out of my arms.

He’s gone just as suddenly as he came, stalking off down the path toward the Student Center. His figure cuts a confident line through the crowd, and Pace glares in his wake.

“Whatever,” he mutters, grabbing my chin and wrenching my mouth up to his. Pace’s isn’t a performance at all. Much like last time, it’s punishing and hard, the taste of him just as sharp as the teeth that graze my bottom lip when he breaks away. “Meet me here at four,” he demands, dark eyes boring into mine. “Today is feeling like a multiple-deposit sort of day.”

The gleam in his eyes is a pointed reminder of his first deposit, made seven hours ago, but I don’t need it. The muscles in my thighs still burn from being spread open wide as I sat on his couch. Like last time, he watched me from his desk chair, counting down the minutes as he forced me, over and over again, to the edge of my sanity.

As soon as the clock struck twelve, he emptied himself into me.

Even after showering earlier, I can still feel the dampness of the remnants in my underwear, still leaking out.

Lex is last to appear in front of me, his amber eyes dropping down to the box. There’s a pull of displeasure to his mouth that unnerves me. “Do you even like roses?”

I pause, thinking of the rose he’d left for me on the table this morning. Same as always. Cream-colored. Thornless. White card attached.

“To my beautiful Princess, may she reign.” -L

It’s currently next to the others in my bedroom, the three of them looking like some grim gradient of life. Dying, dead, deader.

The admission tastes sour. “I used to.”

The weight of his stare is uncomfortable. It’s almost like being on his exam table, those amber eyes analyzing me. Without another word, he bends to push a quick kiss into my temple.

It’s feather light, the opposite of how he talks to me during our deposits and certainly nothing like the beast that attacked me in his sleep. It’s a show, and when he steps back, on a whim, I grab his hand and stop him.

His eyebrow rises and I push up on my toes, crushing the flowers between us and brushing my lips against his.

“Have a good day, my Prince.”

I turn before he can react, my gaze skimming over the cutsluts, Kathleen’s expression twisted with envy. They watch me stride away with my shoulders back and my nose pressing into the heavy bouquet of roses. It’s one thing for me to know the truth of my position, but it’s another for the rest of Forsyth to think I’m nothing but a cumdumpster. I came to East End to play, and as I walk down the path, I feel a burst of power for the first time in a week.

I may not control what happens to me inside the Palace, but out here I can present to the world that everything is perfect.

My jaw aches,and I carefully readjust, annoyed with the reminder that my knees aren’t feeling that great, either.

“I’d like to make a motion about Valentine’s Day,” one of the frat members says.

It’s eight and they’re all packed into the same room I first saw them in. If I glance to my right, I can just glimpse the bottom of the throne.

I keep my eyes closed.

“Here we go again,” someone else sighs.

The first guy continues in a hard, demanding voice, “I think we should consider having some dancers from the Chamber. Every year, the Princes shoot it down, but Wicker–you get it, don’t you? They’re one of our best assets. We should get a private show.”

Lex is the one to reply. “Father will never allow it.”

“We’ll pay,” the guy insists. “We can divert some funds from the Nu Zoo and–”

“The V-Day party is for lovers.” Pace’s long fingers thread into my hair as he speaks, rubbing gently at my scalp. The cock in my mouth twitches eagerly. “It’s something to bring your girls to. Romance them. Make them feel special.” Gently, he pushes my head down, forcing another fat inch of his cock toward my throat. “Creation doesn’t happen with strippers.”

I swallow a fresh wave of saliva, soaking in the information with a grimace.