Page 140 of Blackwood

When she calls mebaby? Good. Fucking. Lord. My cock’s hard enough to punch through concrete. Little Lex hears it and practically salutes like he’s going into battle. Doesn’t matter where we are—on a mission, in a Hollow King’s meeting, the middle of a goddamn lecture—she says that word and I’m one breath away from dragging her into the nearest dark corner and showing her what,baby,really gets her.

“I’m not here for The Row.” I dip my head closer, lips brushing her neck. “I’m here for you.”

“Lex!” Knox yells from across the pool. “Hurry up, man. I need your help with these bar lights.”

“Almost finished, Bestie,” I yell back.

I drag my eyes down her body and back up, my smile pure heat. “So as you can see, I’m basically the lighting intern of the year now. Where’s my reward?”

She laughs. Then she leans back just a little, still perched in my lap, her fingers playing with the edge of my collar.“You’ll be rewarded. Just… promise you won’t kill Cal.”

My smile fades a little.

“There will be chairs tonight,”she says carefully.“And knowing The Order, they’ll want alotof them.”

I narrow my eyes.“Definea lot.”

“Enough.” She arches a brow. “Enough to keep the crowd screaming. Enough to keep The Row boys drooling. Enough to get us featured on at least twenty different high-profile Instagram and TikTok accounts by midnight.”

“Cool. Love that for me,” I groan. “Can’t wait to watch the quarterback get a lap dance from my girlfriend while I stand in the shadows like a divorced husband at his ex-wife’s wedding.”

“Lex,” she says softly, like she knows I’m two seconds from snapping. “It’s all an act. What The Trifecta does. The dancing, the flirting, the games, it’s just a show. Just art. None of it is real, so don’t take it personal. Okay?”

“You keep calling it art, baby. But the real fucking masterpiece?” My hand slides up her waist, fingers curling into her ribs just enough to make her bite her lip. “Was the way you moaned my name when I had my fingers curled inside you last night.”

Her breath stutters, just like I fucking knew it would.

“Lex, I mean it. I know how you are. I know how you get with me.” She leans in and presses a kiss to my mouth. “Please. Behave. Don’t make me regret bringing you here.”

“I’ll behave. But only because you asked. However, don’t expect me to be normal about this shit. I don’t do calm when it comes to you.”

She kisses me again and then she slides off my lap and starts to walk toward the prep tent.

“Just remember,” she calls over her shoulder, “you’re the one who gets to take me home.”

And fuck, if that isn’t the most dangerous thing I’ve heard all day.

♥♥♥

Ok… this party is unhinged. Glowing shot syringes are floatingin the pool like neon mines. There’s a beer pong table made entirely out of black obsidian. Somebody’s already cannon-balled off the second-floor balcony into the deep end, and I’m pretty sure one of the cheer girls is giving tequila-fueled lap dances in the shallow end to every guy named Hunter or Beckett.

Carrington Row is heat, music, sweat, and wealth. It’s completely drunk off itself. Loud and fucking messy. Beautiful people doing ugly shit under the illusion of power.

I’m sitting in a chair by the pool, trying my best not to start a fucking riot because she’s over there now. With Callum. Red bikini top. Unbuttoned denim shorts riding way too high up those dancer thighs. Red heels that should be illegal on wet concrete. Hair in a fishtail braid.Yeah, Ellie informed me on what that is. Red lips. Smoky eyes locked on him as they talk across the pool by the DJ booth.

She’s smiling. Laughing. Even tosses her braid over one shoulder and I swear to God if she touches his—

“Chill, dude.”Knox’s voice hits my ear.“I can see your spiraling jealousy from here.”

Right. The comm. Apparently, being a Trifecta boyfriend now comes with a communication system. The girls. Me. Knox. Javi. Rico, love that guy ever since he gave me a shirt with my girl’s face on it. Even fucking Callum and August get one tonight. We’re all linked up. One shared, invisible web stretched across The Row.

Not constantly. Not fully. Just enough for Knox to play God with the comms and pull whatever strings he needs. He runs it like a goddamn air traffic controller. Three beeps and our mics are on. Two beeps, our walkie talkie is on. One beep and your mic or walkie just got turned off.

Says it’s tokeep the chaos flowing smoothly.

We can talk to him. If he wants someone else to hear us, he can route it through. If he wants us to shut the hell up, he kills our mic. My bestie’s a genius but also a real pain in my ass.

“I’m not spiraling,”I mutter under my breath.