Page 17

Scarlett

It’s been three weeks.

Three weeks since Broody came to my balcony. Three weeks that I’ve been going to Eden with The Prince to ‘have my fun’ as Casanova said to. Three weeks that I’ve had to fake orgasms, because it’s no longer within my power to keep those men out of my mind. The Prince isn’t enough anymore.

I think they know it, too.

Like clockwork, I’d found them sitting at the bar every night, watching me emerge from the White Room—studying my overwound body. They studied the way I walked with stiff legs instead of floating happily. They laughed at the way my forehead sweated in frustration instead of overstimulation. They celebrated the way I slammed down drinks with anger rather than sipping on them in a dreamy afterglow.

They’re in my head. All. The. Time.

Unfortunately for him, The Prince is a straight up golden retriever and hasn’t seemed to notice anything amiss. He still followed me around, did his very best in the bedroom, and left happy. He doesn’t know I’m stuck in a nightmare—one where my satisfaction is being held prisoner by two psychopathic men that are asking me to write a check I can’t cash .

Maybe I like the chase. Maybe I like the fight. Maybe I meant what I said…that I think my life will be over if I step into that room with them.

I’ve thought about it, time and time again. I’ve written about it, paragraph after paragraph of thoughts on a page, arguing with myself over the pros and cons of becoming a Ruby.

The name sounded so sweet on Broody’s lips, like maybe it was actually meant for me. No matter how much I try to convince myself it’s what I want to do, I can’t bring myself to commit to it.

What if I can only handle what they’ve done to me so far because it’s just a fraction of the real thing? I doubt Casanova only wants to poke me with his knife. If I gave my body to him, he’d probably slice it to shreds. Broody clearly enjoys when I struggle to breathe, so what’s to stop him from strangling me completely?

Regardless of how positively I’ve reacted to the adrenaline rushes lately, I’m not a junkie for it. I’m not in this to fear for my life. I just wanted a damn orgasm.

How has it turned into this?

“Use Me” by PVRIS and 070 Shake plays through the car stereo, and much to my dismay, Penelope turns up the volume. We’re traveling back to our hometown for Thanksgiving, but I haven’t been an attentive passenger. The song lyrics sink into my brain, making me think about the boys more than I already was before, if that’s even possible.

I didn’t tell her about Broody’s visit on my birthday. I don’t want him to be right about my fear of her stealing them away from me, but I still can’t bring myself to tell her everything.

Can she really steal them when they aren’t mine? And if they want me so badly…why would they ever have her?

We arrive at my dad’s house in one piece, pulling into the driveway just in time for dinner. Skylar’s Audi is parked outside, regrettably looking brand-spanking-new as if I never even hit it.

Pen already agreed to stay for dinner, but she has no idea what she’s about to walk into. I warned her that things will probably be weird and hostile, but it’s hard to convey exactly what that means. I’ve only told her about Skylar in passing, so she doesn’t get the full picture.

We make it inside just as the food is being passed around. Right on cue, Satan starts his shit. “Look who finally decided to show up.”

Our parents might pass it off as a harmless joke, but all this douchebag wants to do is get under my skin. I am too wound up and horny to deal with his bullshit right now.

My entire body aches. My skin is itchy and irritated. I feel like I’m burning from the inside out, and I just know I’m probably going to have to hump a pillow to get any sleep tonight.

“My apologies,” I spit. “Some of us have jobs and priorities. You know, something to be proud about. What do you have, Skylar?” I start in on him, but Dad gives me a stern look.

Letting it go for now, I sit down and help myself to some food.

Penelope leans over to whisper in my ear, “Uh, what’s the situation there? Why is he looking at you like he wants to rip your clothes off?”

“Murder me, is more like it. He’s a fucking prick, just ignore him,” I advise, but can’t seem to follow through myself. He is looking at me like he wants to do something to me, I’m just not sure what.

Fuck, he really does look like Broody from a distance.

His beard is more pointed, scragglier, and even with his hair pulled into a bun, there’s no waves in it like Broody has. But if I squint my eyes enough I can almost imagine it. The resemblance is so eerie, I’m actually starting to question everything I think I know.

What if they are the same man?

It’s hard to tell if my mind is playing tricks on me—making me see them everywhere I go—or if I’m just coming to terms with some reality I’ve been refusing to accept.

I pull out my phone and type a quick message, then wait. My eyes are glued to Satan’s smartwatch, but to my relief, it never lights up. When I look up at his face, he’s already watching me with those fiery eyes. He really is good-looking, if you’re into whatever it is that makes him an evil asshole.

Ding.

“It’s rude to be on your phone at dinner, Red. Especially after getting here so late,” Skylar comments snarkily.

“Sky, leave her alone, it could be something important. I swear, you two bicker like siblings fighting over a toy,” Gretchen reprimands, though there’s no actual sternness behind her delivery.

Satan and I share a look when she compares us to siblings, neither of us very fond of the implication.

We are not siblings, and never will be.

He doesn’t break eye contact with me until the meal is over and it’s time for me to walk Penelope out. We say our goodbyes and plan what time she’ll pick me up on Sunday to go back to campus, but I already wish we could leave now. At the very least, I wish I could stay with her instead of here in Satan’s lair.

Dad and Gretchen head to bed soon after, intent on waking up early for Thanksgiving dinner prep, so I go up to my room for a shower.

The hot water doesn’t do much to clear my head or relax my muscles; I’m still reeling from Skylar’s comments at dinner and the way he kept staring at me.

Penelope’s remark from earlier comes to mind, and I wonder if it’s possible there’s any truth to it. The last time we were here for dinner, he did make a sly joke about me being a ‘giver,’ then did that thing with his thumb and lip—some kind of innuendo.

I thought it was just him being an asshole as usual, but maybe there was something else to it .

I don’t want to seem conceited and come on to him like a freak, but if there’s any validity to Pen’s theory, I could use it to my advantage. I seriously need to get off right now, and when I looked at him tonight, it just reminded me of Broody on my birthday.

I cannot stop thinking about that night, or the fact it might have been the best orgasm I’ve ever had—apparently, the orgasm to end all orgasms, if the past three weeks have been any indication.

I toss on an old T-shirt that’s long enough to be a nightgown, then lay on my bed and finally allow myself a deep breath. I will say, it’s comforting to be in my old room again. Dad left it exactly how it was before I went to live on campus, so it’s always a safe place for me to call home when I need it.

I thought so, anyway—until I spy the Post-it note stuck to the mirror of my dresser.

See you on New Year’s Eve.

That’s it. This is pushing it way too far. If it’s not Skylar, then how would they know where my dad lives? How would they know I’m here right now and not on campus still?

I find him on the back deck, smoking a cigarette by himself.

“Are you fucking with me?” I shout, shoving him against the wall he’s leaning on. Now that I know he smokes, it wasn’t too hard to find him.

“What the fuck are you talking about, you crazy bitch? Get out of my face.”

Shoving his chest again, I go all in, standing as close as I can manage without fear of retaliation. “I’m talking about the note in my room. I’m talking about Eden. Don’t act stup—”

Ding.

I step back to check my phone, only feeling more confused when I see the message.

“Seriously?” Skylar’s booming admonition forces me to look up from the screen. His arms are spread wide, taking an aggressive stance against me. “You’re the one who came out here and attacked me. Now you have more important things?”

Fair. I did attack him. “I just thought—”

“Thought what? What is your fucking issue?”

I won’t apologize, not when he never has for the way he talks to me. “Nothing. Nevermind, forget it.” When I spin on my heel to go back in, I’m yanked back painfully by the wrist. He’s holding me tightly enough to cut off my circulation. “Let go of me, asshole!”

He gives a sharp tug that sends me tripping forward, but his other arm catches me around the waist. Using the momentum of my fall, he spins me around until my back hits the same wall he was just standing against.

Both his hands are on me, the pain in my wrist so extreme, I’m starting to overheat from the intense need to get away.

The light touch of his hand on my waist is uncomfortable, far too gentle for the man in front of me. The smell of his cologne—laced with hints of bourbon and oak—is so heavy, it almost makes me choke.

He’s so close… too close .

“If you’re accusing me of something,” he starts, using his hold on my waist to shove me forcefully into the wall, “then I deserve to know what you think I did.”

His eyes radiate with their usual ire, but I can’t seem to care when there’s no room for me to breathe. I’m trapped between him and this wall with nobody around to stop him, and all I can do is stare. I watch his mouth while he talks, wondering if this is the first time I’ve ever stopped to notice how soft his lips look against the rough beard surrounding them.

I could do it. I could kiss him if he let me .

What would Broody think of that? He already let on that he’s a jealous man, even of his own friend. Is he still here watching me, or did he just leave the note and go back to whatever hole those men crawl from?

It takes the sharp pinch of Skylar’s hand around my wrist to snap me out of it, and I realize he’s still waiting for an answer—I just don’t have one to give him. It was already bad enough that I spewed half my secrets in the accusation alone; I can’t go and explain them now.

“I made a mistake, just drop it. Somebody fucked with my room, and I thought it might have been you. Don’t pretend like it’s not something you would do, Satan .”

“Satan?” He laughs at the name. “What, are you 12 years old?”

I flash him a mocking grin. “Well, you call me Red. I had to come up with a fitting nickname for you too.”

I’ve become so numb that I don’t even realize he let go of my wrist until his hand comes up to fuss with a lock of my hair, twirling it playfully around his fingers.

“ Red is hardly an insult. You’re the personification of the color, it’s just what you are. You radiate it.” The hand floats closer to my face, fingers curling under my chin while his thumb swipes over my lips. “Red everything…everywhere.”

Okay.

Maybe Penelope was right.

His featherlight touch isn’t sending the same message as his penetrating gaze, though. I don’t actually know what he wants. His fingers are searching for the warmth of my skin, but his eyes seem like they’re hunting—waiting for me to make a move so he can tear and devour.

“And you’re just a devil.” His eyebrow shoots up in amusement, but I can’t bear to look in his eyes anymore and subject myself to his ridicule. I find his lips again, watching the way his tongue peeks out to wash away the dryness. The subtle movement is hypnotizing. “You’re mean,” I say. “You’re nasty for no reason, always ready to pick on me and anyone else you feel like hurting. It’s evil. You’re evil.”

His hand travels along my jawline and down the column of my throat, the sensation of his fingertips surprising me as they curl around the side of my neck. He just holds them there, like feeling my pulse beneath his touch is enough, without the need to squeeze. Planting his thumb on the bottom of my chin, he tips my head back so I’m forced to watch him peer at me from behind his long, beautiful lashes.

“Don’t act like you don’t love it—like you don’t live for going toe to toe with me.” His voice is almost a whisper, so low and drawled that I have to strain to hear him. For a second, I think he might kiss me when he pitches forward. Instead, he ducks down to run the tip of his nose along my jawline, teasing the skin from my chin to ear. “Just admit it, you like the fight.”

Fuck. He’s doing that thing with my ear that makes me crumble. With every word and exhale, the hot air of his breath blows directly into my canal, making me shiver in a way I can’t hide.

Not with the way he’s touching me. Not with how close he is.

“So what if I do? Why do you care?” I’m sure I could sound more intimidating if my knees weren’t ready to fold, if my pussy wasn’t aching for any kind of attention, and if I wasn’t sighing every time the touch of his nose tickles my sensitive skin.

He lets out a little hum when his head moves, bringing his nose to my cheek, then to my chin and lips. His thumb wraps around the other side of my throat and he gives a little squeeze, keeping me still while he electrifies the skin of my face.

It’s too much.

“Maybe I don’t. Maybe I’m just mean and want to make you look weak,” he taunts. “I can feel you trembling. I bet you’re fucking soaked right now. Maybe, the second you let yourself admit it…you can actually do something about it,” he whispers directly against my mouth, his lips brushing over mine .

I don’t want him. I hate him more than I hate Casanova and Broody, but I need sex. They won’t give it to me, and they’ve gotten in my head enough that I can’t even enjoy my time with The Prince. I’m dying for something new—for somebody to satisfy me the way I deserve.

Skylar’s here. He’s touching me. He’s an able body.

I’ll take what I can get.

“Fuck it,” I surrender, surging forward to meet his hovering lips.

He keeps me restrained though, holding me against the wall by my throat so I can’t move. “Say it,” he insists.

Of course, it was too good to be true. “Seriously?” He was fucking with me like he always does, just toying with my obvious desperation so I’ll look like an idiot.

“‘Fuck it’ doesn’t really do it for me. Say it, Red.” He smirks, so pleased with himself for making me have to beg.

“Fine, Satan . I like the fight. I want you, alright? So just fu—”

He steals the words from off my tongue, locking our lips together in a struggle that encompasses who we are to each other—two people who hate one another so deeply, the rage we expel has nowhere to go except to merge into one giant bonfire of lust.

He lets go of my neck to slide both hands down my waist and the curve of my hips. Then, he bends his knees and taps the side of my thighs. We may disagree on a lot of things, but we’re totally in sync here.

I throw my arms around his neck and jump when he gives the signal, wrapping my thighs around his waist with my ankles locked to stabilize myself.

Because of my size, I don’t like the idea of being carried. But he makes it seem effortless when he slams me against the wall, forcing the air from my lungs with a heavy grunt.

Even in this moment with somebody new, my thoughts scrounge up the memory of my last Eden visit with Casanova. It was probably the only other time I’ve ever let someone carry me, and we all know how that ended .

Ass, meet floor.

Fuck, I don’t want to be thinking about him. I need to get my shit together or I’m going to ruin this as soon as it starts.

It's a little easier to stay in the moment when Skylar’s hands cradle my ass, squeezing it roughly every time I grind against him. Right now, I’m thanking whoever created lacrosse for giving this man a body so hard you could bounce a coin off it.

The rugged texture of his jeans is heaven against my aching clit, only separated by the thin fabric of my panties which slide with me as I ride the bulge of his pants.

“Fuck,” he moans into my open mouth, tongue licking inside to swirl around my own before closing the kiss off again. “Do you know how long I’ve wanted this?”

I don’t.

Maybe I’m just an idiot, but I had no clue he wanted anything to do with me until twenty minutes ago. He’s never shown me anything but the worst of himself. He’s never made any moves on me. He doesn’t even call me by my real name.

I don’t know how long he’s wanted this, but I have a feeling he’s about to show me.