Page 21

Scarlett

It’s been decided; we’re going to the party.

I’m not even worried about Broody’s menacing notes and texts, because this is about standing my ground against them. I’m with the Prince now, and there’s nothing they can do anymore to ruin that for me.

Penelope and I have already submitted our applications with updated STI tests, which seems to be required every two to three months. We’ve received our masks in the mail, but we still need to find something to wear for the occasion.

We’ve been to three different stores now, looking for the perfect dresses to match the elegant, golden-filigree masks we received for the event. Pen is hoping to find something in blue or silver to match the holiday theme.

I’ll be wearing red.

At the seventh dress department we visit, I finally find the perfect one. I wonder how many minutes it will take for the dress to be torn from my body.

It’s Christmas Eve, and Gretchen made reservations for all of us to dine out so we can relax before tomorrow’s holiday mayhem. Pen is coming with us before she goes to her parents’ house for the rest of vacation, which is why we did our shopping today.

Unfortunately, we’re running late .

That would explain why Dad and Gretchen are standing in the living room when we walk through the front door, already ravenous and raring to go. We hastily apologize and excuse ourselves up to my room to put away our shopping bags and get ready for dinner, but Satan comes down the staircase right when we start climbing it.

Fuck. How did I forget he would be here? Of course he would. It’s a holiday, and as far as I know, his mom is the only parent he spends time with.

I don’t know anything about his dad. I’ve never heard Skylar or Gretchen talk about him—not that she would anyway, with my dad being her new husband and all—but I am curious. My dad doesn’t shy away from talking about my mom’s death, but I’m not sure what else they’ve discussed.

Gretchen is nice, but damn…I miss my mom.

I wonder what she would say about my recent dilemma. Would she scold me for doing something as out-of-pocket as going to a sex club in the first place, or would she be supportive of my sexual journey?

I’d like to think it would be the latter. My mom and I were always completely honest and open with each other, and I think that was my favorite part about our relationship. Nothing was too taboo, too crazy, too personal. She was my best friend.

Skylar and I separated on Thanksgiving weekend with an awkward air stuck between us, his hostility steadily returning despite the nightly couch sleepovers. I can only hope that Julian being here means he might behave himself.

“It’s pretty inconsiderate to keep us all waiting on you, Red.”

Nope, back to his normal self.

Two can play at that game. Shoving against his shoulder, I force him out of the way so Pen and I can pass. “Stop fucking calling me that, Satan. We needed to shop for a party, and there wasn’t much time before the holiday. Not that I have to explain anything to you, so back off,” I spit .

I’ve tried being nice to him, but if he keeps pushing my buttons, we’re going to have a problem on our hands. If he wants to go right back to hating each other, I’m fine with that too.

Before we enter my room, I steal a quick glance over my shoulder, only to find him statically fixed to the spot where I left them on the stairs. He’s just staring at me, but not with the same attitude he had prior—there’s something else in his eyes. Both of their faces are washed with intrigue, like I said something amusing.

It doesn’t matter, I’m over the back and forth with Skylar. I can be mean if that’s what he’d prefer. He can go eat rocks or suck a dick for all I care.

I wonder whether Casanova and Broody have ever…

Nope, not going there. Not today. Not anymore.

Well, that was fucking weird.

The boys spent the entirety of dinner gawking at me while whispering to each other. They weren’t even subtle about it. Even now, Julian and I are on the porch having a cigarette, and he won’t stop looking at me.

I’m doing my best to hold eye contact, because I’ll be damned if I let him judge me for something Skylar did too. I thought it would stay a private matter between the two of us, but that’s clearly not the case.

“If you have something to say, just say it. Don’t stand there staring at me like a turkey in the rain.”

He tilts his head, eyeing me curiously as he brings the cigarette to his lips. “ You know that’s a myth, right?” he points out, like I need it to be mansplained.

“You know it’s a simile, right? Doesn’t need a fact check,” I snip, flicking the ash from my cigarette in his direction.

Chuckling, he takes a step towards me.

Communicating from a distance is sort of our thing, so I’m caught off guard when he closes in until we’re only a few inches apart, pressing my back against the same wall Skylar cornered me at weeks ago.

“Well, maybe you can give me a fact check of my own.” His cologne smells of vanilla, citrus, and cedar—the scent enveloping me like a warm blanket as he hovers over me and whispers against my temple. “Skylar said you tasted like honey. Fact or simile?”

I’m fighting my body’s urge to tremble, intimidated by the overbearing presence of him. “He shouldn’t have told you that,” is all I can manage to say.

“No, he shouldn’t have.” I’m surprised by his rapid agreement until he clarifies, “It might have made me a little jealous though. Unless I’ve been reading your body language wrong, I thought you and I had…” He hesitates for a moment, waiting until our eyes connect again. “Similar interests.”

He’s not wrong.

There was the olive branch on Friday the 13 th —his abnormal kindness, the vote of confidence, and an invitation to their friends’ party—and our bi-weekly smoke sessions at the tattoo studio. We’ve developed an oddly comforting camaraderie.

Julian invites me outside during his session breaks, where we make small talk and smoke while eye-fucking one another. Mostly, I stare at his mouth for the majority of the time until he catches me, usually flashing a naughty grin with his perfect fucking teeth.

It’s become a routine.

Julian is attractive, there’s no denying it. The problem is, fucking Skylar’s best friend won’t keep me off his radar, and I don’t need to give him any more of a reason to hate me.

But Julian’s looking down at me through his blonde lashes, eyes heavy with desire, and I can’t help but consider that maybe I don’t actually care what Skylar thinks. It doesn’t seem like Julian does either, because he inches forward slowly and brings a hand up to cup my cheek .

The kiss is soft and slow, yet still the perfect pace to show off his delicate skill. I have to bend my neck all the way back to accommodate his height, but he does most of the work. His lips are as delicious as I imagined, but before the shock dissipates enough for me to enjoy it…

“What the fuck?”

I pull away from Julian with a gasp, staggered by the interruption. Skylar is standing in the doorway, apparently just having finished whatever he was doing with impeccable timing.

The two of them aren’t focused on me, though. Skylar is a statue, hands balled into white-knuckled fists while he stares at Julian, who continues puffing on his cigarette like he hasn’t a care in the world.

Well, I have no interest in being anywhere near this.

I slide from the wall, rushing towards the door to squeeze around Skylar and make a beeline for my bedroom, not once looking back at either of them.

I really need to stop making a habit of getting horny at my dad’s house, because now it’s starting to look like a smorgasbord of men—all handpicked to my particular taste, and all mine for the taking.

I’ll settle for a shower masturbation sesh.

Call me a freak, but being surrounded by steam during an orgasm causes a lightheadedness that I chase like a high. That, on top of what the scalding water does to my sensitive skin, isn’t something you can find anywhere else. It’s a different kind of euphoria.

Unfortunately, the way I go about it is unconventional and not very comfortable. I’m crouched like a frog—one finger in my pussy, another in my ass—thrusting into myself with one hand while I rub my clit with the other. My head is thrown back against the wall, eyes closed as I imagine being fucked by two men.

It’s a rollercoaster; I allow myself to reach the crest of explosion only to shove it back down, prolonging the orgasm while the shower steam assaults my senses. For a brief moment, I open my eyes and see a shadowy figure standing on the other side of the glass.

The shower door slides open just as I rise to my feet, but before I can yell at the intruder, his hand is on my mouth. Skylar steps in and shoves me against the wall, my bare nakedness pressed to his fully clothed body.

He’s enraged.

I don’t see how, when he’s the one who’s invading my fucking personal time and space, but nothing he does ever seems to feel justified. I can’t do much but glare up at him, brow scrunched in frustration as I try to pry his hand from my face.

“Is that how it is now, you and Julian?” he asks. “Do you need me to say it? Do I have to fucking beg you?”

When I try to speak, he finally frees me. “What are you talking about? You want nothing to do with me, you proved that much at Thanksgiving. I pissed you off, and you were done.”

My hands slide down his forearm as he trails his fingers down my throat, stopping in the center of my chest.

“So you’ll just fuck my friend instead. Trying to get back at me?” He flattens his palm to my sternum, applying enough pressure to make the air feel heavier than it was before.

“It was just a kiss.”

“ We kissed. We fucked. I don’t want you to be with anyone else, let alone my best fucking friend, Scarlett,” he bites out, baring his teeth when he says my name. Finally .

Putting aside the fact that he chose now to treat me like a person, I’m not going to allow him to tell me what I can or can’t do. “I understand why that would upset you, and I’m sorry,” I explain. “But we aren’t dating, Skylar. We’re not together, so you can’t dictate what I do.”

He looks down at the hand between my breasts, skating his fingers across my skin until they brush against my nipple. My breath hitches at the sensation, electricity zinging to my swollen and abandoned clit, but he notices immediately. When his eyes find mine again, I know I’m about to do something stupid.

This man has crawled into my skin, my head, my fucking shower, and now he’s looking at me with the same desire that’s building in my gut from the feel of his hands on me. He’s standing here in wet clothes that hug the muscles of his body, and all I want in this moment is to tear them off.

So I do.

Springing into action, I throw all inhibitions to the wind. My hands go to the button of his pants while he rips at the back of his shirt, but when he gets it off before I’ve even managed to pull his zipper down, he interrupts my efforts with a burning kiss. It’s hotter than the water raining down on us, our tongues continuing the fight where our words left off.

The only thing on my mind is the everlasting memory of how he felt inside me last time. It’s the same memory that’s been creeping into my head every time I’m with The Prince, forcing out the fantasy of Casanova and Broody altogether.

Honestly, after everything he admitted to me about his feelings, the idea of it being a one-time thing started to bother me. It was exhilarating, and even though we rarely see each other, I’ve been hoping we would find a way to reconnect.

The Prince’s touch is reverent, sweet, and compassionate. Skylar’s is completely different. It’s greedy and all-consuming—like he’s completely bewitched by my existence and couldn’t live without it. I try to do him the same honor when I finally get his cock free, squeezing it in my hand so he can feel just how much I want him back.

But he’s an impatient man.

Without even taking his lips off mine, he grabs his dick in one hand and lifts my thigh with the other, bending at the knee to line himself up before bucking into me.

I moan into his mouth and toss my head back, which only gives him access to suck on my neck. The sound of him slurping at the water on my skin only makes things hotter, plus the fact that he doesn’t care where we are. He’ll do whatever it takes, as long as he can have me.

“I’m not trying to dictate,” Skylar whispers into my ear. “I’m asking you. Only me, please.” He accentuates each word with the jabbing thrust of his hips, pounding so roughly that my back chafes against the tile wall. “Promise that you’ll only be with me.”

“I can’t.”

I’m meant to see The Prince at the New Year’s Eve party a week from now. We’re going to have sex—it’s a damned orgy, for crying out loud. Everybody is going to be having sex.

As if trying to persuade me past the natural temptation of his offer, he spits on his fingers and reaches between us to rub my clit, leaning back to watch.

I can’t tell him what he wants to hear, though. I know from Broody and Casanova that unkept promises will get me in trouble, and I’m not willing to hurt Skylar any more than I already have.

“I can’t…I can’t…I can’t…” I repeat over and over, defectively pushing against his chest as I feign restraint, but all I can focus on is my impending climax.

I come undone with the exact lightheaded bliss I sought earlier, legs going limp beneath me. Tucking into my neck to plead with the softest whispers, he curls around me to chase his own orgasm.

He’s not happy to know I’m still unspoken for, but he does me the kindness of carrying me to bed anyway, easing my spent body into the warm sheets.

It probably won’t be the last time we do this, but he’s back to being angry with me. At least until next time.

I’ve somehow managed to survive the holiday dinners from hell .

Skylar and I have been pretty successful in staying out of each other’s orbit while we’re living under the same roof, with the exception of that first night.

It’s time for the Rainbow Room party, and I don’t need him or anything else to get me down. I can do that all by myself.

“Scarlett, I don’t have any words, babe,” Penelope exclaims. I look up to find her gawking at me with tears in her eyes, cupping her hands over her mouth in astonishment.

I barely recognize myself in the mirror, and I have to do a double-take to make sure it’s not some trick.

The dress I picked out is a gorgeous, deep-red silk gown with a huge slit up the thigh. The bust is split into two sections: one side is sweetheart-shaped with golden filigree accents that feather down to my waist, and the other side is a continuation of the red silk into a puffy-shoulder sleeve.

I look amazing.

Pen looks incredible, as always. Her gown is a midnight-blue masterpiece that has a semi-sweetheart neckline and off-shoulder sleeves. Metallic golden rays extend from the bust all the way down the hem of her dress.

We’re fire and ice, the perfect contrast to one another.

During the Uber ride to the club, we sip on champagne and share whatever local hometown gossip we’ve been able to scrounge up while we’ve been home.

I give a purposely vague retelling of an argument with Skylar from Christmas dinner, and she goes on about her mom’s tennis club drama. They’re worse than we are, even at their age—something’s always going on with those ladies.

We make it to the club and tip our driver well for putting up with our nonsense. Now we’re here, standing outside in our expensive gowns and masks that glimmer with gold accents so shiny the moon is probably jealous, but I can’t go inside.

Penelope is tugging on my hand to follow her, but I can’t move.

“Scarlett…” She snaps her fingers in front of my face. “Scarlett, baby. You can do this, okay? Listen, I’m going to be there with you the whole time, right? I may be getting pounded by some dude on the couch right next to you, but I’ll be there.” Her hands rub up and down my arms to warm my skin, and I love her for it all.

“Okay.” I manage the word, but I’m lacking the confidence behind it.

“Okay? Okay, let’s go.”