Page 18 of Pucking Possessive (Kings of Castlebrook #2)

CALLUM

N ot fucking my girl while I had that mask on was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.

She was soft against me, moaning for more, letting me palm her tits while I whispered every filthy thought I’ve ever had into her ear.

I could’ve taken her right there in front of the mirror, made her scream my name with my cock buried deep inside her.

But I didn’t. Not because I didn’t want to, but because she deserves the world, and our first time is going to be everything.

It’s a special kind of torture, being the one to say no when every inch of me is screaming yes.

But I want it to be more than just heat.

I want it to be hers. Something she remembers, something she never doubts.

I want to give her everything I never thought I could give anyone.

So I take a cold shower that doesn’t do shit, grip the edge of the sink until my knuckles go white, and make myself wait.

Then I slip out into the hallway and call Elijah Moretti. He’s the one who procured the mask for me, and he still owes me a favor. He’s got connections that God would envy, so I’m hoping he can help me figure out what’s going on.

"Grey," Elijah answers, voice cold, sharp, and accented just enough to make him sound expensive. Despite being a college student, he looks and sounds like old money personified. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Need you to look into something. Professor Whittaker. He owns the mansion we broke into a while back. I wanna know where he is now."

He chuckles low. "Ah, you're referring to the breaking-and-entering incident you texted me about without context."

"Cut the shit, E. Can you do it or not?"

He hums. "I can. But it'll cost you."

"I’ve done plenty for you." I roll my eyes. He’s such a pretentious prick with the temper of a Lockwood. It’s a deadly combination, but he gets shit done when no one else can.

"You’ve done just enough. But I’m intrigued. I’ll look into it. Expect something by tomorrow. And Callum?" I can hear his smug smile that I know is stretched across his face.

"Yeah?" I huff, because I know him well enough to know it’s going to be something annoying, whatever he’s going to say.

Elijah chuckles."Try not to die. I like having you as a contact."

“You like having me in your pocket. Big difference,” I tell him.

"Semantics, Callum. Semantics,” Elijah says before he ends the call without a goodbye.

The air outside the rink is chilly, but I barely feel it. I lean against my truck, one boot crossed over the other, a bouquet of daisies in my hand. I’m waiting to pick her up so we can head to her parents house to get this stupid meeting over with.

Lilac walks out laughing with a few of her teammates, ponytail bouncing, cheeks flushed from the cold.

I notice Danny is walking with them, so I’ll have to remind myself to ask her about him later.

He hasn’t been on campus since the night at the mansion, and there were rumors that he was so freaked out that he transferred.

That’s the thing about elite colleges like Castlebrook, it doesn’t matter how much time you miss or what your grades are.

All that matters is how much money is in your parents pockets.

In my case, how much money I made doing jobs for my cousin Caiden and the Moretti brothers.

I can’t take my eyes off of Lilac. That little floral dress is too short, too flirty, and I fucking love it. Which means I hate it. Which means she’s getting my hoodie whether she likes it or not.

She stops short when she sees me. Her eyes widen, then crinkle with delight as she breaks away from the group and runs straight to me.

I catch her midair, spinning her once before crashing my mouth to hers. She tastes like sugar and coffee.

"You’re embarrassing me," she mumbles, cheeks pink, but she doesn’t mean it. She loves this lovey dovey shit, and nothing will convince me otherwise.

"Good,” I say, shrugging out of my hoodie and tugging it over her head before she can argue. She rolls her eyes but pushes the sleeves up and keeps it on, the hem dusting her lower thighs.

She adjusts it, smoothing the front. She looks ridiculous and beautiful and so fucking mine.

There’s something possessive and primal about seeing her wrapped in my clothes, and I don’t think I’ll ever get over it. My name and number on her back is a sight to see. My scent clinging to her. It triggers something deep in me, some ancient need to mark her as mine in every way I can.

"You don’t like my dress, cowboy?" she bats her eyes at me, and she knows exactly what she’s doing to me.

"That’s the problem, baby. I like it so much I want it, and everything underneath it, for myself."

She rolls her eyes, but then says, "You know I’ve had this dress since high school. It’s my favorite."

I smirk. "I know that. I broke Kenny Collier’s arm for saying you had a sweet ass when you wore it one time."

She stares at me. "Wait, what? You’re serious?"

"Dead serious," I say, stepping closer. "I was a senior, and you were a sophomore. He made a comment in the locker room. I heard about it and saw red."

"I remember when he broke his arm. Everyone was speculating about it. We thought he got into a fight after sneaking into a bar with a fake I.D."

"Yeah, that’s what he told people,” I tell her, laughing. He was such a skeezy motherfucker.

She laughs lightly, placing her hand on my chest. "You looked so sour about it. Why the face?"

I scowl. "I hated that you cared what happened to him."

"We didn’t care," she says, her voice soft and teasing. "We just thought he was lying, so that’s why we were always asking about it. He creeped my friends and me out so bad."

"He was lying. I beat the fuck out of him,” I tell her, shrugging.

Her smile fades a little. "You really don’t play about me."

I lower my voice, stepping in close. "Never have. He was out of line. And he’s lucky I didn’t kill him."

She swallows hard, cheeks flushed, and I take her hand.

The drive out of town is quiet. She plays with the petals of the bouquet in her lap, and I glance over every few minutes just to reassure myself she’s real and here with me.

"You didn’t have to bring flowers," she says softly.

"I wanted to."

"Daisies are my favorite," she adds. "But they’re underrated. Everyone always picks roses. Did you ask my parents or something?"

"I know because you told me,” I tell her, and I don’t mean to sound as exasperated as the words come out.

She raises an eyebrow. "When? Most of our interactions involve you popping up out of nowhere to comment on my clothes."

I smirk. "Summer at your grandmother’s. Her backyard had that big field. You picked daisies for her, said they were your favorite because they’re simple and beautiful. I remember."

She stares at me. "You remembered that?"

"I remember everything you’ve ever said to me, bambi. It’s burned in my memory. Just like you."

She’s about to say something when my phone rings.

Ramsey.

I answer. "Yeah?"

"Another skater’s dead. She hasn’t been found yet. It’s the redhead, Tara."

My jaw tightens. "If she hasn’t been found yet. How do you know?"

"It’s like you don’t know me at all,” Ramsey sighs like my very existence is a burden on him. And yet, he’s always there to help us when we need anything. “Don’t worry about how I know, just file that information away. But that’s all the girls that were there that night aside from your girl.”

My blood runs cold. "Was she killed the same way?"

"Yep, slashed throat,” Ramsey says, and I can hear that he’s eating something like he didn’t call me to describe a brutal murder.

"Fuck," I mutter, knuckles white on the wheel.

"Callum… they’re picking them off one by one. It’s a pattern." I’m glad he doesn’t say what’s obvious that Lilac is next.

I glance at Lilac, who’s still holding the daisies in her lap, eyes wide. All I can say is, "I know."

"Whoever this is? They’re escalating. Trying to send a message,” Ramsey says casually, like he’s talking about grocery shopping. I guess for someone like Ramsey, murder is a lot like something so mundane.

"And I got it. Loud and fucking clear,” I say, because I’m frustrated and annoyed by this whole thing. Keeping an eye on Lilac is not a problem for me, but I don’t want her to be in any level of danger.

"If anything feels off, you call me."

"Thanks, I will," I say, because my mind is already reeling. Tara was just with Lilac when I picked her up from practice and now she’s dead.

"And Callum? Don’t do anything stupid,” Ramsey says just before he hangs up.

Lilac’s hands tremble around the stems of the daisies, and I pull off to the side of the road and shift to face her. "Hey," I say, reaching for her. I cup her cheek, brushing her hair back. "You’re safe. I’m not letting anything happen to you."

Her eyes shine with fear. "I don’t understand why they’re doing this. We went there one time."

"We’re off campus for a little bit, so we have some time to figure out something before we head back."

She swallows hard and nods, and all I want to do in this life is to make sure this girl is happy and safe.

I pull her into my side and press a kiss to the top of her head.

She curls into me, her hand finding mine. I squeeze it and bring it to my lips.

When we settle back into our seats, Lilac leans her head on my shoulder, her fingers absently toying with the chain around my neck. Her thumb brushes over my collarbone and drifts higher until she’s tracing the ink at the front of my throat.

I swallow hard because I never talk about the scar that slices across my neck.

The skin under her fingertips is healed but is sensitive. The raised mark where my father tried to end my life before I ended him is a reminder of how strong I am. The tattoo wraps around the base of my throat in small block letters: To the Grave.

“I always wondered why you chose this phrase, but I didn’t want to pry. I hate when people pry into my things,” she says, clearly feeling comfortable to ask me now.

"Caiden and I got it together. His isn’t on his neck though. It’s a part of our pact,” I tell her, without giving her the full meaning.

She tilts her head, and she looks so fucking cute. "A pact? So… it’s secret, then? You can’t tell me what it means?"

I glance down at her, and say, "I can tell you this much, I’d go to the grave to protect you."

Her eyes lift to mine, wide and hopeful and I can’t help but blurt out, "Sometimes you look at me like you see straight into my soul, bambi."

She leans in and presses a kiss to the ink on my neck. Her lips are soft, and I want them on my own so fucking bad.

"Sometimes I feel that way too."

I close my eyes for a beat, letting myself just feel her.

Mine.

This girl is fucking mine, and no one better try to take her from me.