Wild Fury (Fallen Royals #6)

by S. Massery

  I’m constantly at war with myself.

  His dark hair is getting a bit long, and I need to remind myself that I shouldn’t touch him again. Not without the bite of anger behind our actions. My fingers itch to push his hair off his forehead, to run my nails against his scalp.

  He’d probably like that.

  I wriggle forward, until our chests are flush.

  “Lucy,” he says in a low voice.

  I tut and tap his lips. “I told you not to call me that.”

  “Lux, then.” His lips move against my finger. His attention is fixed on my face, bouncing between my mouth and eyes.

  I drop my hand.

  The first time I stole a car, I was fifteen. I didn’t know how to drive and I ended up crashing it straight through my grandmother’s garage. The car was my father’s. The high was there. The need to be seen by my family was there, too.

  I don’t really give a shit about the car. It’s never about the car—it’s what that vehicle means to someone. My father’s car, Theo’s. If I wanted my mother’s attention, I would rearrange her closet and try to corrupt Amelie.

  See?

  It’s just a manipulation. Cars don’t mean anything, but I do give a shit about irritating Theo. I moved on rather quickly from my family’s cars, from classmates or random strangers. The thrill lacked. But Theo promises a dangerous retribution.

  The fear is my own sort of high.

  He grabs my jaw and holds me still. He runs his nose up the side of my face, into my wet hair. I freeze, because my facade isn’t working. He’s inciting madness in both of us.

  He doesn’t make a move to touch anything other than my jaw, my neck. His free hand rests on my hip, and I wonder if that’s an accident.

  “What do you want?” he asks me.

  I close my eyes and exhale. I can’t say if I ever had fight in me, but whatever remains ebbs away. I’m suddenly exhausted by this. By him, by us, our endless circling. Exhaustion isn’t allowed. We’ve only just begun. There’s still plenty of hours in the night before one of us can retreat.

  Yet… what I want and what I need are two very, very different things.

  I want to pretend these past two weeks haven’t happened.

  I need him.

  His fingers flex on my skin, reminding me that silence is punishable. Everything is punishable when he’s in a mood like this.

  Even when I think I’m going to win, I lose.

  I open my eyes. “I want you to pretend we’re normal and kiss me.”

  I hate that I’m hanging my hope on this. That I have to steal something just to win something back.

  He analyzes me for a moment, then nods.

  “Close your eyes.”

  I do. My anticipation is a flock of birds in my chest, rustling their wings before flight.

  My mind goes to the way his lips touched the corner of mine at the frat party. The smell of smoke clinging to both of us. My desperate attempt to kiss him before he shut me out. I shiver.

  His lips touch my throat, over my hammering pulse, and I flinch. He catches me, holds me still as he sucks and licks my skin. I’m on fire with the feeling, pinpricks all over my body. He nips my flesh, and I let out a moan.

  In the back of my mind, a darker thought: This can’t end well.

  Now I slide my fingers into his hair, scratching his scalp. His locks are silky. His only reaction is his grip on my hip tightening, crushing my skin. I’ll be bruised in a new sort of way. A good way. If I ever thought that wasn’t possible, it’s because I had never imagined this scenario.

  He moves lower, his mouth and tongue on my collarbone, my breast. I tip my head back. When he gets to my nipple, sucking it into his mouth, I jolt. It goes straight to my core.

  A hot need fills me, and I can’t control when my hips rock against him.

  His erection strains against his jeans, and he shifts just a bit. The trapped bulge brushes my center, and the sensation is better than I could’ve guessed. He shudders and does it again, and I inch closer.

  If not for his jeans, we’d be fucking. As it is, this is dry humping taken to a new level.

  My cheeks flush, but he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t seem bothered by my sudden quietness, either. The shyness that takes over.

  He releases my breast and eyes me, then his gaze dips down.

  Neither of us stop.

  We’re caught in a moment of need, and we rub on each other. The denim, him on my clit, tips me over the edge. I hold on to him as an orgasm bursts out of nowhere, taking both of us by surprise.

  I fall forward, laying my cheek on his shoulder, and palm him through his jeans. My body still quakes, my pussy pulsing, but he doesn’t stop me.

  Not yet.

  I unzip his fly and navigate my hand inside his boxers, grabbing his dick. It’s larger, softer than I could’ve imagined. I don’t know what I thought it might’ve felt like, but velvet over steel wasn’t it.

  Wordlessly, I free it and stroke him. I don’t know what I’m doing, but he doesn’t stop me. The one hand on my hip never moved, but his other glides up and pinches my nipple. The one he didn’t bite.

  I gasp, squeezing my eyes shut, and move my hand faster.

  “Fuck,” he groans in my ear. He pushes me backward, just a bit, and stares at my hand on him. “You don’t know what you do to me.”

  I run my thumb over his head, smearing the bead of precum. Thank you, amateur porn. He makes a noise in the back of his throat, halfway between a growl and a moan. I pump faster, squeezing. His hips jerk, sliding his cock through my fist. It’s a wild motion, but it only lasts a moment before he stills. Ropes of white cum spurt out, coating my belly, my breasts. I slip my hand down one last time, and he shudders.

  We stare at each other.

  “Do you know how infuriating you are?” he asks in a low voice.

  The Theo driven by senseless need has vanished.

  I narrow my eyes. “I imagine you’re about to tell me.”

  “Do you know how much I want to kiss you without tasting blood on my tongue?” He grabs my jaw again, bringing me in close.

  It’s a way to keep me from turning my head, from trying to kiss him again. The failed attempt burns brightly in my mind.

  “It makes me so damn angry. You make me furious, because I can’t give you what you want. I certainly can’t give you what you deserve. But I can’t let you go, either.” He repeats the earlier action, his face so close to mine that his nose touches my temple.

  “You did let me go,” I force out. “Or did you forget that part?”

  He freezes. “Even if I had to stalk you from a distance, I still wouldn’t let you go. No matter what you thought.”

  I push at him. “What, so you just messed with me?”

  He raises an eyebrow, silently asking if that’s anything out of the ordinary. And actually, it isn’t. I usually see through his attempts to mess with me. His warfare strains between psychological and physical.

  “You think you don’t deserve me,” I say quietly. “When the opposite is true. I don’t deserve you. Definitely don’t deserve love.”

  He squints at me and rises, planting my butt on the edge of the tub. Once my feet are under me, he releases his hold on my waist and steps back. He adjusts himself, zipping his pants closed. One quick sweep of his hands and, besides the wet material, we’d never know what just happened between us.

  And I can’t help but think that maybe that’s for the best.

  “We’re stuck, then.” I stare at him, willing the opposite to be true. That this will be the turning point in our relationship.

  But he just nods.

  He strides away, then pauses. His hand is on the doorknob.

  It’s like he forgot. For just a second, the car became less important than me.

  “Where is it?” he finally asks.

  I smile. I’m covered in his cum and drying water droplets. In the dim lighting, I can tell the front of his jeans are soaked from where I sat, the front of
his shirt.

  “Didn’t I give you what you wanted?”

  The smile drops. “No.”

  “Lux.”

  I sigh. “It’s at the conservation’s public parking.” But no way am I telling him where I keep the spare key.

  He’s silent. I’ve always admired that about him. That he and I can be so similar in some ways, and resoundingly different in others. He’s quiet while I’m loud. I have to be loud, or else the memories I keep suffocated in the back of my mind rear up.

  And no one likes when that happens.

  He looks like he might say something else. His mouth opens, then snaps closed again. Whatever thought is stamped out before it can see the light of day. In the end, he decides against it and leaves without another word.

  I don’t move for a long time, and then I slip back into the tub. I let myself sink beneath the water and stare at the ceiling, and I stay like that until I can’t anymore.

  19

  Theo

  I storm out. I’ll get my car later, when I’m less likely to crash it. When I’m less angry. I have weird feelings in my gut, like lust and something heavier. It weighs me down, and I loathe the feeling.

  Once I’m free of her building, I burst into a run. My wet jeans stick to my thighs, every inch of me uncomfortable. But I make it back to my apartment in record time and shuck off my clothes. I kick them away, the rage welling up again.

  “Fuck,” I test out.

  I’m breathing hard—something that doesn’t normally happen to me. I run every day. I’m in the best physical shape of my life thanks to football. Speaking of, I have a five a.m. practice tomorrow, and then a game on Friday. We played an away game against a smaller school two weeks ago and it was complete shit.

  Since then, the team has been doing two practices per day, putting in the extra work, and everyone is more confident.

  My stomach twists. My lucky charm wasn’t at the first game—but maybe she’ll come to this next one. And I hate—hate—to think of her as a lucky charm, but it’s the truth. Any time she was at a game, I performed better.

  And after what she just did…

  I close my eyes and relive it. Her hand on me. Her wet pussy grinding on me. The taste of her skin.

  What I would give to shed this fucked-up sense of incapability and just…

  No. My brother, Will, told me from a young age that what I saw changed my brain permanently. The motorcyclist who crashed—and then died. I still remember stepping out of our car after it spun in a three-sixty, dizzy and confused about what had just happened.

  I was the one to approach the dying man.

  Me and Lux—although I didn’t realize it was her. I barely spared her a glance. The blood was seared into my mind.

  Her grandmother pulled her away, but no one came for me.

  Dad was unconscious in the front seat, a perfect imitation of sleep.

  Why had I gone to the one who caused the accident instead of helping my dad? Will held that against me later. He had been beside me, but his panic was more visceral. He yelled and screamed at our father to wake up.

  I stayed silent. Every emotion played over a speaker inside my body, broadcasting clearly, but it didn’t compute to my expression, my words. That part of my brain shut down, and here we are: tall, dark, and brooding.

  Or something like that.

  My phone buzzes again.

  Lux: Let’s do that again sometime.

  I don’t answer. I can’t do that again. As much as I want to. As much as I enjoyed it. We were perfectly fine circling each other.

  Lux: You can’t avoid me forever, you know.

  Damn it if my dick doesn’t stir at that notion. I toss the phone on my bed and take a cold shower, only emerging when I can think about her without getting hard.

  That old possessiveness creeps over me, and I have to mentally stop myself from putting on my shoes and going to see her again. To bring her back here.

  Someone knocks on my door, interrupting my internal war, and I yank the door open.

  Liam Morrison, my best friend, grins at me. “I thought about using the key but wasn’t sure if you finally caved and brought a lady over.” He peers into the apartment.

  I roll my eyes and step aside. “No one but me, myself, and I.”

  He scoffs. “One of these days, you’re gonna break. Unless you’re still hanging your hopes on Lucy?”

  Hanging my hopes seems a bit rough—like I’m desperate for her, and she keeps denying me.

  What’s a promise worth to you, Lux?

  Sooner or later, her and I will both break. There’s no question, it’s just a matter of when. Today was a giant step toward that moment, but I can’t focus on that.

  Liam scouts out my place and grabs a beer from my fridge, then falls onto the couch. “What are you doing?”

  “Plotting the demise of one of my teammates.” He got a scholarship last year to another Boston school, Ashburn College, but he didn’t exactly mesh with their sports teams. So now he’s here, on my couch, when I have to be at practice in… seven hours.

  “Oh?”

  I join him, sans beer. “Sebastian Redmond.”

  He stares. “Shit, man. Like, the Sebastian Redmond, the best kicker LBU has ever seen? That one?”

  “Yep.”

  “Dare I ask?”

  I scowl. He and I have always gotten along better than Caleb or Eli—the other two in our group of friends from high school. Even though we’ve split up geographically, we’re all still there for each other. Only last year, we were putting Liam back together after his childhood neighbor destroyed his fight club.

  Well, it wasn’t his, technically, but he fought regularly. It was how he paid his bills.

  I enjoyed a good fight every now and then, too, but luckily, I wasn’t dependent on it for my finances. Now, Liam lives in one of the brownstones I own. I have two in the city, investing the trust fund I received when I turned eighteen, and there’s still plenty left.

  Too much, if you ask me.

  But it funds my fixation on cars, and the incidentals I incur from Lux’s occasional theft… and my issue with speeding.

  “He threatened me,” I finally say. “To stay away from Lux for two weeks. He wanted a shot at her.”

  “Bastard. You said screw off, right?”

  “No. He detailed how he would basically frame me for cheating.”

  Liam winces. “What an asshole.”

  “Right, so…”

  “So the evil genius in you has come up with a plan?” He visibly brightens. “I was going to ask if you wanted to grab lunch tomorrow, but I can see this will be much more interesting. Maybe you want some help?”

  I snicker. “Any excuse, huh?”

  “Who, me? For what?”

  To drag someone else through the mud. But I don’t say that—I’m not that mean. Not tonight, anyway. Instead, I ask, “Are you coming to the game Friday?”

  He shrugs. “Depends.”

  “On?”

  “If you’re asking me for a reason.”

  Friday will officially be fourteen days. The end of the bet—and also the downfall of Sebastian Redmond. I have three days to make it happen, but everything is in motion. Which means I can have my good luck charm back in the stands, protected by my best friend.

  “Lux,” I say simply.

  To my relief, Liam just nods.

  “Thanks. Now get the hell out of here, I have to wake up early for practice.”

  He drains the rest of his beer and belches, then stands. “I forgot how miserable early practices are. Good luck with that one.”

  One more practice.

  Three more days.

  I lock the door behind Liam and pour myself a glass of water, contemplating lighting a joint. It might be the only way I sleep tonight.

  But I don’t move toward the little box I keep in the coffee table drawer. Instead, I lay out the items I collected tonight—which was just luck that everything fell into place at the same time
—and revise my plan. The picture of Sebastian and Ruby is a game changer.

  An unexpected gift.

  I stand at my kitchen island and stare down at the bottle from the boy, the envelope from the girl, my phone.

  It vibrates, an unknown number texting me: It’s done.

  I nod to myself and finally release a true smile.

  Sebastian is about to get fucked over.

  20

  Lux

  “How was the movie last night?” I ask Ruby.

  I try not to stare at her, but she shoots me a glare. She’s still in bed, her arm over her head. The blankets are pulled up to her chin.

  “Lovely,” she says. “Thanks for abandoning us.”

  I watch her for a beat, then remember I’m supposed to not have seen her in the woods. I wonder how Sebastian felt to be dumped by not one, but two girls that evening.

  “I kind of told you I was going to leave,” I say. “I mean, I wasn’t going to sit in a dark theater next to him for a whole movie. Would you?”

  She scowls. “No, I wouldn’t. Honestly, Lucy, the movie sucked. We skipped out early and got drinks—that’s why I’m desperate not to get out of bed. He drove me home after, but it all felt sort of forbidden.”

  I grunt and tug on my jeans. That’s her first lie—well, the first one I can confirm. He most certainly did not drive her home, unless he magically got another car.

  Shoes are next. I’ve got an earlier class than she does, and I need food. And suddenly a desire to get away from my deceptive roommate. I step into the bathroom to brush my teeth and put on makeup, and I freeze.

  The bruise from Amelie’s engagement party has long since faded, but there’s a new mark on my throat: a fucking hickey. I pull my shirt away from my skin and gasp. There’s a whole trail of them down my chest. Little red and purple bruises. I touch one, and the dull pain brings back a sharp zap of memory—it travels straight to my core. My face heats.

  Quickly, I dab concealer over the visible mark, setting it with powder. I’ll need something else—a scarf, maybe—to ensure it’s not seen.

  I leave the bathroom and cross back to my closet. I wind a scarf around my neck and check my lip gloss.