by L.J. Shen
And hot.
And so very, terribly human.
“Why, then?” I pressed.
“Because,” he said, leaving me hanging.
His eyes roamed my face. They promised trouble. I didn’t know if I could take more than we were currently dealing with.
“I’m going to fuck you.” He fingered me faster. I moaned, lolling my head against the wall. “Fuck you before he does. Fuck you so you’ll always remember I was the first. Fuck you just like you’ve fucked me, over and over again, since I was thirteen.”
I came hard around his fingers, whimpering with ecstasy. It felt different than it had with Pope. The stakes were higher. I cared. I cared what he thought when he looked at my face as I came. I hoped he liked the scent of my pussy. I wanted to please him, and that bothered me.
Instead of licking his fingers, like Rafferty had, Vaughn wiped them on my cheek, still looking at me with disdain.
“For the record,” he said, just when I was about to tell him to bugger off, I wasn’t going to sleep with someone who treated me the way he had, no matter how much I wanted to. “I didn’t tell you about Arabella and your father because I didn’t get the chance. Although I can’t promise I would have, for sure. Thrusting oneself into drama is more your sister’s thing. But it wasn’t some elaborate scheme against your ass. As for your birthday gift, my sweet…” He leaned into my face, brushing the fingers he’d used to pleasure me across my lips with a smirk. “Figure it out. You’re a big girl. Tomorrow. Seven p.m. at the cul-de-sac.”
He left without another word.
The next morning, I rewrapped my hand with gauze, sneering when I saw the state of my busted knuckles.
I wasn’t pissed at myself for punching concrete. I was actually pretty pleased that was the only thing I’d punched in that room. Killing Pope had been high on my agenda. The fact he was still breathing should have earned me a Nobel Prize.
Moving out to the corridor, I checked that the coast was clear before I paid a little visit to his room. He was still asleep. I pushed his door and walked right in like I owned the fucking place.
“Mornin’, motherfucker,” I greeted, smiling politely down at him.
He opened his eyes and mouth to answer, but of course, it was a little difficult, considering I had my elbow shoved against his throat.
Pope’s eyes widened when he realized I was blocking his air pipe, leaning close to him, almost like I was going to kiss him. His brows pinched together, and he turned red.
“You said you weren’t scared of me yesterday, but I fail to see how that’s relevant. I would need your fear if I were planning on throwing around idle threats. As it happens, I fully intend to follow through on every single thing I’m about to say, so listen closely. Yesterday, you tasted what was mine. Whether you fed yourself some bullshit excuse about helping a friend or not, it happened. And I wasn’t happy. But I also realize Len is fond of you, and wanted to get this shit out of her system. I get that. I do. I’m not an unreasonable person.”
Although, considering that his red face was slowly taking on a nice shade of purple, I wasn’t sure he’d agree with my last statement. I pressed harder, knowing I had just a few more seconds to relish his fright and fury. I wasn’t going to push until he choked to death. I didn’t know much about women, but killing their best friend didn’t seem like a good courting move.
Not that I was courting Lenora.
I was just going to fuck her, take what I needed, and leave.
“You’re never going to touch Lenora again—during my time here or after. No kissing. No fondling. Not even flicking her ear, like you did yesterday. And you definitely aren’t going to get anywhere close to her pussy or tits if you want your tongue to stay in your mouth and not be shoved up your ass. You can be her friend, her platonic friend—the one with zero benefits. Also, we never had this conversation. Am I understood? Blink twice if I am, once if you really want a nice visit to the ER and an oxygen mask for the next week or two.”
He blinked twice, and I released him. I was sure he had plenty to say to me, but as it happened, I didn’t have the time or will to listen.
I stalked out and locked myself in my cellar for the remainder of the day, working.
I felt this weird, hungry, impatient lust for life that hit me like a tornado. It was strange, new, and raw. I finally understood that Iggy Pop song. But to feel lust for life, one must be alive first, and I wasn’t sure I’d been living before Lenora moved to Todos Santos.
Which was a pile of steaming bullshit. What was wrong with me?
I wasn’t feeling alive.
I was feeling horny. That’s it. I just wanted to get my dick wet.
I called it a day a little early—three-thirty. I locked the cellar behind me and took a trip downtown, shouldering past students and professors who begged to see my work.
I bought brownies, wine, and flowers, then threw them into a garbage can before I made it back to the castle. I was torn between wanting to impress her and wanting to kill her.
As I continued, furious at myself for yet again letting a girl fuck me up, my phone rang. I thought it was Dad, but no, it was Knight. I took the call.
“What?”
“Don’t what me like I’m interrupting your goddamn schedule of scowling at places, people, and your own reflection. You texted you wanted Hunter and me to come to London. Everything cool?”
He sounded sober, which meant he’d been keeping up the good work. I Skyped with him often, but it still surprised me to talk to Knight without some sort of slurring involved.
“Berkshire, and yeah, everything’s going according to plan. Just need a solid.”
“In person?”
“The fucking flesh.”
“Aight. Hunter’s travel agent is booking us tickets now. How are things with Drusilla?”
I heard the smile in his voice and clenched my jaw. Who the fuck knew? Admitting to having something with her would only invite unwelcome questions when I eventually put a stop to it. No way was I going to drag her down the dark rabbit hole I was about to dive into.
“There aren’t any things between us,” I told him.
“Hot damn, Spencer. I thought I was the romantic. Turns out, you were the one to drag your ass across the world for a pussy.”
“It had nothing to do with her. I came here for the internship.”
He laughed. I was too distracted to give a damn, though.
“Suuuuure. And I’m doing Meatless Tuesdays because I like quinoa, not because of my vegetarian bae. You’re drowning in a river of denial, too proud to ask someone to pull you out.”
“Clearly Luna likes you for your dick, not your ability to form a fucking sentence. Stay away from writing poetry.”
“Clearly.” More laughter. When he finally calmed down, he said, “Oh, and it’s good you’re not too hot on Astalis, because rumor has it your mom wants to hire her for her gallery in LA when she finishes this little stint. And you told anyone who’s willing to listen you were never coming back to California, amiright?”
“What?” I nearly shrieked, standing in front of the castle now. It infuriated the living fuck out of me that Mom would make this decision without consulting me first. Especially seeing as she didn’t even know Lenora.
Then again, that was exactly why she didn’t tell me. I’d never told Mom how I felt about Astalis.
You don’t feel anything for Astalis, dumbass.
It was quarter to seven, and I was feeling on edge. Pacing back and forth on the front lawn, I shook my head.
“Mom can hire her. None of my business.”
Knight was cracking up at the other end of the line. “Dude, it took you ten minutes to say it. Just admit you believe in a thing called looooove,” he sang. “By the way, this was a test. Your mom said no such thing. But it’s good to know how you really feel. See you in England, fucker. Stay safe.”
He hung up.
I looked at the time on my phone. I had fifteen minutes t
o shower. My room was all the way on the third floor, the communal showers another good ten minutes from there, down in the dorms. There was no way I was going to make it. I had two options: wait for her and invite her to stay in my room while I cleaned up, or leave her waiting for me.
It wasn’t a particularly chilly night. And she did make me watch her coming in another man’s mouth…
Thing was, I no longer wanted to punish her.
I didn’t want her pain, her insecurity, to scratch at the things that made her tick.
I stood there for twenty minutes, and at five past seven, when she showed up, her back to me, I approached and kissed her shoulder, watching the surprise and delight in her face when she turned and faced me.
“Whoa.” She grinned.
“I need to shower. Wait in my room?” I asked, like a normal person or something.
She smiled, saying something equally as ordinary. “Sure.”
I found her lying in my bed, flipping through my anatomy and sculpting books. The room was bare of any vibe or personality—I preferred it this way—but I still had my sculpting bullshit lying around. I stopped at the door and watched her, wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around my waist.
Mainly I couldn’t understand the way this made me feel—observing her on my bed, which smelled like me, going through my shit. The pleasure was unexpected. Foreign. My chest constricted, and I tried to take a deep breath, thinking maybe I’d pulled a diaphragm muscle.
Still, I couldn’t draw enough air to satisfy me.
“Oh, hey.” Her voice was raspy. Hoarse.
I strolled in, pretending I didn’t hear her. I grabbed a rolled-up pair of black jeans from my closet, planning on getting dressed behind a small recliner in the corner of my room.
“Thanks for the new drafting table.” She put the anatomy books aside.
“I broke yours, and you have to work on something,” I reminded her.
Hardly a charitable act.
“Drop the towel,” she said, all of a sudden.
I looked up, half my leg already in my jeans. She sat up in my bed, propped on her forearms, a summer-dream smile touching her face. I couldn’t explain it, but I could breathe her from across the room: lavender, cotton, and my own fucking demise.
“Drop it,” she repeated, all mischievous and…cute. Yeah. Okay. She was cute and pretty. Big fucking deal.
“What for?”
“So I can see you.” She wiggled her brows. “After all, you’ve seen me plenty.”
“I’m about to be balls deep in you in less than fifteen minutes if I have my way,” I said. “Buck naked.”
“Hardly the same.” She licked her lips, her freaky, multicolored eyes glittering like marbles. “There’s something vulnerable about standing naked in front of somebody.”
“Precisely.” I scoffed. “Why would I put myself in a vulnerable position?”
She held my gaze, her voice turning serious. “Because I asked you to.”
Momentarily speechless, I regarded her. She was serious. I stepped from the recliner, dropped my towel, and straightened to my full height, hands on hipbones.
Stark fucking naked.
The first time I’d been naked in front of a stranger since…never mind.
Completely naked. And I couldn’t even figure out why I was humoring her ass.
The silence wrapped around us, and I let it, because it was her fault shit had gotten weird.
“You’re ashamed.” She cocked her head, a curious expression on her face.
I snorted. Right. She’d be lucky to see a fitter body on a health magazine cover.
“What are you ashamed of, Vaughn?”
I sneered. It didn’t matter.
She stood up and walked toward me, cupped my face with her tiny hands. It almost felt maternal. “You’re beautiful.” She kissed the tip of my nose, closing her eyes. “So beautiful,” she whispered.
A tear rolled down one of her cheeks. I didn’t understand what was happening, and yet somehow, I wasn’t surprised when she cried. I just didn’t want to fucking see it.
I wrapped my arms around her, trying to comfort her because she…what? Pitied me? Em-fucking-barrassing, but apparently I was willing to go this far to be inside her. My knee-jerk reaction was to kick her out. My plan was so close to execution, and this was going nowhere fast.
But I couldn’t.
And not for lack of trying.
We hugged—me naked, her wetting my shoulder with her tears—for what seemed like ten minutes before she pulled back and kissed my lips.
“Thank you,” she said.
“For what?”
“For allowing yourself this one moment of being a boy. And for letting me witness it.”
Down in my cellar, I lit a joint and passed her one of two cans of beer I’d taken from Harry’s fridge. He was still in the hospital, and he’d been transferred to one in central London, so getting drunk around here wasn’t really in his near future.
Len cracked the can open and put it to her lips, not taking a sip. Her eyes roamed the dark, cold place.
“It’s perfect for you,” she said.
“Said the vampire.” I spoke with the joint between my lips, throwing my Zippo against the bench she was sitting on. It was made of cobbled stone. Medieval as fuck. My sculpture, now almost completely done, was clothed in the center of the room by two separate sheets, so she couldn’t see it.
“You invited me in.”
“As per usual,” I said seriously. “You’d be smart to decline next time.”
She smirked, putting her beer down. I sat next to her, feeling on edge. I resisted the urge to rub my thighs, like Mom did when she was nervous. I nailed my palms to the bench on either side of my body.
“Why are you not drinking?” Small talk. I was starting small talk. Willingly.
“Because I almost died on my birthday from alcohol poisoning.”
“I got you.” I gave her beer can a push in her direction.
She studied my face.
“I mean it. Do you want a trust-fall exercise before we do it?”
“No, thanks. I’ll crack my head.” But she downed the beer so fast, I thought it was an optical illusion. Then she sat back, staring at the covered statue.
“I know you’re not going to show it to me, but I’m sort of okay with that. Because I know I’ll see it at Tate Modern. As long as I know something’s not gone forever, I don’t miss it.”
She wasn’t talking about my sculpture anymore, and we both knew that.
“You miss her,” I said. Fucking duh.
She nodded. “Every day. Losing her was worse than losing my limbs. I promised myself to never get attached like that again. It’s dangerous, you know? Better to keep people at arm’s length.”
“You already are.” I sucked my teeth. “Attached, I mean.”
“No, I’m not,” she protested, but her face was bright red.
“So you just happened to suck my blood? Ride someone else’s face with me handcuffed to your bed? To sculpt me?” I grinned. “You’re either attached or a certified psycho. Your pick, Good Girl.”
“Neither. I’m just a normal girl, with normal needs.” She tipped her chin up. “You bullied me in high school, and so yes, in a moment of insanity, I sucked your blood. In another, I let Pope go down on me. That doesn’t mean anything, Vaughn. I’m ordinary.”
I snorted. “The fuck you are. You wouldn’t be here if you were anywhere on the ordinary spectrum.”
“Because I’d be too boring to fit in your man cave?” She cocked her head, grabbing my half-full beer and tipping it into her mouth.
“Because you wouldn’t willingly come to my man cave,” I snapped. Not after everything she knew about me, anyway.
I picked up a chisel from the floor, poking at the strap of her top and pulling it slowly, knowing I could snap and tear it at any moment if I pressed the pointy tip to it.
“I’m normal.” She licked her lips, looking down at he
r hands. Her nipples puckered through her top, and she twisted her legs together, refusing to look me in the eye.
Nuh-uh. “Sure you are. You don’t like blood,” I goaded her.
She was a beautiful liar. Luckily, I didn’t mind a little deceit. People were obsessed with the truth, like they could fucking take it. Me, I liked messy and manipulative.
She shook her head, still inspecting the blade in my hand.
I slid the chisel from her top, put it to my upper wrist and cut a shallow wound horizontally, not even flinching. She let out a little gasp, her breath hitching. I smirked, standing up so I stood between her legs, bringing my wounded wrist to her face.
“This doesn’t turn you on.”
“No.” But there was no power in that statement. Her voice was throaty and full of need.
“How about when I do this?” I pressed the pointy part of the chisel to one of her puckered nipples through her shirt. It was so sensitive she couldn’t help herself. She closed her eyes and let a moan escape those pretty pink lips. I swirled the blade around her nipple, watching her tremble in her seat.
“No.” She squeezed her eyes shut, panting. “No.”
“You can always leave,” I challenged, knowing she wouldn’t. Couldn’t. Every encounter we’d had since we were kids had led to this moment. We were finally showing each other our dark sides—the shadowy, twisted carnival in our souls no one had ever been invited to.
This was a golden ticket, personally handed over by our very own Willy Wonka. Us. Alone. Where no one could find us.
She was seeing this one through.
“Fuck you, Vaughn.” Her voice shook.
The third time she’d told me this.
Each time, I had a different answer.
“Gladly, Good Girl.”
With a well-mannered smirk on my face, I tore her top off in one, swift movement—like a gash. A little inaccuracy could’ve caused her serious injury. She yelped, squeezing her eyes shut and leaning back. She clutched her midriff, her shaky fingers looking for a wound. After a few seconds, she opened her eyes and looked down, examining the damage.
