“I told you I can’t protect you if you refuse to understand the rules.”
All of West’s ominous warnings, my time getting beaten in Scotland with Madame’s eerie she’s not ready echoing in my ear… It came crashing down like a wave and I suddenly couldn’t breathe.
“I—”
“Stop. Talking.”
West dropped my elbow, and pushed me behind him. The party disappeared behind his massive shoulders. With the stone railing behind me, the steps to an empty beach on one side… I was caged.
I thought about kicking West, kneeing him in the back of the thigh—when a solid, strong hand closed on the back of my neck. I froze, heart leaping into my throat. Was Arthur back?
Then the callous, cocksure voice I would recognize in my marrow spoke. “Don’t move. Don’t react.”
Grayson must have come up the steps.
“Do you remember those first nights you slept in my bed? I asked you a question then.”
How could I ever forget our first nights? They were engraved on my bones.
Have you ever come on someone’s hand, Snitch?
Do you want to?
Maybe he felt my neck heat, maybe he saw the blush on my cheeks, but he made a sound low in his throat, all manly satisfaction that settled deep in my thighs.
“You remember.” His lips were pressed close to my ear. “I want to feel you come on my hand. So be a good little wife and don’t talk. Don’t make any noise. I’ll be pretty fucking pissed if you get yourself caught.”
I looked around; no one had noticed us. I was hidden behind West and the terrace was packed. If you managed to see us…it probably looked like we were just two more people standing close together.
But all West had to do was turn around. “West—the paparazzi—” I broke off, sucking in air.
Grayson slammed me back against his body using only my neck. “The fuck did I say about warning me?”
His free hand gripped my stomach, pressing me harder against his chest, his iron cock. I swallowed, throat thick.
I stared at West’s shoulder blades, heart thudding as Grayson ripped my head to the side, hot mouth landing on my exposed neck. I was helpless and his.
A heroine in an old gothic romance.
Stuck in the hands of the monster, at his mercy.
“I don’t fucking care,” he growled, grip bruising my swollen stomach. “Let them see. Let them all see you’re mine.”
He was a drug, sliding into my system. Intoxicating and overtaking the consequences.
Let them see I’m his.
Let me be his.
My head fell on his chest.
“Good fucking girl.” His chest rumbled on my back, his approval like sweet wine in my blood. “That’s my girl.” His teeth scraped harder at my neck. “You’d let me do anything to you. Anywhere. You could never say no to me, little nun.”
“But you always knew when I should have, Atlas,” I whispered.
That stopped him in his tracks, his blue eyes cracking. At the very same moment, West shook the hand of the man he’d been talking to. He was going to turn around soon.
Gray spoke so low no one else could hear. “Find an excuse to leave or I’m coming back and fucking you in front of everyone. I don’t give a shit what happens.”
Cold. Bored.
Vicious.
Goose bumps rose.
“Five minutes, Snitch.”
He pushed me off him and I stumbled into West, grasping his arm so I didn’t fall. West turned around, steadying me. His eyes narrowed on the now empty steps.
What kind of excuse could I make?
But I believed him.
Thirty
STORY
I knew where to go instinctively—our room.
I first saw the flash of gold, glimmering in the low light. Grayson sat on the ground, one arm on his knee, the other rolling the coin from knuckle to knuckle.
“Grayson?”
“You’re late.” He slammed the coin beside him into a priceless painting.
“I couldn’t…I had trouble getting away.”
A lot of trouble. In fact, I didn’t really get away. I kind of just never went back to West.
“I could take you from him.” He scratched the coin into the paint. “I could use this and take you from him and he couldn’t stop me.”
He knew why he couldn’t do that. He was stuck on the web with me, and didn’t need me pointing it out.
I took a step closer to him.
“I have all the luck in the world…” Scratch.
In the dark, his reckless hair falling over his eyes, and his profile illumined only by the stars outside, Grayson reminded me of a Byronic hero.
Yet even more wild and unhinged.
“You were on your knees. He put you on your knees. I don’t like you on your knees. For him. For anyone.” Scccratch.
I tried to think of what I could say to him, what words would pull Grayson out of this and prove I was his and his only. Then I realized, words could never do it.
So I dropped to my knees. “What about for you?”
He paused, coin mid-scratch and pulling up paint. A thousand looks ran through his eyes.
He exhaled slowly. “You’re cheating.”
I looked up at him from beneath my lashes. “Is it working?”
He stood up and walked in a slow circle around me. “You look like the day you came to me.”
“You didn’t look at me this way then,” I whispered.
He slid his fingers through my curls, twisting my head to the side. Examining me like I was one of the priceless pieces of art in the room.
I swallowed the needy ache spiraling through my gut. “You didn’t touch me this way, either.”
“Is it fucked up that I like you on your knees, Snitch?” He kept twisting my head around in his grip, back and forth, the subtle possession of it stoking a slow burn inside me.
“If it is…” I licked my lips, and his eyes dropped to that, grip tightening just a little. “Then I’m just as twisted. I like dropping to my knees for you, Grayson.”
“Not for him.” The growl got twisted in my throat, cutting, and his grip turned vicious.
“Never for him.” His eyes softened, and his free hand dragged along my bottom lip.
“I can see you as queen, little wife. There’s nothing hotter than a queen who kneels for her king.”
“I can think of something hotter…”
He arched a brow.
“A king who kneels for his queen.”
He grinned, crooked and feral, then fell to his knees. Even on his knees, I had to crane my neck back to see into his icy eyes.
“The first time we made love, you stood above me like a god, as the Grayson Crowne of myth…and then you fell to your knees.” I pressed my forehead to his. “You’re the only one who ever knelt for me.”
He inhaled a shaky breath. “Little nun, let me do it.” He bruised his forehead into mine. “Just let me end him now.”
“And then what?” I whispered. “What happens to you? You go to jail? Worse? You’re so close to being everything you want, Grayson. The hero. Don’t let this ruin it, don’t let anyone ruin it.”
His eyes were crackling blue electricity. “I’m going to get you out of this. The world will know you’re mine.” His palm seared my stomach. “This is my baby. My fucking baby.”
“Yours,” I breathed, an incantation. “Fuck me, please.”
“Do you want to know how many times I’ve rubbed my cock raw to you? I picture you sitting on my face, fat with my kid—” He swallowed.
My words were shallow with need. “You’d like that?”
“I think about lying in bed with you. Sideways, holding your belly as I slide my cock inside you.”
“Ungh…” A broken, needy sound left my lips as flashes of heat assaulted me. I was burning up, burning up beneath the blurring gold and silver antiques and scent of black cherry leaking from the hallway. I knew he had more to s
ay, because he looked away as if just saying the words took immense control.
“Tell me,” I begged, addicted to this fantasy. “Please.”
His eyes flashed back, dark.
“You sucking my cock.” He gripped my stomach, bruising. “Covered in my fucking teeth. Every inch of you marked and owned by me. On your knees begging for more.”
His lids hood with shame and desire, hungry even now, as if picturing it.
Oh God, I can’t breathe.
“I like you so much like this, I think I’ll have to keep you pregnant.”
Oh, fuck, how many kids does he want?
His pink lips stretched cruelly across his white teeth—he could read the words in my head, in the way only Grayson Crowne could.
“With you… When we’re living happily ever after. When I can hold your hand, wake up next to you, and I can drag you to me and kiss you in public and not have to worry about who will try to hurt you…”
I closed my eyes at the mental image.
“When I can fuck you and fill you with as many babies as I want…” His palm seared my flesh. “I’ll never stop. I’m going to fill you with so many fucking babies, Snitch.”
I opened my eyes to his dark ones, eyes popping. “What if I don’t want any more?”
He growled into my ear and it melted down my spine. “You shouldn’t have kissed me if you didn’t want to be filled—”
The door behind us opened, and Grayson stopped cold.
“I’ve been looking for you.” West’s eyes trailed to me.
Grayson’s grip bruised, and I could feel his need, feel the anger and heat and angst in his touch. This was ripping him apart—it was ripping me apart. We weren’t even a day into this shaky truce and it was starting to crack and crumble.
Could we withstand another day like today?
“We just have to survive it,” I whispered, low enough for only Grayson to hear.
West shut the door, leaning against it. “You’re going to have to accept that we’re a team now.”
“What are you bringing to this partnership, West?” I snapped.
He leaned back, folding his arms. “I could tell you that whatever you plan to do, if you wait, my father won’t be around to watch. He’s leaving before New Year’s.”
“Why?” Both he and Beryl? None of this felt right. Grayson and I shared a look.
“He expects me to continue looking on my own.” West rubbed his jaw. “I think he’s following Beryl.”
Grayson still hadn’t let me go, and West looked between us, at me and then Grayson who adjusted his hard-on, unashamed.
“Our ground rules….” West rubbed his jaw. “I think we need to adjust them. Whatever you do to Story is fair game for me.”
A cold smile speared Grayson’s lips. I knew what was about to happen before Grayson stood slowly to his feet. Knew the danger before his blue gaze turned icy.
“By my count,” West continued. “You owe me a kiss.”
It seemed like every second he could, West wanted to remind me that Gray and he might be working together, but they were not a team.
I quickly scrambled to my feet, placing myself between Grayson and West.
That thing between us, the dark crackling flame, popped.
I pressed my hands to their chests. Grayson’s glare shot to me, jaw clenched, telling me to move so he could fucking end West—but if he did that, then Gray would be the one hurt most.
The pressure of his chest bent my wrist back.
“By my count,” I gritted, turning to West. “You pulled a really shady fucking move today. So maybe you should stop counting.”
West arched a brow, then stepped back, hands raised.
After a few seconds, Gray stepped back, dragging his hands through his hair.
West put his arm out, so I could entwine mine in it. I ignored him, but I followed him anyway, my heart aching. Because I knew I’d been gone for too long, and knew Grayson had to return or he’d be beaten again.
“I think I saw your siblings in the hall, Gray,” West mocked, as I followed him out of the room.
Siblings?
Gray and I realized what he meant at the same moment.
The bastards were back.
Just in time for their mother’s funeral.
Thirty-One
STORY
The morning of Josephine’s funeral was snowing lightly, blanketing the sand of Crowne Beach in a soft powder. It was almost surreal in its beauty. My girl had already come and dressed me in a long black dress with a high collar and I felt a little bit like my old self.
I focused on my clear, manicured nails, and not West, the tall reminder leaning in my doorway that I was not my old self. That everything was not the same.
“I’m not winning your heart by standing on the sidelines, Story. I’ll play dirty.”
I scoffed. “You don’t know how to play any other way.”
His eyes darkened; he looked away.
Silence pressed.
“How is your fiancée going to react to all of this?” I asked. “You’re trying to win me over, but what about her?”
He tilted his head slightly, eyes gleaming. “You don’t know who I’m marrying?” His voice was too light, too soft.
I didn’t trust it.
“How would I? You haven’t told me.”
A look flickered in his eyes, but it was gone before I could decipher it. “What did you think of me back then?” He took a step inside. “When we were kids?”
Trap. My brain screamed it.
Back then, he was my prince. Not because he was rich and handsome, but because he saw me.
Or so I’d thought.
“You were so…different,” West continued. “That night we didn’t even kiss—”
“Because it was all a bet,” I cut him off. “So why would you?”
The muscle in his jaw feathered. “Do you remember how it started?”
Of course. It was burned in my blood. It all started with broken glass. During another Crowne party, glass pierced the thin leather slippers Tansy made us wear, imbedding in my heel.
West came down to the servants’ quarters to help me, even though I insisted I was fine. At the time, I was sharing a room with three other girls, and the place was a mess. I was ashamed of my living quarters, and so nervous, because I liked him. With my leg in his lap, he sat on my bed, and we talked for a while.
Then a pile of books fell from a rickety shelf above, and he lunged before they could hit me.
Suddenly West was on top of me, and he didn’t move. I didn’t move either, and I didn’t ask him to. He looked like he wanted to kiss me and I remember wanting that so badly. I’d never been kissed, let alone by someone I liked.
It started out magical.
But he didn’t kiss me, his hand slid up my inner thigh.
“You were so different,” West continued. “You were so shy and so…not. Your eyes grew so wide when I slid my fingers inside you. I lost my mind a little. I couldn’t think beyond seeing every look, every sound. I didn’t pay attention to anything else.”
He looked down, brow furrowing.
Shame?
No. That’s not right.
“Was I your first?” I asked.
The vulnerability vanished from his eyes, and he came to me, shadowing me over the vanity.
He reached down, thumbing my cheek. “The night you let me fuck you”—I jerked away but he tore me back with his other hand, gripping my chin.
He continued to stroke down my cheek, softly, like his grip wasn’t bruising.
As if his words weren’t cutting.
“The night of the masquerade, when he came in the room, your eyes grew again in the way I’ve dreamed about for years.”
My eyes watered. “Stop.”
I had no choice but to look at his eyes. It was either there, or his thighs, where he’d grown hard.
“Then you let me come in your cunt without a condom.” His eyes dropped to my thig
hs, like he was picturing it. And then I couldn’t not.
He licked his lips. “How did it feel?”
Twisted and dirty and like I’d given power to something I didn’t even know still existed inside me.
I would never tell him that.
Nostrils flared. “He fucked you out of me.”
“I don’t share, Story. I never did. But I realized something.” West trailed his knuckles along my cheek, past my enraged glare and through my tears. “I will do anything to see that look on your face.”
“That look doesn’t belong to you,” I gritted. “That look is his.”
His eyes flashed. “If you loved him, then why did you sleep with me? You don’t love him, not the way you think you do. Because if it’s love, then you wouldn’t have sought me out, Angel.”
He dropped his hand with a vicious jerk, then adjusted his erection.
“We should probably go. We don’t want to be late.”
It wasn’t a big turnout, but then I’d imagine the only Crowne who really would have wanted to come to her funeral was already dead—Grayson’s father. I knew the only reason the living Crownes were even in attendance was for appearances’ sake.
West stood next to his father—whose beady fucking eyes were on me throughout the entire fucking ceremony. Grayson stood next to Lottie, eyes on me. I was alone for once, alone since my uncle’s funeral.
It was nothing like my uncle’s funeral, or what I can remember through my foggy grief-stricken brain. Everything was white with winter. The beach powdered in snow, the sky silky ivory. The only color came from the waves, a deep iron.
I stared at the triplets, an idea forming in my mind. If Josephine knew about the coin, was it possible her children knew something as well?
The triplets were the darker versions of the Crownes. To the naked eye, they were just your average, beautiful and spoiled rich kids, but if you looked deeper, something was off about all of them. They belonged on the moors where their mother had spent her life.
Josephine “Jo” St. Germaine’s eyeliner was smeared around her big, doll eyes—yet no crying redness lined them.
From between his fingers, a cigarette curled smoke around Charles Junior’s sharp jaw and bored pout.
Destroyed Destiny (Crowne Point Book 4) Page 18
