Angry God by L.J. Shen

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 to 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.

Completelynaked. 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 her 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.

Her skin was milk and honey, smooth as freshly fallen snow. She blinked, looked up at me.

“Still not turned on?” I asked.

“No.” She enunciated the word venomously, waiting to see what I’d do next.

I laughed. She did, too. The crazy, humorless laugh of two people who understand each other perfectly, yet are stuck in a world that makes no sense to them. I never thought I’d have this with a girl. Or a guy. Or any fucking human, for that matter. Not even my parents fully understood me.

I pushed her shoulders, and she slid over the bench, lying down.

I put the chisel to her jeans and used it to pop the three buttons free, tugging the denim down her thighs with my free hand. Still looking her dead in the eye, I clipped her panties from each side, letting them fall beneath her, and put the pointy end of the chisel to her pussy, waiting for her to stop me.

“Not horny for this blade, baby?”

“Not even a bit.” Her eyes leveled with mine, daring me.

Show me more of your crazy. My veins hummed with exhilaration. It’s turning me the fuck on.

I was so hard I didn’t even have time to be worried about what I was about to do to her. With her.

I looked down and again noticed her tattoo.

Ars longa, vita brevis. I could finally read it, and I knew exactly what it meant, why she’d put it there. Something inspired me to kiss it. I did. She shuddered.

“There will be other pleasures worth chasing, and they’ll have nothing to do with art,” I whispered into her skin, unable to pull away from it.

“Show me,” she rasped.

I slid the chisel into her pussy, stopping a quarter of the way in. I wasn’t going to hurt her, not really, no matter how much she craved it. I found her hot and wet and ready. Drenched. Her cunt produced wet sounds that drove me mad and made my dick so hard I got dizzy from lack of blood to my other organs. The slightest stroke of her hand and I was going to jizz like a broken sprinkler system in a country club. This wasn’t going to be a twenty-minute session of virtuous lovemaking. I’d be lucky not to come in my goddamn jeans.

Len braced herself on her forearms and watched my hand sliding in and out of her with the chisel, keeping the penetration shallow. She closed her eyes, her head falling back, and shivered, her entire body blossoming in goosebumps.

I wrapped my injured arm around her neck, bringing her closer, kissing her slow and hot and deep, getting her all sex-crazed. Her mouth slid across my wrist, like I knew it would, and her eyes rolled back in their sockets the minute her mouth touched my blood.

“God…” Her voice cracked like an egg, spilling with lust.

“God, what?”

“God…have sex with me.”

“I’m afraid that won’t do,” I lamented. “Say the magic word.”

“Please?”

“Fuck. Fuck me.”

I was buying time so I wouldn’t come prematurely before my briefs were shoved down to my ankles. She closed her eyes, drawing a shaky breath. I slid the chisel half an inch deeper into her pussy. She was so wet I doubted it was enough for her. She couldn’t squeeze around it, choke it with her walls. No. My cock was the only thing that could do the trick, and we both knew it.

“Please fuck me.” The words fell from her mouth, which tasted salty and warm, like my blood. I kissed her again.

“Why?” I asked, my lips moving down her neck, sucking. “You’re not turned on. Seems pretty pointless.”

“Vaughn,” she moaned.

She was so close to coming, and suddenly, I realized I wanted her to. I wanted her to walk out of here satisfied.

Not because of my sculpting tools. But because of my cock.

I pulled away, dragging the chisel out of her pussy. My mouth disconnected from her neck. I got up and left her to fall against the bench with a thud, staring at me, sober-eyed, mouth agape.

“You say you don’t like blood, but I tasted your lips, and you’re a little demon. It’s on your breath. I think you’re far from normal. I think you’re every shade of screwed-up in the coloring book, just like me, and I knew—saw it—when I gave you that brownie all those years ago. But the biggest lie you tell yourself is that you’re not mine. Get a clue, Astalis.” I threw the chisel at her feet, turned around, and walked out of the cellar, leaving her there alone.

I wasn’t worried for one second that she was going to peek at my work, see my statue.

She was a liar, yes, but she was my liar.

I didn’t need a trust fall. I’d dive headfirst and know she would catch me.

Len galloped toward me, out into the hallway. She spun me by the shoulder and frowned. “You have sex with me now, Vaughn Spencer, or I swear to God, I will leave this place tomorrow morning and never see you again.”

“There she is,” I murmured, “the girl from the fountain, all grown up.”

I crashed my mouth down on hers, lifting her by the backs of her knees and shoving her against the wall, my lips on hers throughout the process. Her shirt was in tatters, and she was spread wide and naked from the waist down, tugging at my jeans with intent.

“Condom,” I mumbled into her mouth, reaching for my back pocket to grab my wallet.

I’d believed Dad when he said he was going to rip me a new one if I made them grandparents before retirement, so I’d visited a local Boots a week ago to stock up on rubbers.

Also, I was stalling.

Okay, mainly stalling.

“No condom,” she pleaded into our kiss, grabbing me through my briefs once my jeans fell off, in a vise grip that surprised me. Girls were usually more timid than that. “I’m on the pill.”

I unglued my mouth from hers, frowning. “It’s your first time, right?”

“Yeah,” she panted, her lips unbelievably swollen and pink from our bruising kisses. “You?”

“Why are you on the pill, then?”

I was kind of hoping my choke-count would stay at one with Rafferty Pope, but knew damn well I was about to finish every motherfucker who’d touched her if I didn’t like the answer coming from her mouth.

“To regulate my periods, arsehole.” She rolled her eyes, annoyed.

I laughed when I kissed her again, plunging into her without analyzing what I was doing.

I didn’t expect to moan so loudly into her mouth. Almost like a plea.

But she was so tight—much tighter than a mouth or my fist—and warm and wet and delicious. A tremor ripped through me, and I felt my balls tightening so hard, even my ass muscles were clenched.

God. Fucking. Damn.

I counted to five Mississippi while inside her, taking a few labored breaths to regulate my pulse and the premature-spunk situation, and then I began to thrust, my desire so achingly prominent I couldn’t help but squeeze my eyes shut.

In. Out. In. Out. How could something so simple bring so much pleasure? It didn’t make sense. She moaned into our kiss, and I tugged her ribbons of gold hair to extend her neck, before deciding that watching her beautiful, infuriating face was distracting altogether and flipping her over so her back was to me.

I angled my wet, hard dick into her, plunging again. Much better.

“Ugh!” she cried out, even though I went slow, and I dropped my lips to her shoulder, refraining from kissing it, but just barely.

“Should I go slower?”

“I’ll die if you do. I think I’m going to come. It just hurts a little.”

“I’m sorry.” For some reason, I still hated saying those words.

“I expected it.” She was talking to the wall, bracing her hands against it, and I felt like such an asshole for flipping her.

I kept thrusting, tool that I was, knowing I was going to blow my load. It became excruciatingly painful not to come, like trying to hold back a sneeze halfway through.

“Oh, fuck, Len…”

“Hmm…” She was into it, slamming her ass against my groin, begging for more. Her ass cheeks were completely wet from her juices. So were my dick and balls.

“Keep going. I’m close.”

“I can’t, baby. I’m sorry.” I cringed. It’d been…what? Three minutes? And I was being generous with myself here. Oprah-gifting-people-cars generous.

“Damn.” My head fell back as I came inside her, emptying my entire three gallons of cum into her sweet pussy. I hadn’t realized just how much I needed my body against hers until I came.

We stood like that, both of us facing the wall, for just a second before I spun her around. She stared at me with those blue-green-hazel eyes of hers, which always fucked me up like no other rival ever could.

“I’m sorry,” I told her.

“Yeah, you said.” She flashed me a mischievous grin.

She didn’t look mad. I mean, not that she should be. But she didn’t come. I wanted her to come.

“I’ll make it up to you.” Fuck, I hated myself more with each apology.

“You can start by getting me some tissue. I’m leaking.”

She opened her legs slightly, and we both watched in the dim, faint light as thick, white cum slithered down her inner thigh, along the tattoo. There were traces of blood there, too. Not a lot, but enough to tint the liquid pink in some places.

I swallowed. “Did it hurt a lot?” I looked at her. Not that she gave a shit. She liked pain.

She shook her head. “Nah. I enjoyed it, for the most part.”

For the most part.

Silently, I backed her until her knees hit the bench, cradling her waist and head to lay her down gently, her ass perched on the edge of the bench, half in the air.

I kicked her legs apart and kneeled in front of her, using my thumbs to open her pussy lips. More white liquid spilled from her. I brushed it aside with my thumb.

“What are you doing?” she gasped, staring down at me with a mixture of horror and amusement on her face.

Saving my goddamn pride.

I put my tongue to her pussy. It was salty and warm—my cum, blood, and her juices swirled together. It wasn’t exactly Jamba Juice, but it was me who’d spunked her nice and good, so I couldn’t complain. Besides, the actual pussy-eating was kind of rad. Everything was pink and soft and warm. Not a bad pastime. I started nibbling on her lips, licking her crack to clit.

If I’d been a little less of an idiot, I’d have asked Knight or Hunter how to go down on a girl. Or even watched a video or two. But no. I never had the slightest interest in pleasuring a chick.

Yet here we were.

Still, Lenny moaned, writhing in front of me, her eyes closed. I wanted to be better than Pope. Stupid, I know, but he’d had his mouth here yesterday, and when she’d come, she’d been loud enough to wake the dead.

I rubbed her clit with my finger, diving into her pussy with my tongue, battling her tight walls. Her moans intensified, and she laced her fingers through my hair.

Better.

“Tell me how to make this good for you, Good Girl,” I mumbled into her pussy, licking her clean of everything we just did.

I recognized that it was gross as fuck to 99.98% of the population, but I’d always been the rebellious 0.02%. I knew she liked it, that we were on the same wavelength.

She purred. “Squeeze my clit.”

I did.

“Harder,” she gasped, her breath coming harsh and fast.

I massaged her swollen clit in circular movements, fucking her with my tongue until it slipped down to her ass crack. That’s when she really moaned. Right. She was into ass play. I recalculated my internal GPS and started tracing the tip of my tongue around her crack.

“Feels nice.” Her voice was thick and sweet, full of indulgence. I wanted to kiss her lips and tell her I’d always lick her ass. But I knew realistically that now wasn’t the best time to French kiss her.

“Come for me, Len.”

She came on demand, her thighs squeezing my face, her entire body jerking, her pussy chasing my mouth. It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen, and I’d seen some sick shit in my limited time on Earth. Lenora coming with her ass and pussy in my mouth, her clit under my thumb, however, not only took the fucking cake, but the entire bakery.

Three minutes passed before she came down from the high. After she did, we stared at each other, me still on my knees, her legs open in front of me.

We started laughing.

She slid down, holding her stomach, laughing her ass off. We rolled on the floor, getting covered in stone dust, with Len wiping tears of mirth from the corners of her eyes. I didn’t even know what we were laughing about. I wasn’t the laughing type. Nothing was particularly funny to me, even then. I think we were just…happy.

“You need to wash your mouth before you kiss me again.” She coughed when she finally calmed down.

I side-eyed her. “Why?”

“Because you have arse breath.”

“I would kiss the shit out of you if you ever ate my ass.”

“Nice choice of words.” She tapped her chin. “Would you like me to eat your ass?” Her eyes widened, with surprise more than terror.

I knew she’d do it. I knew her crazy ass would do just about anything. And I needed to calm myself down, because I was beginning to get ideas. Unlikely ideas, like taking Len with me on my quest to live on every island in Italy and France and Greece, like touring European museums together, and bungee jumping, and scuba diving—all the things I’d wanted to do alone after my business here was done.

Because doing them with Len could be so much more fun.

“Not particularly.” I shook my head, kissing her cheek and wrapping my arm around her on the cold floor. I didn’t want to be too adamant in case she had a weird, unexplained taste for ass, but it didn’t sound like my jam.

I stared at her for a while.

“Thank you,” we said at the same time.

We didn’t have to explain why. It was obvious.

I was her first.

She was mine.

The night was too good to be true, that was for sure.

Still, I shoved the bad inkling to the back of my mind, thinking maybe karma was so busy fucking Fairhurst with a twelve-inch dildo, she’d forgotten about me.

Len and I went up to my room, where I got my toothbrush and a towel. We went to the communal showers, I brushed my teeth, and then we took a shower together. I didn’t fuck her again, because I knew she was sore, but we kissed a lot and I bit her nipples, testing how far I could go before it became unpleasant (very fucking far, as it turned out).

Once we were both clean, she said she was going back to her room.

“Fine. Let’s go,” I heard myself saying.

Even though I’d already pissed on every single rule I’d made concerning the opposite sex tonight, and I knew spending the night together was the final nail in my pussy-whipped coffin.

She put her boots on, not looking at me as she asked, “You mean, walk me to my dorm?”

“I mean…” I clenched my jaw, resenting her for making me say it. “To sleep in your room. Same bed and all that fucking jazz.”

She looked up with a smile, tossing me a pack of gum she’d found under my bed. “Cute.”

“Ain’t gonna spoon you, Good Girl.”

“But you are going to fork me.” She laughed. “And yes, you were thinking of spooning.”

“Don’t embarrass yourself.”

Yes, I was. I was glad Knight didn’t have mind-reading abilities. He’d ride my ass until retirement if he knew I’d wondered how it felt to sleep with Len in my arms.

We walked down the hall toward her room. Save for the owls hooting outside and the crackling of fire in the rooms, the place was silent. We rounded the corner leading to the staff area, where Edgar, Harry, Alma, and the rest of the fuckers resided. Len slipped her hand in mind, lacing our fingers together. Then she froze in her spot all of a sudden, her boots squeaking on the floor.

I turned around to face her. She cocked her head toward her dad’s room. We listened carefully. Voices seeped under the closed door.

“Arabella?” she asked voicelessly, her lips shaping the name.

I advanced toward the door, pressing my ear to it. She did the same next to me. It was risky, but what did I really have to lose? Nothing.

I wasn’t even that hot on the internship.

I was close to executing my plan with Harry, and between pissing Edgar off and letting Lenora down, I knew which side I was on: the one that didn’t fuck someone thirty years their junior.

We heard sniffling, whining, and shuffling, then the uncanny sound of Arabella moaning loudly.

“Darling,” Edgar said, his voice tender and raw.

Arabella moaned again.

“Get off of me, please.”

I unglued myself from the door, taking Len by the arm and dragging her away. She fought me on this, her legs heavy against the floor, trying to shake my touch off. She slapped my hand away when I tightened my grip on her.

“Let me be!” she whisper-shouted.

I turned around, baring my teeth. “So you can hurt yourself some more? The fuck I will.”

“Vaughn.”

“Len.”

We stood like this for a moment before I scooped her up by tackling her midriff, flinging her over my shoulder, and marching down the corridor like a caveman. She pounded her little fists, clawing with her nails into my flesh through my shirt.

“Let me down!”

“Enough people have done that recently. I think I’m gonna stick to being the voice of fucking reason. My first executive decision is to leave.”

“What about my father?”

My father. Goddamn posh people. She very rarely called him Dad. Every time she called him Papa, I had flashbacks to an Oliver Twist musical my parents once dragged me to.

“I’ll deal with him.”

“He’s my problem.” She scoffed, still draped over my shoulder as I rounded the corridor toward her room.

“Well, now he’s ours.”

“Put me down, Vaughn. I mean it.”

She was already walking the tightrope between deranged with anger and emotional, and I didn’t want her to feel more powerless than she already felt, so I lowered her to the floor. She looked away, refusing to let me see her tears. I pawed both her cheeks, relishing how small she was in my hands.

“Look at me.”

She dragged her eyes to mine reluctantly, blinking away tears. I pressed my lips to hers as gently as I possibly could.

She’d opened her mouth to say something when a voice behind her cut through the air, interrupting.

“Well, well, the heartless prince not only lives past nineteen, he also loves. That’s a twist in the story I didn’t see coming.” Harry Fairhurst strode forward, climbing the stairway and stopping in front of us. His arm was in a cast and sling. He had dark circles under his eyes and looked even thinner than his usual malnourished self. There was no humor in his voice, just malicious intent.

But the real kicker were the words he’d carefully used.

Prince.

Heartless.

Lives.

Loves.

He remembered every single one of our encounters. Each verbal exchange. Shouldn’t have surprised me.

I glowered. Him seeing this was not in my plan.

Lenora turned around, flashing him a smile.

“Uncle Harry! You’re back from the hospital. How’re you feeling? No more coffee for you, you clumsy thing,” she joked, running to him and flinging her arms over his shoulders.

Two things happened simultaneously. One, I realized that Len truly liked her uncle, and there was nothing I could do to change that. Two, she was never going to forgive me for what I was about to do.

I leaned against the wall and shoved my hands into my pockets, watching as he kissed both her cheeks and flung her blonde ponytail with a familiarity that told me he’d done it a thousand times before. And why wouldn’t he? He was her uncle.

“Thank you for the new jumper, by the way.” She took a step back, seeming to forget all about Edgar.

I knew she’d been raised here, in this castle, so it made sense that she was close to him. I just hadn’t thought of that.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“You’re never going to wear it.” He flicked her ponytail again.

Stop touching her.

She shrugged. “It’s the thought that counts.”

They both laughed. Harry ran his cool eyes from me to her, a vicious smile tugging at his lips.

“So, Lenny, are congratulations in order? Is the talented Vaughn Spencer your new beau?”

She frowned, about to deny it, and at this point, denial was exactly what I needed. He shouldn’t think he had leverage on me. Especially in the form of a pussy. Unfortunately, I wouldn’t put it past him to hurt her to get to me, and he needed to know she was off limits.

I took a step forward. “Yeah, I’m the boyfriend. Nice to see you again, Mr. Fairhurst. Oh, wait…” My eyes flicked to his cast. “You can’t shake my hand. Never mind.”

Lenora’s head shot up, her gaze chasing mine. Fine, I’d declared us as a couple without consulting her. But really, we were exclusively fucking each other and throwing fits whenever the other breathed in another person’s direction. It wasn’t far-fetched.

“Is that so?” Harry lifted a brow.

I could already see the wheels in his brain turning, trying to figure out a way to use it in his advantage.

“No other way for it to be,” I said wittily. “And you’d be wise to remember that.”

Yet again, I threw myself into the fire to save her skinny ass, dumb motherfucker that I was.

“Nice,” he said, taking the hint.

“Haven’t been called that before, but I’ll take it.” I threw an arm over Good Girl’s shoulder, taking off toward her room again.

Len turned around to look at her uncle, then looked up at me, confused. “What was that all about?”

I ignored her question.

That was one secret I was taking to my grave.