Savage Heir by Jagger Cole

23

“Where the fuck have you been?”

Patrick eyes me with one of his half closed. His words slur as he brings a cup of beer up to his mouth. Some of it spills as he wobbles on his feet.

Him being utterly wasted is the only saving grace keeping me from turning and running. I’ve just walked back into the party from the garden where Ilya pinned me to the wall and… well, that.

Where he did what no one’s ever done to me before. I tingle, blushing as I replay the feeling of his mouth between my legs—his tongue dragging through my lips, and his teeth nipping my skin.

Part of me can’t believe I just allowed that to happen. Part of me knows there wasn’t a shred of resistance in me when he pulled me into the darkness. And the rest of me knows I knew what would happen when I went with him, and that’s why I went at all.

Ilya Volkov is like a horror movie. You know something is going to jump out and make you jump out of your skin or have a heart attack. But damn if you just can’t stop watching.

“Tenley.”

I blink out of the daydreaming and focus on Patrick, who is clearly having a hard time focusing on anything.

“Where were you?”

I frown. “I was mingling?”

His brow furrows. “I was looking for you.”

“Well, I was here. What’ve you been—”

“Had some drinks,” he slurs.

I smile thinly. “I see that.”

He sways on his feet as his eyes narrow. “The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

There’s an edge to his tone I’ve never heard before—a surly anger and a leering suspicion that has me on edge.

“Hey, how about we find some place to sit down and—”

“Were you with him?!”

I freeze. Slowly, I turn to glance behind me. Instantly, my face burns hotly. After back in the garden, I walked back to the party first. Ilya was lighting a joint by the wall where I’d just… well, yeah.

It seems he’s made his way back to the party too, and walked in behind me at the worst possible time.

Ilya’s eyes lock with mine. His lips curl into that smug, quiet smile with a joint between them.

“Tenley!”

I whirl back to Patrick. His face is livid, and the space between us goes silent. Seconds tick by. I say nothing, but his narrowed eyes scream plenty of accusations. The silence seems to swell like a mushroom cloud, until suddenly, it pops.

“Were you with him?!” he snarls.

I swallow, shaking my head. “What? No! Patrick, I was just—”

“Why are you still associating with that fucking criminal, Tenley?”

“Patrick—”

“You understand that even being associated with him could destroy your future, right? Our future.”

My eyes narrow. This controlling shit is getting to be too much. I’m getting it from Ilya—but that’s something else. Getting it from Patrick makes my skin crawl and my jaw grit. All this talk about me leaving my Plan and my dreams to fit myself into his has been a thorn festering in my side since last week with all those cameras.

“I will associate with whoever I want, okay?” I snap coldly.

Patrick glares at me.

“You’re out of line, Tenley—”

“Enough, Patrick! I am not yours! I—”

“You know he’s just using you, right?!” Patrick slurs furiously. “His mafia uncle wants tabs on you, because of your father and mine!”

His words sting. It’s not like I haven’t thought of that before. I mean Ilya clearly knows who my father is, and there’s no way in hell his “family” doesn’t know too. But hearing it from Patrick like it’s the most obvious reason in the world for Ilya to be even speaking to me feels like a slap in the face.

“Patrick, you’re drunk—”

“Oh am I?” He snaps.

“Ilya and I—”

“There is no Ilya and you,” Patrick hisses. His eyes narrow. “Let me say this slowly for you. You’re with me, understand?”

I shake my head, my lips thin. “No, I am not—”

“Yeah, you fuckin’ are,” he snaps. “And if you decide not to be? Especially to go slut it up with Ilya fucking Volkov?” He snarls dangerously. “Then I’m going to tell my dad what a fucking liability you—and by proxy—your father are to his campaign.”

A cold feeling creeps up my spine.

“You wouldn’t—”

“I would,” he growls. “And you know what? My dad listens to me.” He smiles cruelly at me. “It would be a real shame for your father’s VP run to stall out because you wanted to whore it up.”

My mouth thins. “Ilya and I know each other because of the tutoring program. That’s it. I—Patrick!”

He suddenly shoves past me, storming through the crowded party and lurching out of the back door. I follow, but my face pales when I see what—or whom—he’s storming towards.

“Patrick, stop it!” I hiss, chasing after him as he stumbles across the yard—right over to Ilya, Misha, and Lukas.

Misha nods, and Ilya turns. He seems to smirk at the approaching, lumbering Patrick as he steps forward to meet him.

“You stay the fuck away from her!” Patrick snarls.

Ilya doesn’t flinch. He folds his arms over his chest and arches a brow as Patrick stops right in front of him. They’re about the same height, but Ilya is stronger. His shoulders are broader. And rich kid or not, he’s got an edge to him that a guy like Patrick has never once had.

“Having a good night, North?” Ilya hisses quietly.

“I was, until you and your fucking scumbag friends showed up.”

The party around us grows quiet as people turn to watch the standoff between the Golden Boy and The Wolf.

“What the fuck are you even doing here, Volkov?”

“Making your girlfriend come on my mouth.”

I blanche. My heart drops through the floor. But the fury that swells in Patrick’s face isn’t the kind where he’s realized what Ilya is saying is true. He’s just taking it as a crude insult.

Mercifully.

“My father and hers are going to put men like your uncle, and you, in fucking prison,” Patrick slurs. He leers into Ilya’s face and jabs his chest with a finger. “You stay the fuck away from her, understand me?!”

Ilya says nothing. He just smiles a cold, brutal, calculating smile that sends a shiver down my spine.

Patrick whirls, grabs my wrist, and yanks me after him. “Let’s go, Tenley.”

“Let go of me!”

But he doesn’t. He just keeps yanking me after him until we’re out of the back garden of the party and headed for the paved path back across campus.

“Patrick!” I hiss. “Let me go!”

I yank my arm free. But he whirls and grabs me into his arms. Horribly, I realize he’s about to kiss me. This time, I don’t just turn away.

I slap him.

Patrick looks stunned. He looks sober, actually. He lurches back, holding his cheek as he stares at me, his face pale.

“Fuck, Tenley, I’m sor—”

“Go home, Patrick,” I spit. “You’re being an asshole!”

His eyes narrow dangerously. But he stays back from me. “Why, so you can hang here and go be one of Ilya Volkov’s little groupie sluts—hey!”

I’m not listening to his shit. Mid rant, I turn, and I start walking away, back across campus. I chance a glance back, just in time to see Patrick wave his hand at me in a “fuck it” manner, and turn back to the party.

I exhale slowly as I storm across the dark Oxford Hills campus. My heart is thudding like a drum in my ears. My head is swimming.

And the pulsing heat between my legs that remembers the feel of Ilya’s tongue on me will not go away.

The TV is on when I step into our cottage. But when I walk into the living room, I grin when my eyes land on the couch. Charlotte is snoring asleep, sprawled across it with the credits to—hilariously—Princess Diaries illuminating her.

Quietly, I turn the TV off and pull a blanket off one of our chairs. I drape it over her, tucking her in before tiptoeing out of the room.

In the dark kitchen, I sink against the counter. My hands grip the counter, and my pulse is still hammering like a drum. For possibly the very first time in my life, I find myself really, really wishing I had a drink in front of me.

So fucking wet for me.

Is this what you wanted when you put on this dress tonight? When you picked these panties out and slid them on?

My body shivers with heat. My thighs squeeze together.

I’ve been good my entire life. I’ve been a model student. I’ve done all the right out-of-class volunteer work. I’ve played the politics game for my dad. I’ve thrown myself head first into The Plan instead of ever stopping to have fun, or be wild, or do something I shouldn’t.

And suddenly, that’s all coming up to bite me in the ass.

Or the inner thigh, I think with a filthy heat.

Ilya has chipped away at the dam, and slowly, it’s starting to cave.

He’s breaking me, piece by piece. But the worst part is, I’m eager for it. It’s as if I can’t wait to see which part of me he breaks next. Which part of me he takes.

I flush as I lean against the dark counter. My teeth drag over my lips. My eyes slide to the front door.

The clock ticks on the wall.

I don’t even really realize I’m moving until the door shuts behind me. I hug myself, still just wearing the thin, short party dress from earlier. I could lie and say I’m walking aimlessly to clear my head. But there’s nothing aimless about the straight line I walk.

I know exactly where I’m going. I’m just not quite clear why I’m going there.

But I’m about to find out.

My pulse thudsas I raise a hand. Gently, I knock on the huge, imposing wooden door to Lordship Manor. I wait, hearing nothing. I glance up at the dark house and frown.

This was a bad idea. For a number of reasons, but right now, because it’s clear no one’s home. I roll my eyes at myself. Of course they’re not. The three guys who live here were just at the same party I just left.

I groan and drop my forehead to the door. This was dumb. All of this is dumb. What the hell am I even think—

I frown. My ears tune, and suddenly, very quietly, I can hear… music. Massive Attack’s Teardrop, specifically. And it’s coming from out back behind the manor home.

I drag my teeth over my lip as I make my way around the side of the huge house, through the manicured gardens until the dim lights of the pool area flood over me. My eyes slide across the backyard until suddenly, I stiffen.

Ilya is shirtless, lying reclined in a pool chair with one leg up. He looks up at the dark, star-studded sky and exhales a thin plume of smoke. There’s a darkness shrouding his face—much more than his usual grim demeanor.

It’s captivating. It’s beautiful, really.

I tremble, hugging myself. He’s beautiful. Not just hot in that bad boy, tattooed way. He’s beautiful in this broken, captivating way that sinks its claws into me and refuses to let go.

And I know that’s why I can’t pull away from him. That’s why I keep coming back. One way or another, either by him finding me, or me finding him, I keep finding myself sucked into his orbit. Just like I am right now. And like the other times, I go willingly, without looking back.

Slowly, I step out of the shadows at the edge of the pool and walk towards him. Ilya turns slowly, and his eyes drink me in. But his eyes narrow as his jaw clenches.

“What are you doing here, Red?” he growls quietly.

I stop where I am, a few feet from him. My hands twist in front of me. My pulse thuds so fast that I’m not even sure I can form words.

“I—I don’t know. I just—I started walking, and—”

“No.”

Ilya shakes his head, sucking deeply on the spliff in his lips.

“We’re not doing this anymore, Tenley,” he hisses.

Doing what”

“This,” he snarls, standing abruptly. His face is grim as he storms towards me, making me gasp as he stops right in front of me. His face is lined, his eyes wild and fierce as they burn into me.

“This! This fucking dance where I’m the only one leading.”

My brow furrows. “Ilya, I—”

“Because I can take and take and take until I’m drunk off of you, Tenley,” he groans. “But it won’t slake my thirst. It never will.”

The night is still and silent. A cool wind teases over my bare legs, and I shiver as my eyes drag up to his.

“What would?” I breathe, so quiet I’m not even sure he’s heard me.

But his lips curl.

“You,” he growls. “You, asking for it. Begging for it.”

I swallow thickly, trembling under his gaze.

Ilya smirks coldly.

“But you can’t do that. You’re just here playing tourist on the dark side from your good, clean, perfect little life,” he hisses savagely. He shakes his head and starts to turn away as my heart wrenches.

“You can’t ask, so this isn’t happening any—”

“I want you to kiss me.”

The words blurt from my lips. My heart thuds. Ilya freezes, half-turned from me. Slowly, my hand reaches out for him. I grip his muscled forearm and let my hand slide down to his wrist.

And then his hand.

“I—” I take a breath, shaking all over. “I want you to—”

“I heard you,” he groans through a clenched jaw. He slowly turns, and I tremble when those green eyes pierce into me.

“But if you fucking ask me that again, Tenley, I’m not going to stop. I’m not going to ever stop. So think long and fucking hard before you-”

“Kiss me, Ilya,” I whisper. “I want you to—”

I moan as he grabs me, yanks me into his arms, and slams his mouth to mine.

And this time, there’s no going back.