Hours later, Story is asleep on my floor and I can’t sleep. Which wouldn’t be news, except for the reason why I can’t sleep. There’s a need. A possession. Growing inside me like a weed. I didn’t like them touching her. I don’t like anyone even looking at her. The more time I spend, the more I realize one kiss isn’t enough, and if we do it again, it won’t ever be enough.
Which means it can never happen again.
I’d nearly ripped West’s head off just for taking her. He used a family coin on her. What the fuck? You only got one family coin.
There was something about this girl that was creeping into my veins.
It was easy to mistake her as Lottie at first, but now the differences were so fucking stark. If Lottie was a diamond, Snitch was the metal you cast it in.
Outside the swans still hissed with the waves, but tomorrow only a few would linger. The clock was ticking, and still all I can think about is the girl sleeping below my bed.
The way she wears her nun clothes, or how her eyes get big when she’s angry. Fuck…when she’s angry.
Twisted Crowne logic.
I like it when she’s honest. I like it when she’s brutal. I like it when she talks back.
It took every ounce of willpower not to get hard when she was on my lap, and in the end I failed, even when I got so high I almost didn’t see straight. Because when she came.
Fuck.
When she came.
I slid my hand beneath my satin pants, grasping my cock, a fucking traitor already hard at the thought of her. It was nothing. Story was heroin, pure and simple. A traitorous high not to be trusted. A black sludge I would rip out of my veins no matter the cost.
It wasn’t that I liked the feel of her in my lap.
Thighs spread on mine.
Ass against my cock.
Her small, throaty whimper only I had heard.
Fuck.
I gripped harder. The chandelier above my bed glittered in the moonlight and blurred. I hadn’t wanted to yank her mouth to mine when her head fell to my shoulder. Fucking Snitch, fuck, I hate her. I tugged faster, harder, punishing her. Punishing myself.
Almost there.
I groaned. “Fucking lemons.”
“I’m sorry,” Snitch’s small, raspy voice called in the dark.
I jumped, freezing.
“Jesus fuck.” Heart hammering, I rubbed my forehead. After another breath, I rolled over, head throbbing with adrenaline. Snitch stared up at me, eyes wide and annoyingly cute. She was like a rabbit cuddling against a lion. “You’re awake?”
It was three in the morning.
“I’m sorry,” she said again. “I really didn’t know about the lemons.”
She thought I was thinking about Lottie.
Lottie, the chick I’ve been chasing since I was a kid.
Lottie, the only one who never cared I was a Crowne.
Lottie, the reason Snitch is asleep on my floor.