Dirty Little Secrets (Kings of Bolten 1)

“She’s not. It’s not what you think. We just messed around a little, I guess.” Levin gazed at Bianca, his brows drawn tight. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was worried. But Levin hated Bianca, so it was an off the charts stupid thing to think. Of course, the entire situation was fucked up.

“When she wakes up and tells me you hurt her—forced her—I will cut your dick off myself,” I growled at him. I’d never known Levin to hurt or force a woman for sex, but he treaded a thin line with Bianca.

We all did.

“I didn’t force her,” he bit out, glaring back at me. He took a step forward, his hands balled into tight fists.

“Rethink what the fuck you’re about to do, Seeley,” I said dangerously as I lifted Bianca into my arms.

Her head lolled against my chest.

“I didn’t do shit to her she didn’t want,” he said in a low voice. “We drank too much. Got high. She would’ve fucked me if I’d let her. Instead, we just messed around. That’s fucking it.”

“Whatever, man. She belongs to all of us,” Vincent called out, looking pissed off still.

“Might want to remind Dom of that then,” Levin snapped back. “He’s playing mama to her.”

“Fuck you, Seeley.” I spun on my heel, Bianca in my arms, and marched out the door to the taunt of Levin calling me a cocksucker.

I didn’t know why I was so angry. The agreement was she belonged to us all. Maybe my shitty night had just made it worse. I tried to reason with myself about my feelings, but nothing I came up with made sense. Even my suspicions about Fallon. The thought of a fucking lord touching her. Making her feel. . .smile. . . moan. Love.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

I was going to break something. Or someone.

Then the thought of having to end her life flooded my brain as I stalked to my room. Everything led back to the dull ache in my chest and the blonde passed out in my arms.

I knew what it was. Fuck me, I knew.

I gave a damn about my wasp. More than anyone else before her.

And that was going to be a bit of a problem.

Thirty-Seven

Bianca

I woke up with a groan—my eyes dry and scratchy, and my throat thick.

“Shit,” I muttered.

It took me a moment to realize I wasn’t in my room. I sat up, wincing, and found Dominic sitting in his leather chair, flipping a coin across his knuckles, his face drawn into an emotionless mask. His black hair was a mess like he’d been tugging on it all night.

“Welcome back,” he said in a low rumble.

I bit my bottom lip and swallowed.

“You’re mad.” It was a statement, not a question. I knew Dominic well enough by now to know when I’d pissed him off.

He leaned forward, a muscle popping along his jaw. “What do you think I’d be mad about, wasp?”

“Levin,” I whispered, locking eyes with him.

He raised a dark brow. “You think?”

I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to answer the question, so I twisted my fingers in the blanket instead and waited for him to continue.

“Take off your clothes.”