The Monster (Boston Belles 3)

“He was being nice.”

“He was ogling you and imagining what I’ll do to you when the ride is done.”

The ride started and Sam’s hand, which I didn’t even notice was resting on my knee, slid up my thigh, making my dress hike up to my waist. His face was still turned to the other side. To the miners and monsters around us. The story of the collapsing mine unfolded.

“When?” Sam asked, his fingers biting into my thighs, skimming my underwear.

“When what?” I swallowed.

“When did you figure out who you were? In the timeline between seventeen and now. It couldn’t have been the night we met. That was the beginning of things. You’re a fully-formed person now.”

I gave it some thought, even though his fingers pushing my underwear sideways, dipping into my wet core, made me shudder and lose my train of thought. I started breathing hard, feeling my nipples puckering under my bra.

“Honestly?” I heard myself say. “Every single time I met you, you chipped at something in me. I don’t know how to explain it, but there is something about you, something formidable and scary and impossible, that makes a person realize who they are when they deal with you. It’s like looking death in the eye.”

I turned quiet for a second then said, “I know she is dead and it might not mean much, but do you think you’ll ever forgive Cat?”

My underlying question had nothing to do with Catalina. What I wanted to know was—would he ever be able to love a woman?

Sam’s finger curled inside me, pushing in deeper and harder and faster. I began to pant. He turned his head toward me, his mouth finding mine in the dark, slanting over my lips possessively.

“I don’t need to forgive Cat. Somewhere along the road of screwing everything up with you, I found out that I don’t hate women all that much. I love Sparrow, and Sailor, and I’m pretty sure I will fucking kill anyone who gets anywhere close to Rooney until she hits thirty.”

I moaned into his kiss, half-laughing, half-groaning, clutching him close as the ride drew to an end, spinning and sliding from here to there.

The only people in the world were me and him.

My orgasm was within reach. I could feel my body humming to the rhythm of his fingers inside me.

“I still want revenge,” I croaked into his mouth. “Don’t think you’ve won me over just yet. You haven’t.”

“I know,” he grunted, letting me ride his whole hand now beneath my dress. My hips bucked toward his arm, and I thrust and moaned shamelessly, the climax taking over my body like a tsunami.

“Monster, Monster, Monster,” I chanted, breathing his nickname in, thinking how he was right all those years ago, when I asked him what his name was.

It was always Monster.

And I was his Nix.

Maybe it was the best night of my life.

The thing about magical moments is that they wrap around you like a cloak, shielding you from reality, numbing your senses.

But it felt like everything was illuminated. The air was fresher, my lungs fuller, and my skin tingled with adrenaline and warmth.

From the junk food we consumed—sweet and salty popcorn, candy apples, and hot spiked ciders—and the rides. Ten seconds before midnight, we made our own countdown and kissed on the merry-go-round, each of us sitting on top of a unicorn. By the time we left the amusement park, it was half past two in the morning, and I knew I was going to hate both myself and Sam when I woke up in a few hours for another grueling shift at Dr. Doyle’s clinic.

I buckled up next to Sam in the car, still riding the high of the evening.

“You need to quit your job,” he said out of nowhere, starting the car.

I whipped my head in his direction, my mouth going dry. It was like he threw a bucket full of ice water on my face.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re excused, but this week is your last at the horror clinic.” He kicked the vehicle into drive, his eyes cool and disciplined on the road. “It’s too dangerous. There’s too much at stake here. I won’t let you put yourself in a vulnerable position.”

“What I do with my life is none of your business,” I reminded him.

“Everything you do is my business, and you will not continue doing illegal shit that could lead to you spending the rest of your life in prison, no matter how good your intentions are. Either you concede willingly or I will have to go to Dr. Doyle myself and tug at a few strings. Spoiler alert: I’ve been known to tear apart things I don’t like.”

“If you go to Dr. Doyle, I will never speak to or see you again.” I trained my voice to sound blasé, keeping my raging emotions out of it. I had to remind myself he was trying to protect me, even if he had a weird way of going about it. “And I’ll ask my father to fire you just to spite you, making sure we are even. You know he will, after everything that went down. Two can play this game, Brennan. I will not be pushed around by you. Not anymore.”