My eyes kept bouncing back to his hard cock. He didn’t make me come yesterday because he cared. He did it to humiliate me. He wasn’t actually into me. I was shit to him. Charlotte was the girl in his dreams. I was the girl ruining them.
The butterflies in my stomach would just have to listen.
Gray held out his hand. “Give me my towel.”
I clutched it harder against my body. “What?”
He had no emotion in his voice, nothing. All fire, everything, was gone.
“I said, give me my fucking towel. I gave you one rule and you broke it. Which I’m starting to think is your deal.”
All the emotion and intensity that had clouded Gray’s face was gone. He was back to his normal half smile quirking his cheek.
I knew he was doing this to humiliate me.
To punish me for being in his bathroom.
But I wouldn’t give him my reaction. I took a breath, then stood. I undid the towel, holding tight for a fraction of a second before dropping it to the floor. I kicked it into the corner. His eyes blazed; then he turned on his heel, shutting the bathroom door behind him.
GRAY
* * *
I stared at the door.
My imagination was weak fucking drink. The hair she kept up fell to her back, curls a careless halo around her face. She looked untamed. Divine. Water
dripped down her curves like she was a seventeenth-century oil painting. Her breasts were full, the perfect size for my hands, begging to be bruised and bitten.
When my eyes dropped between her thighs, that was the moment I knew I was fucked.
A freshly shaved pussy. God fucking dammit. It was like a nun just ripped off her habit, revealing a sex kitten. Snitch was a paradox inside a contradiction. A strong jaw holding too-soft lips. Sex wrapped inside purity.
“Grayson?” my mother called, and I realized she’d been talking. “Did you hear what I said?”
I blinked, finding my mother holding her neck softly with her right hand.
“No. Sorry.”
“I said, did you see the latest stunt your sister pulled last night?”
Are you coming right now?
“I was a bit preoccupied.”
“Well, Abigail destroyed my beautiful maze.”
“Ah.” So that was why it was on fucking fire.
“Honestly, I’ve been up all night,” Mom continued. “Your poor sister struggles so much with emotions she can’t control. You know how your cousin Emmaline went on that retreat? She came back so much more…refined. I think it might be good for Abigail.”
Emmaline was all but fucking lobotomized. Our cousins looked at Rosemary Kennedy and thought, Well done.
This isn’t unusual behavior, my mother threatening one of my sisters in my presence. It’s a dance we do. She threatens them, and then I give up something so she doesn’t go through with it. Usually we’re more passive, we dance around it.
Gemma was caught with a gardener again, she might do better if we restrict her access to her own wing…oh, it’s such a shame how you keep ending up on those covers, Grayson.
Today I don’t feel like fucking dancing. “What is it you want, Mother?”