Leaning back on my heels, I wipe my mouth, watching the quick rise and fall of Dimitri’s chest. It was even better than last time, sucking him. Easier. Faster. Hotter…
“Shit,” he gasps, sprawled on his back. “You’re getting good at that.” Listlessly, he reaches down to tug his pants back up, lifting his hips with a groan.
After taking a drink from the soda I’d brought up with me, I climb to my feet, feeling restless and antsy. It’s even harder, looking at him like this. More than once, the thought has struck me.
Specifically, the thought that a repeat of what he’d done to me my first night here wouldn’t be unwelcome.
But like last time, he’s given me permission to touch myself tonight, to get myself off, and I already know I will. I have been. I did last night.
Swiftly distracting myself from that very complicated and super-confusing memory, I say, “Okay,” and open the laptop I’d left on his sofa. “Let’s get started.”
Dimitri really does do better after I’ve sucked him off. He rolls toward me, loose-limbed and clear-eyed, and then reaches out to sweep my hair over my shoulder. It’s an idle gesture, hardly intimate, but still takes me by surprise. If he notices, he doesn’t make it known.
It’s completely forgotten once we’re focused on the work, me typing out his thoughts, making him repeat them back and memorize them verbatim.
He focuses better.
Me? Not so much.
My blood feels a little too electric, my skin a bit too tight to properly concentrate. It doesn’t help that my gaze can’t stop drifting to his eyes. He has such long, dark lashes. They brush against his cheek when he looks down. His eyes are soulful, but strangely shuttered, like he’s hiding multitudes just beneath the surface. It makes me want to ask him things, like why did he just touch my hair like that?
It takes two hours, but we finally manage to bang out a workable draft. As I’m packing up my things, I say, “I’ll probably head down. Killian and I have dinner with our parents tonight and I should get ready.”
He rises from the bed, stretching his arms high into the air. My eyes dart to the patch of skin exposed by his shirt hiking up his torso. When they ascend once again, he’s smirking, having caught me. “Sure. ‘Get ready’. Consider yourself excused.”
“Thanks,” I reply, pointedly ignoring the implications.
Before I go, however, he stops me. “You should wear something cute.”
I pause, turning. “Cute?”
“For Killian,” he clarifies, quirking an eyebrow when I stiffen. “He likes those cute little dresses you wear sometimes. Girly stuff. All sweet and innocent, you know?”
“Oh.” I blink, confused. Am I expected to dress for Killian? I hadn’t really planned on it. I’ve been avoiding thinking of him at all. “Uh, right. Thanks for the tip.”
As I walk from the room, I see him open a small book on the piano. He plucks up a pen and makes a few quick marks before closing it again. He did that the last time I was here too, but I didn’t think much of it then. Now I wonder if he’s taking notes after our sessions, and if so, what they say. Is it good? Can it help me help him? Going through the guys’ personal stuff makes me queasy. Even checking the computer in Killian’s room felt like a huge, scary risk. I’m still half-convinced he’s going to jump out of a corner at any moment to punish me for it.
Downstairs in my room, I quickly shower and dress for the night. After Dimitri’s comment, I find myself looking at the dresses. They are cute. Truthfully, they’re the sort of thing I’d wear freely, without being told to. There’s a peach-colored sundress in the closet that ties on the shoulders. It stops a few inches above my knees and isn’t racy in the least. After slipping it on, I spin, watching myself in the mirror.
Would Killian like this?
It’s a dumb thought. Killian doesn’t like anything about me, and I’m not sure why I should make the effort. He doesn’t deserve anything more than the bare minimum. I live under his roof and take his punishments. That’s enough.
Still, I wear the dress. What was that Ms. Crane had said about Dimitri?
“He’s the best at handling the other two.”
If Dimitri thinks this is the best way of handling him, then it’s worth a try. God knows I’ve never been good at it. Either way, it doesn’t matter. Tonight isn’t about him. Not in the least. It’s about suffering through a family dinner together. We’re going to our parents’ house, and over there, I’m just Story. His stepsister. Not his Lady.
Unluckily, I step into the hallway at the same time he does, coming face to face with his large frame. His scent wafts over me and I reach back, holding onto the door to steady myself. Without bidding, I’m assaulted by the memory of Killian in my room, cock out, stroking himself in the dark. The way he looked, shadowed but still clear, and the sound of his quick breaths are burned into my memory like a brand. A sparking heat runs up my spine from my own enjoyment. The memory is so whole, so real, that I know in my heart it wasn’t just a dream, no matter how much I wish that were the case.
“What?” he asks, watching me.
“N-nothing.”
His face is infuriatingly expressionless, even when he looks at me up and down, taking in my dress. The dress I’d worn for him. He clears his throat and I’m not sure what this is, the way he stands, still and stiff, but he asks, “Are you ready?”
I swallow. “Yes.”
I try to process my thoughts—my feelings—as I climb into the front seat of his truck. Killian isn’t acting mean and hostile like usual, but there’s also nothing on his face that speaks of what happened last night. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe it really was just a dream. Maybe I can just pretend.
Maybe he’ll even let me.
The truck’s powerful engine rumbles to life as Killian backs it out of the garage. I feel ridiculous sitting here. If he wanted to, he could reach out and snap my neck with a single blow. But even though his hands are wrapped around the steering wheel, gripping so tight his knuckles are white, he doesn’t regard me at all. I keep my mouth shut. What would I say? I know who you are and what you do. I know somewhere, deep down, you want me the same way I want you.
But I can barely admit that to myself, much less him.
We’re about halfway there when he suddenly reaches over. I flinch, but it’s unnecessary. He just pulls a bag of M&Ms from the center console, ripping it open at the next stoplight. I remember now that he always hated my mom’s cooking—on the rare occasions that she had to put in the effort.
I watch from the corner of my eye as he tips the bag back, catching them in his mouth and chomping down. I’m so stiff in my seat that my bones are beginning to ache. I look out the window at the passing scenery—buildings, residential homes, parking lots—and wish I were anywhere but here.
Killian clears his throat, drawing my attention. He holds the bag out, giving it a shake. When I just stare at it, confused, he shifts his shoulders and offers, “Want some?” I gape at the bag, because I must be losing my damn mind. Killian offering me something? What the hell is this? He throws me a quick look, jaw tightening. “Well?”
I look at them, suspicious. Maybe they’re poisoned or something. Worse, maybe this is a test. Reluctantly, I extend my hand, half expecting him to smack it away. He doesn’t.
He dumps a handful into my palm.
If I inspect them closely before slowly putting one into my mouth, it’s only because I’m not stupid. “Thanks,” I mutter, still baffled. “Don’t tell Tristian.”
His only response is a quiet grunt as he pours more into his mouth.
“I never thought I’d see the day come,” my mother says, pouring her third glass of wine, “when we had the whole family back at home again. Did you, dear?”
“No, not really,” I say, stuffing an olive from the charcuterie tray into my mouth. It’s bitter and salty, which reminds me of the taste of Dimitri’s cock.
“Sure you don’t want some wine? You’re old enough to have some with dinner now.”
“No, thank you.” God, the last thing I need to do is drink in this house. I have my eye on the back deck, where Killian and Daniel are caught up in the manliness of grilling steaks. I’m not letting my guard down for a second. Killian’s strangely cool behavior, the M&M stunt, the quiet drive over…
These things are loaded.
I just don’t know what they’re loaded with.
My mother follows my gaze. “I’m just glad to see you two are able to get along better now. You and Killian really had a hard time adjusting to one another back in high school.” She takes another long swallow. “Of course, you struggled to get along with anyone back then. Most girls would have been ecstatic to have such a popular older brother, but you had that way of always making things difficult.”
Yes, Mom, getting felt up by my stepdad and then assaulted by my stepbrother and his friends really was all about me being difficult.
Maybe I do need some of that wine. Instead, I pick up a marinated artichoke and cram it in my mouth.
She reaches out and pushes my hair out of my eyes. “I’m just glad that after all the worry and expense, you finally seem to be on the right path.”
“Yep. I’ve got it all together,” I say, ready to take the attention off of me. I point to the living room. “Did you redecorate?”
“Oh! You noticed!” This leads to thirty minutes of stories about all the work she did to get the room just right, and how Daniel wanted this feature or that new technology, or the TV that slides out of the ceiling. The entire time she speaks, I can’t help but wonder if this is always who my mother has been, or if she changed along the way. I know she worked hard when I was younger, and marrying Daniel had been like a gift from heaven. I don’t blame her for not looking too deep under the surface. Having shiny new toys and a seemingly devoted husband isn’t something you want to mess with.
The back door opens and Daniel pokes his head in. “Five minutes, ladies,” he says, then gives me a wink before ducking back outside. Jesus Christ.
“Story,” my mother says, reaching into the cabinet, “can you take your stepfather the platter?”
I’d rather stab myself in the eye with the corkscrew, actually.
Dealing with Daniel is one thing. He’s not stupid enough to do anything overt in front of my mother—plus, I’m not even sure he’ll bother me anymore. He doesn’t even treat me the same. Maybe girls over the age of sixteen don’t even do it for him. But Killian is another thing altogether. He’s both my stepbrother and my Lord. I don’t know how to balance the two.
Thankfully, when I step out on the deck, Killian is off to the side talking on the phone. Daniel smiles appreciatively, takes the plate with one hand, and squeezes my shoulder with the other. The scent of his cologne makes me want to gag.
“I’m so glad you came tonight,” he says, picking up a two-pronged fork and stabbing into the sizzling meat. “I want you to know that this will always be your home. If you ever need a place to decompress or just have a little time away from your hectic school schedule, you’re more than welcome.”
“Thanks,” I say tightly, glancing over at Killian. He’s still talking but his eyes are on me, watching closely. “I don’t think it’ll be necessary, though. Things on campus are good.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” he says, flipping the other steak. “Have you made any friends? Are you dating anyone?”
“Dating? Story?” Daniel looks over my head. Killian’s heavy hand lands on my shoulder. “Little Miss Perfect 4.0 is too busy to date now, just like she was in high school. I can’t even get her to come over to the frat house for a party. I keep telling her, all work and no play makes for a boring-ass life.”
Daniel’s eyes flick from Killian’s hand on my shoulder to my face. “It takes strong conviction not to get caught up in the distraction of college life. I’m impressed. Your brother has never known the meaning of the word ‘no’.”
A bit of spittle gets lodged in my windpipe and I cough.
Tell me about it.
“I should go wash my hands,” I say, abruptly turning back inside. The nearest bathroom is adjacent to the laundry room. There’s no way in hell I’m reliving that little nightmare while we’re here, so I head out the other door and escape upstairs. When I reach the landing, I automatically turn into my old bedroom and flip on the light.
Those stories about parents keeping their kids’ bedrooms like a shrine after they leave home does not apply here. I have no idea how long I was gone before my mother called her decorator, but I suspect I was still on the bus. Other than the bed frame and the antique oak desk against the wall, nothing is the same. As alienating as it feels to be erased, I’m not sure I mind.
I enter the Jack-and-Jill bathroom and scrub the oily marinade off my fingers. After drying them off on a towel, I decide to take a quick, curious peek into Killian’s room.
Ah, and here’s the shrine.
Trophies, team photos, football pennants, and banners decorate the tidy room that smells just like the one across from my own at the Lords’. There’s a framed picture of his signing day for Forsyth, hung with prominence right above his chest of drawers. In it, he’s flanked by his father—hand resting proudly on his shoulder—and his high school coach. Killian Payne; star quarterback, devoted son, abusive asshole.
I’m just about to head back through the bathroom when the door opens, Killian striding through. “What are you doing?” He looks suspicious and annoyed, narrowed eyes taking in the room.
“Looking around. Seeing what’s changed.” I shrug, because it’s easy to fall back into the old dynamic here. “My old room isn’t anything like it used to be.”
His eyes land on me and remain there, and that same weird energy from the truck returns. “You left.” It’s said accusingly, but there’s no real bite. If anything, he just looks uncertain and impatient, oddly jittery.
Treading carefully, I decide not to take the bait. An argument here, tonight, would just make the whole dinner impossibly more awful. Instead, I duck my head, heading back to the connected bathroom.
When I pass him, his hand shoots out, grabbing my arm.
I stiffen, bracing for the pinch, the squeeze, the hurt. When it doesn’t immediately come, I look up, meeting his gaze. Killian is staring down at me, mouth half-parted like he was just about to say something but got distracted.
His eyes are glued to my lips.
I get that same tingle of awareness from that day he’d come to offer me the position of Lady. His pupils dilate, weight shifting, and I know I must be crazy. I must be. Because Killian is not about to kiss me.
I’m only half right.
He does dart forward to take my mouth with his, but it’d be absurd to call it a kiss. Almost instantly, his hands come up to grab my arms, spinning to slam me up against the wall. My mouth opens on a surprised gasp and he pushes his tongue inside, strong and unyielding.
My response is all Dimitri’s fault. It is. He’d gotten me all worked up before and I didn’t have time to do anything about it. Now Killian is licking into my mouth, the hard length of his body pinning me against the wall, and all I want to do is follow the current.
That’s exactly what I do, mindlessly taking a fistful of his shirt and surging into him. He growls, deep in his chest, and there’s a sting of pain when his teeth bear down into my lip. He doesn’t give me time to process it. He rushes back, his whole body folding around mine. Killian kisses like he plays on the field. Hard. Unforgiving. Greedy. There’s nothing but sharp edges in this, the way his palm rises to wrap around my throat. He doesn’t squeeze—he just holds it there, like he needs me to know he could. I’m trapped by the point of it, although it’s not necessary. His broad chest is already holding me there.
Killian’s body is physically designed to bring people to heel. The more he tries, the more I want to push back. My heart hammers like crazy, flooding my ears. This is nothing like what I thought kissing him would be like. There’s pain in the way his teeth graze my lips, but nothing else. His fingers flex around my throat, but he doesn’t press. My hips buck forward, seeking friction, and he smoothly wedges his thigh between them, a rough rumble spilling from his chest.
He’s shaking.
It takes me a long moment to work out why. It isn’t until he rips his mouth away to press a series of hard, biting kisses down my jaw that I realize he’s holding himself back. Maybe he wants to hurt me, after all.
“I should fuck you right here against the wall,” he hisses, pressing his thigh harder into my center. I gasp for air, and even though I’ll feel ashamed of it later, I grind down into it, chasing, desperate. “Everyone thinks you like it nice, but I know better. You’d rather have me tear you open on my cock.” His voice is raw as he grinds back. “That’s exactly what you fucking deserve. Maybe then, everyone would know it’s mine.” He sounds vicious and angry, and this must be Dimitri’s fault. It has to be. Because it shoots through me like a lightning bolt.
The orgasm is such a sharp surprise that I don’t even have time to stifle my cry. The climb was too steep—too fast. It aches in the best of ways, spreading from my center to the tips of my limbs. I’m powerless against it, riding Killian’s leg senselessly, relentlessly.
It isn’t until I come down that I realize he’s covering my mouth, his big palm digging into my face to stifle the sounds.
“Kids? You up here?”
We break apart at the sound of Daniel’s voice, so quickly that I stumble, my knees still weak. I catch myself on the dresser, knocking over an old alarm clock in the process. It’s only just clattered softly to the carpeted floor when Daniel enters the room, cradling a box in his hands.
“There you are,” he says, looking completely oblivious. “The two of you are still having all your mail sent here. Maybe today we’ll learn a lesson about change of address, huh?” He dumps the box on the bed and gives Killian a salute before striding from the room. “Enjoy.”
My body still feels like it’s on fire, singeing me from the inside out. Killian had flung himself across the room and now he’s staring at the door, eyes full of the same fire I feel.
Clearing my throat, I reach for the box with unsteady hands. “Probably just a bunch of junk.”
His eyes shift to mine, the rise and fall of his chest shallow and rapid. “What?” Shit. That look in his eyes, full of unspent heat and crackling energy. Nothing good has ever come from that.
“The mail,” I blurt, trying desperately to distract him before that darkness in his eyes takes over. “Here, I’ll separate them.” Frantically, I dig through, making two piles on the bed. There’s more for me than him, since I’m guessing Killian’s been home a lot more recently than I have. I hear him approach, but stay focused on the task, trying not to flinch when he reaches past me to pluck some envelopes from his pile.
I’m right—it’s mostly junk. There is one bigger envelope with my name on it and a return address from campus. It must be something from admissions that I’d missed.
Before I can wedge my nail under the flap, it’s being ripped out of my hand.
By Killian.
He reads the front before pulling a knife from his pocket—the same kind Dimitri had used to slash that guy’s tires. It tears through the envelope easily.
“Hey,” I protest. “That’s for me!”
He doesn’t look bothered in the least. “Contract says otherwise.”
“That’s for mail sent to the brownstone,” I bite out, watching him shake the contents out onto the bed, “not for mail sent—”
My words die in my throat.
It’s a pair of purple lace panties.
Killian’s face twists into something dark and dangerous. “Who the fuck is this from?” He fists the panties. They’re new, and although Killian doesn’t know it yet, they’re also unused. He recognizes them though, and he would. They’re part of the set the Lords’ bought me. “These are yours.”
My whole world shatters around me. This is a message. He found me. He knows where I am, and he knows about the Lords. My mind flashes back to Saul Cartwright and the way Tristian had whispered into his ear. Saul knows. And now Ted does, too.
“They are.” There’s no point in lying. I already know the punishment for that will be worse. “I have no idea how someone got them or why they would send them to me.”
Face eerily blank, he digs through the envelope and extracts a card. It’s small, set on thick, embossed paper. I know the card just like I know the panties, because it’s the same paper I’d been given instructions on that first morning in the brownstone. Without seeing what’s written on the front, I still know it has the letters ‘LDZ’ printed in the lower-right corner. Words are scribbled on the back and he flips it over and holds it up for me to see.
You’re Mine, Whore
His face grows darker. “You’re fucking someone in the frat, aren’t you? An underclassman? Someone trying to oust us?”
“What? No.” I try to reach for the card, but he pulls back violently. “I am not sleeping with anyone else. I’m not sleeping with anyone! You of all people know that. You fucking checked my hymen!”
“Someone came to you with a better deal, didn’t they? What are they giving you to betray us?” His teeth grind. “I knew you were hiding something. I knew there was something more to you showing up on our doorstep that day. Do you think we’re fucking stupid?”
I could tell him the truth. That I’m running from Ted—the actual person that sent me this. The person trying to destroy my life for the last two years. A killer. But even in my head it sounds like an over-the-top, fantastical lie. No. I need to just calm him down, assure him that someone is fucking with me—us.
“Killian, look,” I start, begging him with my eyes to understand. “Someone has been messing with me. Sending me messages, watching me. This is just another—”
He cuts me off, spitting, “Another reason that you’re a gold-digging, opportunistic whore, just like your mother!” I rear angrily back, but he reaches out to grab me, clamping his hand back around my throat. His eyes grow wide and crazed as he seethes, “Don’t fucking deny it. I always knew this would happen. You play this act, like you’re such a sweet, innocent little victim, but I know the truth. You’d trip over your own two feet to give that cunt to the highest bidder. To give away what’s mine!”
“It’ll never be yours!” I explode. My chest fills with a different sort of fire and I clamp onto his wrist, letting my nails dig divots into the skin. “I would give it away to anyone else. They don’t even need money. I’d do it in a heartbeat! I’d rather die than fuck you. There’s nothing good about you, Killian. Whenever I’m with you, anyone looks better by comparison. Anyone.”
He grows more apoplectic as I speak, that vein in his temple throbbing a rapid tempo. His fingers squeeze around the column of my throat, but his hand is trembling. He’s holding himself back.
Just barely.
“Here’s what you’re going to do,” he says, voice low and full of warning. “You’re going to go downstairs and get into the truck. You’re not going to talk to your slut of a mother. You’re not going to even look at my father. You’re going to just disappear.” With that, he shoves me, sending me stumbling back.
The second I gain my footing, I barge out the door.
Rage rolls off of him as he cranks the truck with an obnoxiously loud rumble. I should be scared of what’s going to happen, but the thing is?
I’m mostly just done with all of it.
I’m done with Ted, always nipping at my heels. I’m done with Tristian’s games and Dimitri’s sly remarks. I’m done with Daniel, who’s trying to act like we’re some big happy family, as if he wasn’t the main catalyst to this whole miserable existence. And I’m done with Killian, who only wants to take and hurt.
When we arrive at the pub, I don’t even have it in me to be confused. I’m just thinking of how to hit them all back—how to take even the smallest nugget of control back for myself.
Killian doesn’t say a word to me as he flings his door open and jumps out. He slams it so hard that the truck rocks, but I don’t even flinch. I watch him stride up to the doors and angrily yank them open, disappearing inside.
Twenty minutes later, it’s clear that this isn’t a quick visit.
I get out of the truck and follow him inside. It’s darker in here, and even though it’s barely seven in the evening, it’s already packed. Despite that, I spot him instantly, sitting ramrod straight on a stool at the bar. He’s throwing back a tall glass of amber liquid with one hand and doing something on his phone with the other. His whole aura screams ‘stay away’, and it looks like everyone is heeding it.
He doesn’t spare me a glance when I stride up to him. He swallows, banging his glass on the bar to sneer, “Did I say you could come in here?”
“I have to use the bathroom,” I sneer back. “Or do you want me to piss in your precious penis euphemism?”
“Go,” he barks. “Leave me the fuck alone.”
“Gladly!” I turn, finding the restroom and stalking toward it.
It’s quieter inside and I choose a sink to turn to full blast. The water is refreshingly cool against my hot face, shocking me back to reality. Bracing my hands on the sink, I stew, thinking of him out there, drinking like he’s been jilted in some way. What the hell was all that stuff about my virginity being his to take? Since when?
And how can I make sure that never, ever happens?
Just then, someone exits a stall and I stiffen, trying to look more put together than I feel. I look into the mirror and freeze when I realize who it is.
“Oh,” I say, blinking the water from my lashes. “Hi.”
The Countess watches me back, giving me a small grin. “Hi. It’s Story, right?”
I nod. “Yeah, and you’re…can I call you Sutton? Or is that something else I’ll get yelled at for?”
She laughs, approaching the sink beside me. “Sutton is fine when it’s just us.” She’s a lot prettier than me, with her full lips and elegant posture and smooth, dark skin. But her eyes are also warm and kind. “Are yours out there? The Counts have the billiards room. We might have to keep them distracted so they don’t get into another slap fight.”
I smile tightly. “Only one of them. He’s at the bar. And the only one he wants to fight with tonight is me.”
“Ahh, one of those nights. Which one?” she asks, dropping her purse on the counter. “No, wait. Let me guess. Killian Payne.”
I laugh darkly. “How did you know?”
“Oh girl,” she unzips her bag, “his tantrums are legendary around FU. That boy can’t handle things not going his way.” She pulls out a shiny silver stick of lip gloss. “Not that I can talk. One of the Counts got so pissed the other day he tore the flatscreen off the wall.” She rolls her eyes. “It’s like they’re children.”
I nod. “Overgrown babies.”
She bends toward the mirror, assessing a tiny, almost non-existent blemish. “So, what happened? You look at another guy? Bend over too seductively? Talk to the bartender?” It’s none of those things, but Sutton seems to understand my situation better than I would expect. She shrugs. “I’m friends with Charlene. I know the drill.”
I watch her apply the gloss along her bottom lip. “Charlene told you that? Ladies aren’t supposed to share their contract with anyone. Fuck, I’m not supposed to even talk to you.”
“Girl, they want it that way to keep us in line, but women talk. We’ve always talked. We always will.” She pops the cap back on the gloss. “Otherwise, how else would we survive?”
She’s right about that. I turn and lean against the counter. “There are times when I feel like I’m drowning. Like nothing I do is right, and everything is my fault. Especially with Killian. He’s just so angry all the time. I have no idea how to make it better.”
Sutton glances at me and smirks. “No idea?”
“Well,” I smooth down the front of my dress. “I wore this outfit for him. I think he liked it. And I didn’t argue with him once tonight. I thought things were going okay until that—”
Her eyebrow rises. “Until what?”
“Nothing.” I exhale. “Nothing I do makes him happy. It never has.” Perhaps the worst part is that there’s some tiny, deep part of me that’s always wanted to. Even after all these years, that stupid, awkward, sad teenager still lives inside me, wishing the handsome boy in the room next door would just like me.
“Story, honey,” she says, zipping up her bag and resting her hand on my arm, “there’s one thing all men want, especially men like Killian: for you to fuck him senseless. For you to let him shove his cock into and up every orifice you have. All these assholes want is to claim their woman. Just go get him, drag him back in here, and let him fuck it out of you, right on this counter. Fog up his brain with an orgasm so good that he can’t remember why he’s so pissed. And the bonus?” She winks. “Is that you get off too. It’s win-win.”
She says it so easily. Like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Spread your legs and let him fuck you senseless. And she’s right. It should be easy, but there are layers upon layers attached to my relationship to these guys, to our past, to Ted, Daniel, and every other man I’ve encountered. It’s the only power I’ve ever had. The only leverage. Am I ready to give that up?
“I’m a virgin,” I blurt, the weight of the secret weighing on me. The deficiency. The ‘why’ Killian is so pent-up and angry. “It’s why they picked me as their Lady. I’m a virgin and they like me that way.”
Sutton’s lips form a small circle and her eyes grow twice the size as normal. “Holy shit. Are you serious?”
“Yes.” I turn away and reach for a paper towel. Just for something to do with my hands. “Pathetic, I know.”
“No,” she says, a little too quickly. “It’s not pathetic. Honestly, it makes a lot of sense. You have the one thing the rest of us don’t.” She laughs and I peek at her face. She looks positively amused. “No wonder he’s wound so tight.”
“Yeah. See? I told you, it’s all my fault, one way or the other.”
“No, babe, this isn’t your fault. This is…well,” her lips curve into a small smirk, “it’s a good thing. Really, really good.”
“I don’t know,” I tell her. “They’re obsessed with it, like it’s some kind of prize. Sometimes I just want to just do it and get it over with. Take the pressure off and find a guy that cares more about me than the hymen between my legs.”
“No. Don’t think of it like that,” Sutton says quickly. “It makes you powerful. They’ll protect you no matter what. Me? I’ve got nothing left to lose.”
A fist bangs loudly on the door, making us both jump. “Countess! You still in there?” a guy’s voice yells.
“Coming, my Count!” she calls back, then rolls her eyes dramatically. “Guess I took too long.”
“Go,” I say. “And thanks. Talking to you really helped.”
She hitches her purse over her shoulder. “Us royalty need to stick together, you know?”
I smile. “Yes, we really do.”
She steps out into the hall, and I wait a few minutes before following, just in case Killian is watching. I shouldn’t have told Sutton those things, but the confidentiality rule? It’s just more manipulation and bullshit. Another way to control me. I mean, what’s the worst that can happen from a little bathroom girl talk?
