Page 33 of Break You

“Yeah.”

“Okay cool, so let’s go.” She stood up.

“Now?

“No, next Wednesday. Or better still, on the twelfth of never. Yes now.” She looked at me as though I was worse than moronic. The fact was, she was pretty much the only person on the planet who made me feel like I actually might be.

Suspicion continued to bloom in my gut, and normally that would have been reason enough for me to turn her down, but this was Rocky, and somehow, with her, the usual rules of engagement didn’t apply.

“You sure everything’s okay?” I continued to look at her suspiciously,

“Why wouldn’t it be?” She did the eye-narrowing thing again.

“No reason. This seems out of character, that’s all.”

“How would you know what is in or out of character for me? If you think you have the measure of me from the few meetings we’ve had, you’re more stupid than you look. You don’t know shit. If you don’t want to do this, just say. No hard feelings, but either way, I don’t have all day.” She looked at me as though I was both stupid and irritating.

“Nah, you’re right. This needs to happen. My room’s good. Let’s go.”

Rocky

Good was an understatement. His “room” turned out to be a penthouse suite in the oldest and most prestigious house of the college. Though the building was a beautifully restored heritage gem on the outside, the interior was a masterpiece of modern form and function, featuring just about every state of the art addition any building had ever had.

Xavier’s space had a living area and separate bedroom, plus two bathrooms, one of which was adjacent to the bedroom area.

“This is amazing. You have more space here than I have in my entire apartment, and I share with a roommate.” I wished I could take the words back as soon as they were out of my mouth. I sounded like a hillbilly bumpkin, impressed with electricity tap and indoor plumbing.

“Yeah. It’s cool, I guess.” Which was rich-boy code for “What the fuck are you making such a fuss about, poor person? My butler lives better than this.” I guessed the fact that he didn’t mock me aloud was testament to how much he wanted to get into my underwear.

“I don’t really stay here much. I have an apartment off campus—I like to get away from all the bullshit. This place is just good for—”

“When you want to bring someone back to fuck.” I finished for him.

“Yeah, that.” He looked at his feet, not meeting my eyes as I observed him dispassionately.

“All good. I’d do the same if I was the king of the castle. Don’t shit where you eat, and all that. Don’t worry, I’m fine with being another notch on your bedpost. But you need to know now that if you ever tell anybody this happened, I’ll deny it until I take my last breath. The last thing I need is to be assoc—”

“Shut up.”

“Wha—”

“You hate me. I get it. You’re this angry, noble, worthy martyr, and I’m this useless, entitled, loaded prince born with a silver spoon in his mouth, who never had to work a day in his life. I’m so fucking tired of hearing it from you and everyone. How is it my fault that I was born to my family, and you were born to yours?

“I had no more choice than you did, but I know one thing. If I’d lost the genetic lottery instead of winning, I wouldn’t go around bitching and whining about it. I’d pull myself out of the gutter by my bloody fingernails. I’d work my ass off, and never take a handout or give other people the side eye, like my shitty situation was anyone else’s fault. I’d never expect anyone else to pay my way, or to give a fuck about the fact that I was poor, because I’d have the good sense to know that if I was born poor and stayed that way, I was the only one to blame.”

“Fuck you.” I spat the words with so much venom that I shocked myself. I swear I had no intention of hitting him. It was as though my arm had a life of its own. I wasn’t aware of what I was doing until I felt the sharp sting of his flesh against mine.

“This was a mistake.” I turned on my heel, heading for the door. What the fuck had I been thinking? In what parallel universe had issuing a directive for Xavier Cross to fuck me been a good idea? I’d obviously been shaken up by what had happened the night before, but I was only just realizing the extent to which the whole thing had affected my state of mind and clouded my judgement.

“Don’t walk away from me.” As I hurried toward the door, he reached for my wrist. When I winced, he stopped, staring at the red welts circling it. He said nothing for a long time, then looked from my wrist to my face. “What happened here?”

“Again, none of your business.” For once, he didn’t press for more details. Instead, he tugged my hand, and before I knew it, he’d reeled me into his arms.

“I said, don’t walk away from me.”

“And I said, fuck you.” I raised my hand to slap him again, this time well aware of what I was doing, but he was also better prepared, grabbing both my wrists and forcing them to my sides. With my movement restricted, I tiptoed forward, pushing my lips to his. As soon as he opened a little, I bit down hard on his bottom lip. He made a muffled sound that I guessed was the word ouch, before pushing down harder against my mouth.

He let go of my hands, and it was on. We grappled with each other, tearing at whatever we could get our hands on—clothing, hair, skin—all the while not breaking the kiss. It was savage, raw, and punishing, and I couldn’t get enough.

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