Page 33 of Lords of Misrule
“Still need more cock tonight?” A sneer pulls at the side of his mouth. “You’re going to be exhausting.”
I stare at him for a long minute, and he stares back. His face is a mask. One he wears well and not nearly as attractive as the one he had on before. I decide to hold my tongue, try to probe where this sudden wave of nastiness is coming from. Maybe I hurt him somehow. Did something I didn’t realize that injured his heart or more likely his ego.
“Do we need to talk about this? Are you regretting it or what?” I turn toward him, studying his face.
“Regretting what? Using you like a fuckdoll with my best friend? Nah. We’ve done that plenty of times with other women. Although I will say you’ve got a tight little cunt. I see why the professor can’t get enough.”
“You’re a fucking asshole.” I stare at him. “I thought maybe…” I trail off. I don’t know what I thought.
“Thought maybe your cunt would magically cure me? Christ, you’re fucking naïve.” He shakes his head, laughing to himself.
“I didn’t think it would cure you of being an asshole. But I thought maybe us fucking meant this could be different.” I point between us.
“Different how? That I’d suddenly be the same kind of lost puppy dog Finn is for you?” His face straightens, the laughs dissipating in favor of irritation.
I grab my water off the coffee table and go to stand, regretting ever coming out here to talk to him. His hand darts out far faster than anyone this drunk should be able to manage, grabbing the side of my neck and pulling me back down on the couch. I glare at him, but he just stares back, something in his eyes I can’t read. His lips crash onto mine a second later.
His kiss is wild and rough, like he wants to prove a point and convince me all at the same time. He tastes like Jack but with a slightly sweet taste at the edge like the berries he’d eaten earlier. I’m melting back onto the couch while he climbs on top of me. His hand slips around the back of my head, his fingers threading through my hair, and his teeth graze along my throat before he kisses me again. His knee nudges my legs apart, and he settles between them. The seam of his jeans settling against me and pressing through the fabric of my panties where he’s hard.
“You don’t want different from me. You want me exactly the way I am. You just hate it. Hate me for things I can’t change.”
And he is definitely drunk if he’s saying that.
“Only as much as you hate the fact you need me.”
“That’s a hell of a fucking lot.”
“It’s mutual.”
He kisses me for a few more moments, alternating between rough and a softer sort of kiss that has me wishing he had a gentle side. After he’s had his fill, he pulls away, his eyes drifting over my face like he’s trying to find an answer.
“You better not fucking hurt him. I’ll ruin you if you do.”
He’s talking about Finn, but I know he’s talking about himself too. Even if he’ll never admit it.
“No one’s getting hurt. At least not other than Colin. We’re getting the paintings. Getting our money and then getting out of this.”
“And if he doesn’t want you to go when it’s done?”
“Then he’ll have to convince me it’s worth staying and putting up with you.”
He collapses next to me on the couch on his side and then drags me close to him until our bodies are flush. He grabs the pillows that someone set on the back during the party and motions for me to lift my head, setting one down for each of us.
He uses the control on the side table to flick the overhead fan’s light off and we’re drenched in darkness. His arm wraps around my waist and he pulls me tight to him.
“What are we doing?”
“Sleeping.”
“You didn’t drink enough water.”
There’s a sigh that’s half a rumbled growl.
He reaches over me, grabbing the water bottle I dropped when he kissed me, and chugs it down, tossing the bottle on the floor.
“Happy?”
“Better.”
