“If I moved these aside, would I find my answer?”
God, yes, please do it.
The apathetic curiosity in his voice killed me, like he didn’t give a shit he was touching me. I could be a rock for all the affection in his tone.
Meanwhile, I was burning up under his touch.
I moved, trying to force him under my panties, just a little closer. Somewhere along the line, consequences had given way to aching, throbbing need.
Then it happened. His thumb slid just enough, hovering featherlight above my pussy.
My breath rushed out of me.
Our eyes locked. In that second something crashed. I saw him again. I saw Theo Hound, my best friend. Sweetness, tenderness—it was faint, but it was there, a softness in his eyes like dawn breaking.
He pressed a little, barely spreading me, but not nearly enough.
I whimpered, and the sweet look vanished.
“I already came,” I said, desperately grasping at straws, anything to keep control. “You saw. Whatever happens, it doesn’t matter.”
His eyes narrowed; then a mean smile spread his heart-shaped lips. “Is that what that was supposed to be? You don’t think I know what you look like when you lie, Abigail? It’s classic you. Turning up the volume so loud no one will see the scared little girl beneath. I see you.”
He leaned forward, breath ghosting my neck, until his words shivered down my spine. “I’ll always see you.”
He pushed deeper, spreading me wet and aching, too slow and too tender for the vicious way he spoke.
“When you come for me, you won’t have to put on a show.” He trailed his lips up and down my neck, below my ear, my jaw—not a kiss, not a tease—a ruthless torment.
The steam and heat from his breath, the constant ache built from his thumb, had my eyes rolling back.
“And that’s okay. I won’t need it.”
Finally his thumb just barely grazed that tender, aching spot. I caved, grasping his shoulders, feeling his muscles bunch, pulling him closer.
Then he dropped me.
Shoved me to the chaise. I wasn’t sure I could stand if I tried.
Theo licked the back of his thumb, one long, agonizing swipe, our eyes still locked. “Sleep well, Reject.”
THEO
I woke to Abigail’s sob. Instantly I was up, through her open gilded double doors and inside her room. Next came a whimper, then another sob. It was two in the morning, but the large room glowed hazy marigold. Abigail didn’t do dark. She didn’t do nightlights. She couldn’t sleep unless all shadows were gone.
My training had me scanning the room. I jiggled the windows—still locked. Closet, bathroom—clear. No threat save the ones in her dream. I was double-checking the windows when she whimpered again, tossing in her quilted satin sheets.
I kicked the post of her king-sized bed. “Wake up, Reject.”
Her bed rattled, but she didn’t wake.
Abigail has no other guards but me, because the spoiled fucking brat scared them off. So I only sleep for, maybe, three hours tops because there’s no one to relieve me. In those three fucking hours, she wakes me up for a fucking nightmare.
She slept with one lean, pale leg bare. All the way up to her hip. I chewed my bottom lip.
I can still fucking taste her.
Fuck.