He begins to rub me as I rub him, our breathing turning ragged. He’s not even touching my fucking skin, and I’m seconds from exploding.
“Fuck,” I murmur against his lips as his palm cups my wet pussy through my jeans. The friction—combined with his kisses and whispered praises—sends me tumbling over that steep edge.
But I’ll be damned if I don’t take him with me.
As my orgasm shakes my legs, I begin to rub Hux even harder, bordering that precarious line between pleasure and pain. When I squeeze tightly, Hux releases a hiss of pleasure. Spurred on by his inarticulate praises, I bite down on his bottom lip, and he roars as he comes, his cock twitching beneath my hand.
We’re both breathing heavily by the time we’re finished, and Hux reverently leans his forehead against my own.
“That was…amazing. Thank you for sharing that with me, my precious treasure,” he whispers, lowering his lips to my own in a tender kiss.
“I’m glad you liked it,” I reply, and for some undefinable reason, my cheeks darken in color. I almost feel embarrassed, which is ridiculous. I have made more men orgasm than I care to admit.
Then why does it feel so different with Hux?
My stomach is a tumultuous mixture of happiness and fear, but I can’t decipher where the latter emotion stems from. Still, I can’t stop the blissful smile from curling up the corners of my lips.
“I’m sorry you’ll have to walk around with cum in your pants,” I say, mentally high-fiving myself. The same thing happened once before with Vin—excuse me, he-who-shall-not-be-named—and it fills me with a primitive, savage sense of satisfaction.
You see those hunky men, bitches? Well, back off. That’s my cum in their pants. Well, his cum. But he only came because of me. So, ha.
“We should go see what the new headmaster wants,” I say at last, reluctantly stepping away from Hux. His eyes are glazed, as if he’s high off of lust, and a dopey grin lights up his face. Honestly? I can’t remember the last time I’ve ever seen Hux smile. Hell, I’m pretty sure I have never seen him smile before.
“I will wear my cum for the rest of my days, Precious Treasure,” Hux vows. “Or perhaps, I will bottle it up and serve it to you on our wedding day.”
I totally would’ve face-planted if Hux hadn’t been there to catch me.
“Wedding day?” I stutter out. My mind immediately conjures up images of me walking down the aisle dressed in a midnight black gown with a matching veil.
Hux smiles unrepentantly. “Of course. You are to be my wife. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Chapter 8
Violet
Hux’s dogmatic statement is still echoing in my mind as we step into the main office.
The lobby is sparsely furnished with a dozen or so plastic chairs arranged against the wall and a single receptionist desk.
Bird Lady—with webbed fingers and feathers on her neck and cheeks—smiles at us before nodding towards one of the chairs.
“He’ll be with you in a second,” she assures us, just as the headmaster’s door swings open and Dimitri Gray steps out. My eyes practically bug out of my head and my brain momentarily stalls as I stare up at the dangerous assassin.
I haven’t seen him since he rescued me from Bloody Mary’s son, and my eyes immediately travel over him as thoroughly as his do me. Seemingly satisfied that I haven’t been injured since he last saw me, he nods towards the office.
“Come along, Ms. Dracula,” he instructs in a curt, no-nonsense voice. When Hux—wait, Jack—makes a move to follow us, Dimitri holds up one hand. “Please wait out here.”
Jack hesitates, shuffling from foot to foot, as he argues with his alter ego. After a moment, he sighs reluctantly and sits back in the uncomfortable plastic chair.
“We’ll be right out here,” he promises me. He eyes Dimitri warily before leaning even closer, his arms resting on his thighs. “We don’t sense any threat from him.”
“Is that something your monster can do?” I question. “Sense threats?”
Because that would be fucking sweet.
Fire creeps up his neck and cheeks as he ducks his head sheepishly. Dimitri, behind me, releases a cold guffaw, as if both men are privy to a joke I’m not a part of. My eyes narrow, but I turn on my heel without another word.
If Jack’s keeping secrets from me, I’ll carve my initials into his ass. Wait, no. That’s fucked up, even for me.
And I happen to like his butt.
Though my initials would be a good way to claim him…
I enter “Dimitri’s” office with a mutinous tilt to my chin.
Please, please don’t tell me that Dimitri is the new headmaster.
The first thing I notice is how different the office is from Lupine’s. While his had been elegant and stuffy, Dimitri’s has a modern flair. The mahogany table has been swapped out for a sleek black desk with silver legs. The bookshelf and suit of armor have been removed entirely, replaced by decorative plants. There are no personal pictures or memorabilia that I can see. It feels…cold. Empty. The bleak white walls paint the room in a harsh light.
I move to sit in the leather chair opposite the desk, and Dimitri surprises the shit out of me by perching on the edge of the table. His long legs extend until they’re nearly touching mine, and damn if goosebumps don’t pebble across my body.
“So…” I begin awkwardly, forking my fingers through my blonde curls.
Dimitri crosses his arms over his chest and glares at me, his slashing eyebrows pulled low over hard eyes.
It’s the sort of look that makes you want to piss your pants.
And have his babies.
“You’re the new headmaster,” I blurt out. “That’s cool. Is it because you like giving head?” I ask, emphasizing the sexual innuendo with a wiggle of my eyebrows.
Once, when I was younger, my father sewed my lips together as punishment for telling a skeleton he had a boner. I never really understood why…until now.
Thou shall not ever speak. I’m pretty sure it’s a commandment.
Dimitri continues to regard me coldly, his frigid stare having the opposite reaction than he probably hoped for. Warmth travels up the tips of my fingers, down my spine, and to the soles of my feet.
“I was told that you joined the Roaring today,” he begins curtly. His face remains carefully impassive, so I can’t tell how he feels about this development. If the icicles forming in his eyes are any indication, he hates it.
“I thought it would be fun.” I shrug casually, and a muscle in Dimitri’s jaw twitches.
“Fun,” he scoffs, pushing himself off the desk and standing. He takes a step closer until he towers over me, hooded eyes carving out a piece of my heart and soul. “Did you know that thirty-nine percent of all competitors die every year in the Roaring?”
I anxiously chew on my thumbnail. “That’s an interesting statistic. Did you get that off the internet? You know you can’t always trust that. Now, a book…a book is where the truth is at.”
I swear he looks seconds away from throttling me.
“Drop out of the competition,” he says immediately, his tone brooking no room for argument. I hiss out a breath through clenched teeth, my good mood from earlier rapidly fading.