“Mm.” It’s not much of an answer, just a grunt. Part of me does want to watch the movie, to laugh with Ben or tease the twins. To sit beside Parrish, mostly. For Tess to stop looking at me like I’m the world’s biggest failure. I didn’t do anything wrong by seeing Maxine: Tess is the one in the wrong for taking the Banks away from me the way she did. Bringing me here to live with her, I suppose that I can understand that, but banning me from seeing or even talking to my family? Not cool.
At the same time that I’m thinking about going upstairs and joining the Vanguard family movie night, I feel like I’m betraying the Banks. I should be strong here, should stand up to Tess, maybe even find some glee in her suffering. And yet, I can’t. I just can’t.
“I don’t want to watch it either,” he says, rubbing at his elbow. He pushes the sleeve up to examine it, revealing a huge blue-purple bruise. We’re both a little banged up from earlier, that’s for sure.
“You don’t have to bow out because of me,” I tell him which, apparently, is the exact wrong thing to say. He grits his teeth in annoyance.
“Yeah, maybe I do. Because I feel bad for you. Because I wouldn’t want to watch a movie with Laverne either, especially not after the way she treated you.”
“Which isn’t much different from the way you treated me when I first came to Medina.” I sit up, tossing my black and lime green hair over my shoulder. As Parrish watches, I comb it out with my fingers and start to braid it. “Anyway, you don’t have to feel sorry for me. You can go watch the movie if you want.”
There’s a long pause there.
I look up to find him staring at my fingers, almost as if he’s mesmerized by the act of me braiding my hair. He lifts his gaze up to mine even as my pulse begins to race, and I sense that we’re on the precipice of … something.
“I’d rather be down here.” Another pause. “With you.”
I exhale sharply, leaving the finished braid to hang loosely over my shoulder. Without a hair band, it’ll come undone, but oh well. This is so much more fucking important.
“Why?” I ask, and Parrish gives this sharp, dangerous laugh. See, back to the dangerous thing again. He’s all wrong for me. He’s Tess’ son in ways that I’ll never be her daughter. We can’t be together, not without hurting her. I bite my lip, which isn’t at all a usual move of mine. I snatched this habit from Maxx.
“You’re kidding, right?” He says, looking me over like there’s something there that should be obvious. “You’re loud and opinionated and pushy, always in my room, touching all my things.” I raise a brow at him, but he isn’t done. Instead, he turns toward me and crawls up on the bed, until he’s got an arm braced on either side of me and our faces are far, far too close together. “You’re stupid good at video games and you like weird things, like those odd little horse statues all over your bookshelves.”
“They’re Unicornos, and they’re collectible art—” I start, but Parrish cuts me off by leaning forward and pressing his mouth against mine. His lips are soft, but the pressure is firm. Without even having to think about it, I open to him, sliding my arms around his neck and pulling him close. There’s that scent again, that dewy clover and clean linen and citrus smell. And he’s right: I seriously don’t even know what I mean by dewy clovers.
Somehow, our tongues end up tangled together and the kiss deepens. Parrish lowers his body against mine until he’s essentially resting on top of me. It’s delicious, the feel of his mouth against my own, the heat of his body. I can even feel his heartbeat, thundering away at least as quickly as my own. Maybe faster. No, definitely faster.
My fingers tease those chocolate waves of his, and an excited thrill shoots me. I end up grabbing a handful of it and tugging. The motion encourages Parrish to kiss deeper, to press harder into me. Somehow, he ends up between my legs, and it feels so damn good. We might be fully clothed, but there’s a certain friction to him, rubbing up against me the way he is.
We break apart briefly, but just to breathe, just to mingle our breaths more like.
My right hand slides between us, searching out the firm bulge in his academy-issued sweatpants.
“Is this okay?” I ask as he stares down at me, partially propped up on his elbows. The room is mostly dark, the only light coming from the TV mounted to the wall. It’s not even playing anything, just sitting on a row of Netflix K-dramas, waiting for me to choose a new treasure. This though … this is so much better.
“You have my express consent,” he says which gets a smile out of both of us. Not that consent is funny or anything. Personally, I find it sexy as fuck.
“You’re sure?” I repeat, even as I give him a little squeeze and he lets out a sharp exhale. “If Tess finds out—”
“Please don’t talk about Tess right now,” he whispers, and then he’s kissing me again and I’m sliding my hand beneath the waistband of his pants. It isn’t much of a journey to find the velvety hardness waiting inside, the silky skin that makes his stomach muscles contract when I tease my fingers across it. “Fuck.”
“Roll over,” I whisper, withdrawing my hand. He does, almost so quickly that it’s comical. I straddle his thighs and look down at him, those dark eyes staring back up at me. I wonder how many times he’s done this before? The rumors going around Whitehall sort of paint Parrish as like, a nun? Yeah, kind of like a nun. When Lumen told me I was the only girl willing to cop to sleeping with him (a lie), she was right. Nobody else will admit it. Doesn’t mean he’s a virgin or anything but … he could be.
We stare at each other for a while before I reach down and tear my shirt over my head, tossing it to the floor. I’m wearing that stupid bralette thing with the holes in it again. Doesn’t really hold my boobs, but who cares? It’s comfy, and it keeps the nips from chafing.
“What are you thinking about?” he asks me, and then he cups the side of my face with his inked hand. I can’t even take it, the feel of his skin sliding against mine. I lean down and kiss him, loving the feel of his strong arms wrapping my waist. Parrish squeezes me so tightly that I wonder if he ever plans on letting me go. I like it, feeling wanted that way. He must like it, too, considering the sounds he’s making.
“I was thinking about my nips chafing,” I reply, and he snorts at me. The humor dissipates like smoke when I sit back up and push his hoodie and shirt up his chest, revealing his hardened nipples. There’s ink everywhere, like on every square fucking inch. It must’ve taken a lot of time to do all of this work. I run my palms across it, enjoying the way his muscles tense beneath my touch. “Also, I lied.” I lift my gaze back to his face. “Your art is … it’s exquisite.”
He swallows hard as I drag my nails down his skin, back toward his dick.
“Not all of this is mine,” he admits, his gaze sliding to the right for a brief moment. “Some of it was done by Chasm …” He trails off, and I think we both realize what the implications in his words are. Chasm. Chasm … maybe he and I have a thing? I don’t know. All I know is that I really, really like Parrish.
“Regardless, you’re the canvas, and you’re beautiful,” I tell him, wrapping my fingers around the heat of his body. He bucks his hips, letting his head fall back, his lids growing heavy. It’s almost surreal that we’re in here doing this, like it’s a dream that I don’t ever want to wake up from.