He snorts, slipping his hands into his trouser pockets. “After what happened Halloween night, I thought it best I avoid you. Figured you’d prefer it that way.”
I just stare at him, my emotions conflicting. Warring with each other. “You saved me from Bryan, Whit. He was going to rape me. And then you got rid of him from campus. Just banished him as if you’re the king and you can make people disappear.”
“I can,” he says with a menacing grin. “Keep finding yourself in trouble, Savage, and I can make you disappear too.”
“You would never,” I tell him, noting the flicker in his gaze. A sign of weakness? “You’d miss me too much.”
“I have Caitlyn keeping me warm,” he taunts. “She’s not as depraved as you, but she’ll do.”
I frown, unable to stop it. “You pretend it’s me when you kiss her?”
“I pretend she’s you when I kiss her, when I eat her dry little pussy and when I fuck her,” he says, making me flinch. He laughs. “Keep believing what you want, Savage. I’m enjoying it.”
His words confuse me. I blink at him, unsure of what to say next.
“No flirtatious comeback? Or are you really worried I’m fucking Caitlyn every night now that you’re out of my life?” He chuckles. “She follows me everywhere. She begs me to let her touch my dick, but I won’t let her.”
“Why not?” I snap.
“She’s too eager to please.” He shrugs.
“I thought you liked us submissive.”
He grabs hold of my arm, yanking me to him. “I prefer them argumentative, so then I can put them in their place. Like you.”
My skin warms at his words, at the way he looks at me. “You know,” I say, reaching for his tie once again, running my fingers down the length of it, as far as I can reach. “You never did give me my journal back.”
His gaze darkens, turning stormy. “Is that all this is about? You rubbing all over me, in the hopes I’d return your journal?”
My jaw drops. “I’m not rubbing all over you.”
He glances down and I do the same, noting how close our bodies are. I’m practically standing on top of his shoes. “I’d beg to differ,” he mutters, returning his icy blue gaze to mine.
I yank on his tie extra hard before I take hurried steps back, anger suffusing me. “I don’t understand what you want from me.”
“Not a fucking thing,” he retorts. “Like I said, I’m trying to avoid you.”
His words hurt, and I don’t know why. “You have something I want.”
“I’m not giving it back to you,” he says with deadly finality. “So quit asking.”
None of this is about the journal, and we both know it. “Why do you want it, huh? What does it matter? Just give it back to me. Please.” I’m practically begging him, and I feel stupid. “Think of it as a birthday present.”
“I’d rather give you something else for a present,” he says, his tone low.
Dirty.
Frustrated, I turn on my heel and start walking.
He storms after me, his hand catching the crook of my elbow, turning me around to face him. I stare at his coldly handsome features, my lips parted, ready to call him an asshole, but he swoops in, his hands cupping my cheeks as he presses his mouth to mine.
My arms fall at my sides, helpless to the drugging power of his kiss. He devours me, his tongue sliding into my mouth, his fingers gripping my face firmly. He groans when my tongue meets his and we stand there, not touching at all, save for his hands on my cheeks and our mouths connected.
Whit ends it first, his breathing harsh as he lets go of my cheeks and slowly backs away. “Happy fucking birthday to me,” he says.
I stand there, shaking, unable to speak. What would I say?
He stares at me for a moment longer, just before he turns on his heel and leaves.
Twenty-Eight
Whit
I shouldn’t have kissed her, I think as I’m sitting with my friends at lunch. Spencer gave me a giant sack of that good California weed he scores from his dealer as a birthday present. Dean gave me a box of donuts and a bottle of Clase Azul tequila. Considering that shit retails for almost two thousand, it’s a generous gift.
“You’ll need it, spending the week with your family,” he tells me, his voice grim as he slaps me on the shoulder.
“Yeah. Thanks,” I tell him, my thoughts drifting back to Summer. And that fucking kiss.
Soft lips. Slick tongue. She tasted sweet. Submissive. All those old urges came roaring back, silently asking me why the fuck I stopped seeking her out in the first place.
I get around her, and it’s like I have no control. At one point, I had my hands in my pockets, thinking it was the only way I could keep myself from touching her.
Ultimately, that didn’t work either.
I hate that I worried about her when it came to Figueroa, but someone needed to tell her. The guy is a perv. Scamming on girls every chance he gets, desperate for young pussy. It’s amazing how many girls fall for his shit.
If he were to lay a single finger on Summer, I’d break every one of them. Crack a few bones in his hand too. Fuck that guy.
My gaze finds Summer immediately in the dining hall. Sitting with Sylvie, the two of them with their heads bent close, conspiring together. Sylvie says something to make Summer laugh and I wish I sat closer to her table so I could hear the sound.
Grimacing, I blink my friends back into focus. What the fuck was that just now? I despise how she makes me feel.
“When do you go home?” I ask Spencer, who frowns.
His parents are currently in the midst of a nasty divorce. He’s not looking forward to the family holiday whatsoever. “I’m driving into the city tonight,” he says. “My mom won’t be there. She’s with my grandparents in Kansas. Dad’s taking his girlfriend to Ibiza for the holiday, so he won’t be around. I’ll have the place to myself.”
“Maybe I’ll come see you,” I tell him, thinking of that giant apartment his parents own in midtown. We’ve had a few parties there in the past. Drinking and drugs and girls everywhere. Music pounding along with the throb in my head while I fucked some nameless, faceless girl to the same beat.
I think of fucking Summer in the guest bed at Spence’s place. Her legs thrown over my shoulders as I pound inside her.
It had been going so well too. Avoiding her. Staying strong. Really shouldn’t have kissed her.
Now I can’t stop thinking about her.
“You should come see me. You too, Dean. We could have a party.” Spencer smiles at the both of us, his gaze going to mine. “Bring your tequila.”
“I’m saving that for Thanksgiving dinner with the folks, thanks,” I say with a smirk, running my hand along the bottle sitting in front of me. I have it on the table in front of everyone. I don’t give a shit. Like anyone’s going to say something. I’d hand them their ass if they did. “No one is sharing this with me.”
“Not even your sister?” Spence asks.
He’s got a thing for Sylvie, though he’s never flat out admitted it. And I don’t encourage it either. He’s not good enough for her. None of my friends are. He’s a rude fucking bastard just like I am who has serious commitment issues. Why would I want to see my sister with someone like that?