“Uh, are you sure that was a good idea—”
“If you’re in the mood to be able to sit at all tomorrow, shut the fuck up.”
Her lips purse and a tinge of both fear and thrill seep into her eyes.
It should only be fear at this point, because my plans for her exceed anything I’ve done before.
18
ANNIKA
This night is the definition of chaos.
It started with me being a little mad.
Well, not mad—upset. A little bit sad, too.
So I went to the club because I was trying my hardest to stop being so upset.
Did it work?
Partially. Okay, no, it didn’t. Not really.
My mood became gloomier after the text exchange, but I danced and drank to forget about it. The icing on the cake was Creighton actually showing up to a club—shocker, I know—to stake a claim on me in public. Again.
My lips still tingle from his punishing kiss, from the way he devoured me whole and left me no room to breathe.
Or think straight.
Or remember that I’m actually slightly wounded by him.
After he gave me coffee to sober up, the car ride has been spent in utter silence. Every time I’ve tried to speak, he casts me a glare, and if I insist, he adds to the ‘punishments’ count.
He reached four before I gave up, crossed my arms, and stared out the window.
Because screw him.
He’s the reason I’ve been in this mood and even needed a venting outlet. I’m simply not going to feel bad about that.
This isn’t the first time I’ve been in Creigh’s Range Rover. He used to drive a Porsche, but a week ago, I complained that it was too small when he told me to sit on his lap, so he changed it two days later.
When I asked him if he had anything to tell me, like maybe he did it for me, the heartless idiot only said, “It’s nothing. This is an old gift from my favorite grandfather, Agnus.”
On good days, Creighton is cold, but on bad days, like today, he’s no different than the ice of the Arctic Ocean.
The car slows to a halt in front of a giant mansion’s gate that resembles my brother’s.
This is the first time I’ve been here, but I can already tell it’s the Elites’ compound.
The black metal gates open and Creighton drives inside, passing a well-manicured lawn until we reach the circular driveway.
The building is nothing short of a regal castle, definitely less gothic than the Heathens’, and reeks of the powerful old money the entire REU is made of.
“Get out.” Creighton’s voice is deadpan, almost lifeless, and that causes my skin to crawl.
I’m probably sober if I can be assaulted by feelings this way.
As soon as he steps out of his car, I unbuckle my seatbelt and stumble outside. I only had like two drinks and I’m obviously a lightweight, because that was enough to get me tipsy.
But I’m not anymore and something else has been keeping me on edge.
Or, more specifically, someone.
“Follow me.” Creighton starts in the direction of the huge front door.
“Can you stop dishing out orders?”
“Five, and no.”
I clamp my lips shut and fall in step beside him, arms crossed, body rigid, and with frustration bubbling in my veins instead of blood.
Rather than focusing on the asshole, I choose to study my surroundings. The interior is as elegant as the exterior, considering the marble flooring, baroque wallpaper, gold-trimmed railings, and classical furniture.
They could definitely invite the queen for tea if they felt like it.
Creighton leads me up the stairs, where we pass a few closed doors before he pushes one open and motions me inside.
I step in carefully, expecting to find some torture devices that suit his character.
My feet come to a stop right past the entryway. It’s just a bedroom.
All gray like England’s sky and could use a splash of color, but it’s still a normal guy’s bedroom.
A breath whooshes out of my lungs, but it catches when the distinctive click of a lock echoes in the air.
I spin around, but I’m not even fully facing him when his fingers wrap around my nape and he flings me against the wall.
My front slams on the hard surface and his collides with my back. Tall, muscular, imposing.
Threatening.
His hot breaths meet my ear and he whispers in dark words, “Mind telling me what you were thinking?”
I attempt to look behind me, meet his eyes, but his merciless grip forbids any movement.
“About?” I try to sound calm, even as my insides quiver and explode in a thousand colors all at the same time.
“Don’t fuck with me, Annika. Did you go to that club with Remi and Bran to prove a point? Maybe to pick up your fake boyfriend plan where you left off?”
“It’s not like that…”
“Then what is it like? What made you go out with them without asking me to come along?”
“You don’t even like clubs.”
“And I don’t like dates or dancing, or the fucking cinema, but I’ve obviously been doing all of those. So why don’t you tell me the reason behind tonight’s little rebellion? Were you trying to be a brat?”
My lips press in a line and I stare at the wall, summoning patience that’s nowhere to be found.
Creighton tightens his hold on my nape. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
“No,” I murmur.
“Then what is it?”
I remain silent for a beat and his hand comes down on my ass, hard. I yelp as the sting spreads across my whole body and settles between my legs.
“For every second you stay silent, your arse is mine to punish.”
Slap.
I get on my tiptoes, my heart hammering in an unnatural rhythm. I can feel the stiffness of his chest against my back, I can sense how much he’s repressing and how far he wants to go with this particular punishment.
If it were up to him, he’d probably crush my limits and leave me with nothing.
Hell, maybe he’ll leave me and I’ll have nothing.
I’ve been trying so hard to understand him that I didn’t stop and think to help him understand me, too. Mum said relationships can only be formed when there’s a middle ground, and in order to find that, I have to communicate what I feel.
“I was upset,” I admit in a low tone, hating how vulnerable I sound.
His hand squeezes my ass, but he doesn’t spank me, even as his voice remains clipped. “About?”
“It’s my birthday tomorrow and I was looking forward to this one in particular because I’m turning eighteen. So this morning, when I asked if you had plans tomorrow and you said yes, I was upset that you have other plans on my birthday. But it’s not fair to be upset when you probably don’t remember my birthday since I told you about it a few weeks ago. I realized I was being immature and I chose to vent that energy at the club.”
I can feel the in-and-out of his breaths against my back. How it’s slowed after quickening, matching the rhythm of his strokes against my ass.
Silence stretches between us, but I don’t try to fill it. I wait for him to mull over his words before he speaks them.
“You should’ve told me that.”