He grabs my wrist when I go to shove him again. “Yes, I did. My rules are what I say goes.”
Devlin releases me with an unimpressed scoff.
The crumbling barrier inside of me fractures in another spot.
I hate him! Why did I think I could trust he wouldn’t go back on his word? He’s a man, of course he’s going to trick me.
Getting in Devlin’s face, I hiss, “I knew I couldn’t trust you. I should’ve known your word was fucking worthless!”
Something malevolent crosses Devlin’s eyes, a flash of truthfulness behind his pristine veneer. The hatred I spew in his face is a distraction. While he’s focused elsewhere, I slip my fingers into his pocket with practiced deftness and dexterity, plucking his wallet. I’ll pay my damn self what I’m owed.
“Your mother must be so proud to have such a lying snake charmer for a son.”
Devlin growls and moves so fast I don’t have time to process. One minute my hand is seconds from liberating his wallet, the next he has my wrist in his hand, wrenching it above my head.
I gasp. “Wh—”
“Still want to keep running that mouth? This is the most you’ve ever spoken to me, I think.”
There’s a dangerous undertone in his voice, a jagged sharpness that pricks at my nerve endings and makes my heart race. The scent of leather and ginger surrounds me, intoxicating my senses. My skin feels hot as he leers at the outline of my breasts, the wet shirt plastered to my chest thanks to a full canteen of water.
Devlin looks to my trapped wrist with a predator’s precision. “You want to get in my pants?”
Heat throbs between my thighs and embarrassment spears through me.
What the hell?
I shift slightly and Devlin’s grip tightens on my wrist.
“If you wanted in my pants so badly, all you had to do was ask.”
He crowds me, shoving my body back against the chilly tiled wall. It bites through my shirt, seeping into my skin, juxtaposed by the heat that rolls off him when he steps into me. My heart pounds in time with the throb in my clit.
I bring my other hand up to push him off me, but as soon as my palm lands on him I freeze.
Devlin’s chest is hard, muscled, and…warm.
He slaps a palm next to my head, making me stifle a startled jump. His eyes slit, keeping me pinned in place with his body and his piercing gaze.
“I’ll make you earn your nickname for real, sticky fingers,” Devlin murmurs in a rough undertone. He releases my trapped wrist in favor of touching my waist, teasing his thumb up my rib cage until he grazes the underside of my breast. His nose touches my clammy temple. “I’ll come all over them and leave you a mess.”
My insides start a riot, melting and exploding left and right. I press further into the solid wall and Devlin follows, not allowing any relief from his body heat or the feel of his abs. He inhales, tracing his nose down the side of my face.
“What are you doing?” My voice is edged with a tremor. I clench his crisp shirt in my grip. “We hate each other.”
I should hate him for this. I have to find it before this gets out of hand. But searching inside for any scrap of logic, I turn up none, only the insane spark of attraction.
How can I be turned on by the wicked look in Devlin’s eyes as he holds my waist and breathes against my skin? This is crazy.
I need to stop this. Need to retaliate. I want to slap him across the face, but I’m afraid of breaking one of his arbitrary unspoken rules. What if he ends our arrangement with some bullshit breach of contract? Losing the only cash flow I have isn’t an option.
“Haven’t you ever heard of hate sex?” Devlin chuckles into my neck, and, oh, fuck, that shouldn’t feel as good as it does. I’m mortified by the way I claw at his shirt with both hands. “If you try that shit again, I’ll have you on your back with your hand or mouth around my dick so fast you won’t be able to catch your breath.”
His lips skim against my neck when he speaks. It sends a rush of tingles across my skin, the burst of hot and cold rippling. I shiver, unable to muffle a small sound as I clench my thighs together in an attempt to relieve the pressure coiling tighter.
“Devlin,” I whisper, intent on finishing that disgustingly breathy sentence by telling him to get the fuck off me.
He gives me an answering rumble, the deep primal sound making me squirm. Unfair and un-fucking-cool. How the hell is he capable of making a sexy sound like that?
Devlin chuckles into my overheated neck. It’s quick, but I jolt at the hint of his teeth scraping over my sensitive skin.
“What—”
The bell rings, interrupting whatever is going on right now.
Devlin tenses. I feel the clench of his abs against me. Right before students spill into the hallway, Devlin leaves me cold, wet, and alone, plastered against the wall with my face flaming. His face is an unreadable shield, like he’s unaffected by the cruel new way he devised to toy with me.
Taking my limp hand, Devlin slaps a wad of cash in it and pushes me through the nearby bathroom door, muttering, “Clean yourself up, you fucking pest.”
The door slams behind me before I have the chance to whirl around and tell him off. I poke my head into the hall, but he’s gone.
Pursing my lips, I retreat into the bathroom, claiming the stall farthest from the door, and barricade myself inside. I lean against the wall, scrubbing my face.
“What the actual fuck,” I mumble against my palms.
I pound the bottom of my fist against the stall, savoring the satisfying thump it makes.
My whole body is shivering and uncomfortable from my clothes, but underneath it all a buzzing has awakened from deep within me.
This battle of wills is far more dangerous than I thought. I need to be careful so I can figure out how to skirt Devlin’s arbitrary rules that give him full control.
He’s got another thing coming if he believes I’ll hand him power over my body, too.
Fourteen
Devlin
As impossible to ignore as ever, Blair remains stuck in my head for days like the stubborn thorns of a rose.
She invades my school, my house, and my thoughts.
In the boy’s locker room, surrounded by the other guys on the team, I slouch on the wooden bench. My soccer uniform is half on, my jersey slung over one shoulder and my cleats beside me.
It’s a game night, but my head couldn’t be further from focused. My aunt and uncle are out by the field to watch before we go out for dinner.
Across from me, Bishop seems to be in the same boat for once. He shoves his backpack in his locker and sits on the bench with his blazer off, shirt unbuttoned, and tie half undone and forgotten.
My brow furrows for a second before I smooth it. Bishop is usually the first one ready before a match so he can prowl the aisles of the locker room as we change, bombarding us with reminders about our opponents. He rarely misses an opportunity to give a pep talk, but tonight his head isn’t in the game.
Bishop never shuts up about soccer, the one thing he lives and breathes, so something is definitely up with him.
Instead of preparing for our match, he’s absorbed in his phone again.
Glancing around to make sure Trent and Sean have left to grab the ball bag, I brace my elbows on my knees.