“I am shell-shocked,” I say against his thumb. “I don’t want anything to do with you.”
He laughs. It’s low and throaty and it does something to me.
It’s been a long month.
“You know what, Violet?” He leans even closer. “I don’t fucking believe you.”
I don’t answer. Can’t.
I hardly believe myself.
“Threats work best on you, I suppose.” His expression turns contemplative. “Okay, how about this? You come with me, or I’ll spread you out on this table and make you come, and then no one will fucking doubt that you’re mine.”
The blood drains from my face. I can totally see him doing that. I squeeze my thighs together, because… fucking hell. He’s twisting me. A small part of me wants him to do it. I’m turned on by the thought.
And if I didn’t know most of the students—maybe not their names but definitely their faces—I don’t even think I’d give a shit.
What does that say about me?
“Dirty girl. You like that?” His gaze drops to my legs, then back up. “Mmm, you do. Tell you what. We’ll live out that fantasy one day, if you do what I say. Otherwise, it’s happening right now.”
I rise. His hand slips from my face, and he quickly stands, too. He follows me so close, he’s practically my shadow.
If shadows were hulking, hot, dangerous hockey players.
We arrive at his table. The one I’ve been avoiding for the last month, give or take. Steele, Knox, Jacob, Miles, Erik. They’re all chatting, eating, like nothing is wrong. To them, nothing is.
Paris and Madison are here, too. I suppose their dance class has concluded.
Greyson pulls out a chair for me.
I sit, and he sets my plate in front of me. He scoots his chair so close, his thigh presses against mine again. His arm comes around behind me, on the back of my chair.
“Your expression,” he reminds me.
I press my lips together and quickly scan the table. Of the people here, I’m pretty sure Steele, Paris, and Madison don’t give a shit about me. Knox probably hates my guts because of Willow. And the rest are neutral. Still, there are a lot of people here. It’s peak dining time.
Which is why I shouldn’t be surprised when Willow and Amanda come into the dining hall. They’re wearing exercise clothes, same as Paris and Madison.
Paris looks at me, and I smile at her. Maybe it isn’t so much a smile as a shit-eating grin, but Greyson should really take what he can get. I can’t magically rearrange my face any more than he can.
I lean back, bumping his arm, and the heat emanating from him feels… nice. It shouldn’t but does.
Another fucked-up thing between us.
“When did you get here, Violet?” Paris asks.
I tilt my head. “What?”
“When. Did. You. Get. Here?”
Greyson snorts. “She’s more welcome than you.”
You know… when I want him to stick it to her, he doesn’t. He lets her climb all over him and sit close and flirt and fawn. And when I’d rather be anywhere but here, he tells her to shove it.
Lovely.
“Grey,” she tries.
Oh, hell no. “You did not just call him that.”
Her expression darkens. “Why, did you lay claim to that nickname?”
I cross my arms. “As a matter of fact, I did.”
Jesus. Who would’ve thought I’d be arguing about a nickname… this whole night is a mind-fuck. And in the back of my head, I have Senator Devereux’s secretary reminding me of my agreement with them. The fact that my aquatic therapy costs hundreds of dollars that I don’t have to spare, and they’ve been footing the bill.
“You’re nothing special,” Paris snaps at me, flipping her hair over her shoulder.
I roll my eyes. I’m sick of her attitude, but I don’t have the energy to deal with it today. “Neither are you, Paris. Pretty sure you’ve never had an original thought in your head.”
She stares at me, then stands. She grabs her drink and marches over.
Absolutely not. I’m not getting another drink dumped over my head.
I start to rise, but Greyson beats me to it. He snatches it out of her hand and slams it on the table, then sinks back into his seat.
“You’re an embarrassment,” he says to her. “Get the fuck away from us.”
Paris freezes.
This would be so fucking gratifying if I wasn’t pissed at myself for coming over here.
Then she glitches. That’s the only way I can describe it. Her mouth opens and shuts, her eyes twitch. She’s motionless in front of us. If she was a computer, she’d be the spinning wheel of death, just thinking over and over.
So I do the only thing I can think of to make her meltdown even worse.
I turn and grab the front of Greyson’s shirt, pulling him into me.
Our lips touch.
He lets out a huff of surprise, and then his hands wind around my back. Smugness radiates through him. Whatever element of surprise I had, of control, is quickly lost. He leans into me, bending me into the back of my chair, and pries my mouth open with his tongue. He tastes me and conquers my mouth. I feel thoroughly claimed by the time he’s done.
And when he is, when I finally straighten, Paris is gone.
Madison, too.
I just kissed Greyson.
Something I shouldn’t have done.
I lean back. “Maybe I wasn’t clear before.”
He cocks his head.
“We’re done.” I stand, and he mirrors me. He follows when I back away. “There’s no us. There’s no you and I together at a table, or kissing, or—or looking at each other.”
He watches me.
It’s not enough to tell him we’re done.
I need to go bigger.
He steps forward, and suddenly it becomes a game in his mind. I must give him something. A flash in my eye, a twitch. Something that reminds him that he has the power to put fear into me—and he likes it.
“You don’t call the shots, Vi.”
I turn and walk briskly away. I make it all the way out of the dining hall before he catches me. He’s civil in public—barely. Can’t have another defamatory article calling him an abuser, probably. Although Daddy Dearest would get that removed in a flash—and probably sue the paper to boot.
Nothing sticks to Greyson Devereux.
He drags me up the stairs, to a lounge area, and backs me into a corner. There’s no one up here. Everyone’s downstairs, heading into or out of the dining hall.
That’s probably why he picked here. Right on the edge of being discovered.
He pushes me to my knees and unbuttons his pants.
I rock back on my heels and glare up at him. “Grey—”
“Don’t.” His hands fall away. “Take my cock out and suck it, Violet.”
I look away. Shame fills me. If I make a noise, we’ll be caught. If anyone decides to come up here and check this shadowed corner, we’ll be caught.
A shiver races up my spine.
“Maybe I’ll take a video of this and post it on the school’s main page again? Two guys, one semester, one filthy mouth.” He grabs my jaw again and forces his thumb into my mouth. He opens it, pressing the pad down on my tongue. “Just say the word. Or…”