I shiver at the low tenor of his voice—at the flash of dark satisfaction in his eye when I nod—and help him back into his pants. I should be uncomfortable and humiliated when I head back to the dining room, but the sticky warmth between my legs provides a comfort—security.
Like a lion marking its territory, Killian claimed me.
And everyone in the room, including his father, will know it.
4
Killian
“Still locked out, huh?” Tristian asks, snorting. I ignore him and cross the room, heading straight to the bar. Both the pain in my gut and having to deal with my father all afternoon make me want to down the entire bottle, but I pull out three shot glasses instead.
Story went straight to her room when we got home, locking the door behind her. Whatever transpired between us in Daniel’s office obviously doesn’t apply here. I knew it was a long shot, anyway.
At least I got laid, which is more than I can say for these two pitiful fuckers.
“So? She told us it would be on her terms.” I pinch the glasses in my fingers, carrying them back to the sitting area. Rath sprawls next to Tristian on the couch, looking limp and listless. I hand them each a shot and ease into the armchair, wincing. Okay, so I may have overdone it with Story on the desk. Not that I regret it. She was so fucking hot, spreading her legs for me, fingers shaking with impatience as she drew my dick out and pulled me close. The thing about fucking Story when she’s asleep is that it’s total control. I can make her mine in any way I want. But the thing about fucking Story when she’s awake is that it’s comprised of a short, frantic series of electric surprises. When she’s awake, I can only make her mine in any way she wants. And that?
It might just be the better of the two.
Although my opinion on the matter might be a little muddled by the fact she wants to be mine at all. Still, a nice dinner, good scotch, and some truly fucking fantastic revenge sex means that I haven’t felt this relaxed in weeks.
So why can’t I stop thinking about that goddamn locked door?
“Is that what happened during dinner?” Rath asks, staring at the liquor for a long moment before placing it on the table. “Her terms?”
“That?” I swallow back the burning liquid. “That was therapy.”
Rath raises a skeptical eyebrow. “I don’t think people usually give therapy with their dicks.”
“Did you see Daniel’s face when you walked back in? I thought he was going to break a tooth, he was grinding his teeth so hard.” Tristian laughs and swipes Rath’s shot off the table. “You fucked Story during Thanksgiving dinner.” He holds up the glass in a toast. “You have balls, my friend. Huge fucking brass balls.”
“Was it that obvious?” I ask, glancing between them. It’s not that I really care. My dad’s probably already watching the video, and a part of me wonders if it could possibly look as scorching hot as it felt. A bigger part of me knows it couldn’t. There’s a reason I didn’t rip the straps of that dress off. We might have wanted him to know what we did, but the rest of that was ours and ours alone.
“I don’t think her mom noticed,” Rath says, rolling his eyes. “She was too busy flirting with Tris.”
Tristian disagrees, “I was trying to distract her from the fact her stepson was defiling her sweet daughter in the other room. You’re welcome, by the way.”
I shake my head, unsure why I need to explain, but feeling like I should. “We’re not the only ones she needed to gain some control back from. My dad’s been pulling those strings since before I ever knew there were any. That room—that office—something happened there. Sure, we fucked, but it wasn’t about me. It was a message.”
Rath smiles wryly. “You’re saying she used you.”
“Like a cheap piece of meat,” Tristian adds, eyes dancing with mirth. “I respect that.”
I don’t refrain from rolling my eyes, pouring myself another shot. “What do you think about what my dad said? About Cartwright being involved in this? The Dukes?”
Tristian sighs, suddenly looking tired. “Man, who knows. The frats around here have our own drama, but the Kings? They take it to another level. I didn’t think murder would be a part of it, but it wouldn’t exactly shock me. We all know how Kings are made.”
Rath’s eyes narrow. “There’s no real motive, though. Dukes and Lords aren’t exactly cuddle buddies, but we give each other our space, which is more than I can say for other houses.” Disregarding the glass I slide his way. He leans back, face pensive. “If anyone should want to take Daniel out, it’s you. You’re the heir.”