Bad Boy Blues(63)

With a dark sort of amusement, he looks me up and down, making my uniform feel tight, tighter across my chest. My tits. “Not particularly.”

I swallow. “Do it. It’s good for the environment.”

He’s setting the room on fire.

“Can’t say I care about the environment very much.” He smirks, giving my chest one last glance. “But I do care about how flushed you look. And the state of your nipples. They’re trying to punch holes through your uniform.”

With that, he gives his hair one last rub with the towel before dropping it on the floor and walking away.

“You asshole.”

He goes to his dresser, his back rippling, and I swear I hear him smile.

“I take it you’re here for something,” he says as he fishes a pair of jeans out and then casually drops the towel from his waist.

I slap a hand over my mouth to stop the squeak.

His ass. Jesus Christ.

I’m not an expert but holy shit, I think that’s how all asses should be. Tight and hard and firm and round and oh my God, I don’t know how he got that part as bronzed as the rest of him but yup. It’s bronzed and tempting and corded with muscles.

I watch him put his jeans on with an open mouth and a thundering heart that’s on the verge of giving out.

As soon as he turns around though, I force it to close. Quickly, I look away from him too. Can’t give him too much indication that I’m perving over his body. Though I do notice that he hasn’t buttoned up his jeans. They’re just hanging around his hips with… nothing.

I clear my throat. “Yes. I’m here…” I approach towel number one by the bathroom and pick it up. “To clean.” Then, I make my way to where he’s standing and kneel to pick up towel number two at his feet.

Our eyes clash, me on the floor and him hovering over me like the sky.

It messes with my breathing, so I get up and stand before him. “My job, remember? I take it seriously.”

“Do you?”

“Yes.”

His eyes are all intense and burning up as he murmurs, “A good little maid, huh?”

My thighs clench. They literally spasm at his low tone. The place between them throbs and pulses like a wound. A wound that needs his tongue and his teeth and his long rough sucks.

I lick my lips and clear my throat again. “That reminds me that I’m here for something else too.”

Zach frowns and folds his arms, flexing his chest and biceps. “And that something else is?”

I take a deep breath and hug his damp towels to my stomach. “I don’t want you to go.” His frown intensifies and I explain, “To that place with all the bikes and the stupid gap in the ground.”

“You don’t want me to go.”

I tighten my features into something stern, something that means business. “Yes. It’s dangerous and it’s illegal. I mean, you look sexy as hell. No question about that, but I don’t want you to die or get arrested.”

Zach cocks his head to the side and scratches his jaw. It’s stubbled and rough-looking and I want to scratch it too, run my fingers through it.

“Correct me if I’m wrong. Weren’t you just a maid a second ago? Who died and made you the boss?”

I ignore his harsh words. “I won’t let you go.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’ll stop you from going.”

His next breath is long as he slowly unfolds his arms and takes a step toward me. I know I need to be a little brave right now, what with him staring down at me like he wants to throttle me, and his muscles look up for the job, too.

But like a chicken, I take a step back.

“You’ll stop me from going,” he repeats.

I nod and watch his bare feet advancing on my leather boot-covered ones. It gives me a… thrill. I’m not afraid, exactly, or I’m not only afraid. I’m bursting at the seams with excitement and arousal.

“And you’re gonna do that how?”

I look into his eyes and threaten him exactly like he did the other night when I broke into his room. “I’ll call the cops on you.”

His jaw ticks. I know it’s the anger and it’s also the memory of that night. “You’ll call the cops on me.”

“Yes.” I lick my dried-out lips and watch a stray droplet shake off his messy, spiky hair and travel down the left side of his chest. Exactly where his heart lies. “I’ll tell them that you’re involved in something illegal. They’ll throw you in jail and –”

“Tell me where we live,” he murmurs, cutting me off.

“What?”

“Tell me the name of the town we live in, Blue.”

We both come to a stop.

“P-Princetown.”

Zach smiles coldly. “Yeah. The Princes own this town. The cops won’t touch any of us. Not even me. Even if I’m a bad one, I’m still a Prince.”

He’s right.

The name of our town is Princetown. The town with the heat of hell, with holes in the ground, with lines, with the north side and the south side, with The Pleiades.

The place filled with bullies.

The birthplace of me and Zach.

I sigh and resume walking back. “Well, then, I’ll fuck up your bike.”