Brutal Obsession (70)
My father? I harbor the watercolor memories of him.
Willow? I steal her generosity, I leech her comfort.
Greyson.
I’ll suck the anger clean out of his body, because I think he can live without it—while I need it to keep going.
His lips move against mine, giving me exactly what I need, and I open my mouth. I take his tongue. I palm his dick through his jeans, tug at his waistband to get him closer. Fuck public indecency. I bite his lip, then flick at it with the tip of my tongue. His blood is metallic and hot.
We dig at each other. Teeth and nails and pain, until we’re both breathing hard.
He’s the one who pulls away first.
He’s the one who steadies both of us, his gaze searing into me. I’d keep taking until I couldn’t take anymore, I think.
“Come on.” He leads me inside, brushing his thumb over his lower lip.
His arm is warm over my shoulders, and I twist my fingers in his shirt while we walk. My nail traces an indistinguishable pattern across the skin I can reach, and he shivers against me.
On my floor, he helps me off and leads me to the door. He swipes a key and pushes the door open.
There’s my stuff on one of the beds, the familiar room I used to get ready, but no Willow.
I rotate slowly and stop when he closes the door behind him.
“What are you doing?”
He opens the closet and reveals…
His stuff.
My heart skips. “Grey?”
“I changed your room.” He admits it so casually.
I can’t respond for a long moment. My mouth just gapes open. He changed my room? Where is Willow? How the hell did he manage to do that?
“Knox put Willow on his room reservation. I put you on mine. You two checked in separately…” He shrugs. “It was rather easy. We canceled your other room.”
I shake my head, which has started to throb. “Bet you had a whole sexy night planned, huh? And then what happened? You decided to fuck me on the ice instead, then asked Steele to try and set me up again.” I nod, my anger spiking. Not high. It hits a threshold I’m not prepared for. My brain seems to mellow before my face can get red or my hands shake. I just feel the anger circulating under my skin, pulsing and then fading. “Is she back with him?”
“They left the club an hour before I took you.”
I circle around to my clothes, the assortment I had laid out on the bed when I changed, and shove them back into my bag.
“What room?”
He shakes his head, leaning against the wall. Casually blocking me from the door. “No.”
“What. Room.” I glower. “Fine. I’ll just text her.”
I pat my pockets.
My empty pockets.
“Looking for this?” He holds up my phone.
“Pickpocketing now? You just love to push what you can get away with.”
He shrugs. “Prove it in a court of law, Ms. Reece.”
I lunge for it, and my left leg gives out. I fall hard, narrowly avoiding smacking my face on the edge of the bed frame.
Greyson drops down beside me. “What happened?”
I put my weight on my hip, bringing my leg around. I watch his gaze go from it to my face and back again, and his jaw tenses.
“Why won’t you tell me?”
My mouth opens and closes. I can’t tell him. I can’t speak it into existence. And also… I have this giant fear that he’s going to laugh in my face.
“Vi,” he tries.
“Do you ever want to say something so fucking bad,” I whisper, my attention fixed on my shoes, “but you know that no one will give as big a fuck about it as you?”
He nods slowly, then reaches out and pulls the lace of my boot. I watch in silence as he completely undoes it and gently slides it off my foot. Then my sock.
My feet are… dancer feet. They’ve improved since I haven’t been training, but the remnants are there. My toenails are chipped and short. My toes are crooked from years in pointe shoes. My feet and ankles are still flexible. I stretch every morning and crack my joints. My foot is still pretty by ballet standards, but to the naked, untrained eye…
I pull my leg in, but he grasps my ankle.
“Stop.” I know the power it holds, and I say it anyway.
He stills.
It’s the word. The magic word that ends everything between us. A wall slams down into place—that wall is his guard and my own defense against him. It’s going to save both of us.
I exhale. I can deal with him choking me, chasing me through a forest, fucking me into a different stratosphere, bullying me—but I can’t bear this kindness.
Not when I don’t believe it to be true.
“If we’re sharing a room, fine. I can live with that,” I tell him. “But I’m not doing… whatever you were about to do.” I rise and snatch my toiletries. “I need a shower.”
And he’d better believe I’m locking the door behind me.
31
GREYSON
I consider Violet Reece. Before. The girl who seemed to have everything together.
Outward appearances can be deceiving. I know that better than anyone.
While she hides in the bathroom, I pull up a video of the Crown Point Ballet. One of their shows that stars my girl as the lead. I keep the screen close to my face, trying to analyze her every expression when she dances.