Playboy Princes (Royals of Arbon Academy, #2)(51)

Our faces were close, so he didn’t notice at first as my hand slipped down between my thighs, fingers stroking across my wetness. It wasn't until the moan slipped from my lips, that his eyes left mine, locking on the way I was playing with myself.

If he wasn’t going to give me the release I needed, I’d take it for myself.

Fuck Rafe and his fucking games. Okay, sure, I might have sort of started it, but this was so much worse, and I was super-pissed.

Time to show him just how easily I could come all on my own. Good thing I’d had plenty of practice.

And Rafe handled it right up until my eyes fluttered closed for a brief moment and a breathless groan escaped.

Then he punched the wall.





Chapter 22





Rafe sucked a sharp breath through his teeth and glared at me like I was to blame for all his issues.

“Oh suck it up, princess,” I muttered under my breath, wrapping the strip of torn t-shirt fabric a little tighter around his hand than it really needed to be. “Nothing’s broken, as far as I can tell. You just need some ice.” I quirked a brow at him, trying to hide my amusement. “Surely the big bad Fallen Angel has had split knuckles before?”

Okay, in fairness, it was a bit worse than that. I was pretty sure I could see bone.

Rafe just grunted a pissed-off kind of noise and jerked his injured hand out of my grip. “I told you it was fine. You’re the one who felt the need to play Florence Nightingale, Violence.”

I rolled my eyes. “Yeah well, no one forced you to go punching a brick wall.”

With his good hand, he grabbed my jaw, bringing my face to his so our foreheads touched. “Yes. You did.”

His intense gaze held me fast, like I’d been immersed in quick-dry concrete, forcing me to see all the conflicting emotions in his eyes. There was too much going on in there for me to easily unpack, but one thing was abundantly clear. Rafe still wanted me. Badly.

“Sure I did,” I replied with a nervous laugh, wrenching my chin free of his grip and forcing my limbs to obey me once more. “Come on, we should go.”

I stooped to swipe my blade from the floor where Rafe had dropped it, and bit my lip against the way my suit moved over my naked breasts. Stupid fucking Prince Rafe had cut my bra in two, and I hadn’t been able to find my panties anywhere in the dark corridor. So that meant I had redressed in my paper-thin catsuit with nothing underneath.

Neither of us spoke as we made our way through the dark tunnels, but I couldn’t help watching him from the corner of my eye. The tension in his shoulders was more than just pain from his hand, and it made me all kinds of smug.

Legit. The sight of Rafe punching a brick wall as I made myself come right in front of him would stay with me forever. Hottest. Thing. Ever.

Not that I’d ever tell him that. Homeboy had a big enough ego as it was, and I was starting to think the universe needed me to take him down a few pegs.

A sound ahead made us both freeze.

I tilted my head at Rafe, meeting his eyes with a silent question. Fight or hide?

His eyes narrowed a moment, like he was weighing our options, but the decision became irrelevant.

“Relax, Fallen Angel,” the vaguely familiar voice called from the shadows ahead. “It’s just me.” Footsteps sounded, drawing closer, then Zachary Westbridge emerged from the darkness. He was dressed all in black, like he’d been attending the fights, but his mask was missing.

“I come in peace,” he said with a sarcastic lilt, his hands held up in mock surrender. “Just needed a word with Violence.”

“No,” Rafe snapped, taking a step forward and kind of shielding me with his body. I mean, it worked. He was probably double my size, and the lighting was shitty. “Fuck off, Zach.”

Instead of arguing back, Zach just laughed like this was the reaction he had expected from Rafe. Or… from Fallen Angel. I couldn’t tell if Zach knew who he was talking to or not.

“Oh come on, you know you can’t hide your pet from us forever. The society has rules, and you agreed to them all when we let her fight.” Zach propped his hands on his hips, his stance relaxed and confident. Whoever this society was, they had to be the ones running the fights. I’d thought it was the resistance, though.

Either way, it looked like Zach was a member. How did that work?

“Not. Now.” Rafe bit the words off, his voice rumbling with the thunder of his rage.

Zach’s spine straightened the slightest bit as his whole demeanor shifted. Suddenly he radiated menace and authority.

“Step aside, Fallen Angel.” His voice was pure ice, and it was clear he didn’t get questioned often. At least, not in his current role. Whatever the fuck that was.

More shocking still? Rafe did what he was told.

Sort of.

He took one very small step to the side. Just enough to “obey” without being a totally whipped bitch. I snorted silently because it was such a fucking Rafe move it was actually funny.

Zach knew it too, judging by the long-suffering sigh he released with a clenched jaw.

“Prick,” he muttered, then turned his attention to me—still halfway hidden by Rafe’s black-clad form. “You fought well tonight, Violence. Really well. Who trained you?”

Instantly, my walls went up. I mean, more than they already were because I’d have been a fucking moron not to be on guard in this unusual situation.