Kings of Chaos (Dirty Broken Savages #1)(107)

I just moan back, and he bucks up hard, slamming his cock right into the place that sparks the avalanche of my orgasm.

I manage to hold back a desperate scream of pleasure as it rushes over me, and I can feel myself clenching down on his cock, going tight like a vise to try to get him to follow me over the edge.

Judging from the cursing and the sudden rush of warmth, it clearly worked. I fall apart on top of him while he comes undone inside me, filling me up.

For just a second, just a little blip of time, the space between one heartbeat and the next, there’s an intense connection between us. It’s like we’re breathing together, caught in a cycle of shared pleasure, and when he looks into my eyes, I can’t help but stare right back.

But then the moment breaks, and I remember what this was all for. I lick my lips and pull back, away from him, giving him a little smile.

“See?” I say, still a little bit breathless. “It’s just sex. It’s nothing special.”

I can see the exact moment he closes off after I say that. The open pleasure and relaxation that was on his face before disappears, and his expression hardens into something that would look more at home on Priest’s face than his own. His fingers grab my hips, and he uses that grip to lift me off him so he can stand up.

He tucks his cock away, jaw tight, and then leans down to pick up his glasses, shoving them back onto his nose.

The reality of the situation comes rushing back all at once, where we are and what we’re doing. The bathroom suddenly seems a whole lot smaller than it did before, and the silence is deafening.

Ash goes for the door, looking pissed and disgusted with me. I can see it on his face and in his eyes when he looks at me over his shoulder.

“You’re right,” he says, sounding bitter and tired. “It wasn’t anything special.”





44





RIVER





I WATCH ASH GO, my body still buzzing from the sex. There’s a pleasant throb between my legs, like the phantom feeling of where his cock was, and the high of my orgasm is still coasting through me.

But my heart feels like a dead lump in my chest.

For some reason, I feel sick to my stomach. Pissed and hurt and fucked up. I’m so used to using sex to get what I want, and usually that’s enough in the end, but now it feels empty. Hollow. And I fucking hate that.

I clean up the mess between my legs, then fix my dress and go over to the sink. I turn the water on, letting it splash into the sink for a bit before gathering some in my hands and using it to wash my face. My makeup is smeared from what Ash and I did, and I neaten it up with a wet paper towel, looking at myself in the mirror.

For just a split second, I swear I can see the skeletal makeup I wore the other night, when I killed Ivan. As if it’s still on my face. Or a part of my face. Like it’s inside me.

I swallow hard and press the heel of my hand against my breastbone, feeling that weight in my chest where my heart should be, then clench my jaw and shake my head.

I don’t have time to come apart in the bathroom in the middle of this fucking gala. All I have to do is get through this shit, and then I can go home and get back to my life. I won’t have to see any of them again, and I won’t have to deal with whatever this feeling is that makes my stomach twist sourly when I think about the look on Ash’s face as he walked out.

It’s better this way.

It’s better.

I know it is.

The bathroom is quiet, and I drag in a deep breath and run damp fingers through my hair, fluffing it back up. I need to get back out there. I’ll make a beeline for the bar and spend the rest of the night there. Gage can get over himself with the whole “you came with us, so you stay with us” bullshit. I can do what I want.

And right now, I want to get very drunk and then get the hell out of here.

I slip out of the bathroom and make my way back to the ballroom where the gala is still in full swing. The orchestra is playing a cheerier tune than before, and it’s not hard to spot the guys in the crowd. They’re all together again, standing off to one side.

Knox has a drink in his hand and is making jokes. Of all of them, he’s the one who seems the most unaffected by all of this.

“There you are,” he says when he spots me, lifting his chin. His tattoos are mostly hidden by the long sleeves and starched collar of his suit, but bits of ink peek out, crawling up his neck and down the backs of his hands. “Where’d you go?”

“Bathroom,” I tell him. “Or did I need permission for that, too?” That last part is directed at Gage, who looks pissed, as usual. I don’t know if it’s directed at me or someone here or the world in general, and I’m not about to ask.

Priest has his usual blank mask on, and considering he’s in a room full of people he doesn’t know and probably doesn’t like, I can’t blame him.

Ash stands a little apart from the others. He’s gotten a coin from somewhere, and he flips it over his fingers again and again, looking off into the distance at the people dancing to the orchestra’s music.

He doesn’t even look at me.

That antsy feeling creeps under my skin again as I stand here with all of them. I hate it.

I hate the way I want Ash to look at me. The way I want all of them to look at me. It was never supposed to be like this. It was never supposed to go this far. They were just obstacles in the way of me getting done what I needed to get done, but something shifted at some point. I did what I needed to do, and it should have been finished and over, but here I am. At a pretentious as fuck gala with them, sulking like a goddamn child because my own fucking plan worked too well.