FEEL FREE TO SCREAM

A STANDALONE

MAY SAGE WRITING AS EMM DARCY

CONTENTS

Author’s Note

1. Claire

2. Keller

3. Claire

4. Claire

5. Claire

6. Keller

7. Claire

8. Claire

9. Keller

10. Claire

11. Claire

12. Claire

13. Claire

14. Claire

15. Claire

16. Claire

17. Claire

18. Claire

19. Keller

20. Claire

21. Claire

22. Claire

23. Keller

24. Claire

25. Claire

26. Claire

27. Claire

28. Claire

29. Claire

30. Claire

31. Claire

32. Keller

33. Claire

34. Claire

35. Claire

36. Keller

37. Claire

38. Claire

39. Keller

Epilogue

Acknowledgments

Feel Free to Scream

A Standalone

May Sage writing as Emm Darcy

Edited by Theresa Schultz

Cover by Black Widow Designs

ebook ISBN: 9781839841484

Copyright © 2025 by May Sage writing as Emm Darcy

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

AUTHOR’S NOTE

Thanks for choosing Feel Free to Scream. If you’re an Emm reader, proceed, you’ve seen it all before.

If you’ve never read any of my Emm Darcy title (especially if you’ve read me under May Sage) and have a few triggers, linger here for a moment.

I will warn you: this is a steamy, filthy world, full of dark and devious deeds.

This story, specifically, contains stalking, coercion, so many kinky things, including exhibitionism, and a general sense of helplessness. You went down the rabbit hole the moment you got into town, too late Claire darling.

This specific book is a completely monogamous relationship with zero sharing, although they interact with a lot of swingers, but if you find the general theme of unfaithfulness triggering, this story might not still be for you, as Claire has a boyfriend at the start of the book, and Keller doesn’t care.

No cheating occurs between the protagonists at any point. And honestly, he’d just gladly murder anyone who gets their hands on her.

If none of that scares you away, welcome to Thorn Falls. Leave your panties at the door.

1

CLAIRE

You don’t need a new notebook.

I stare at the perfectly sized, pale blue leatherbound piece of stationery foiled in gold, and my heart sinks.

Claire, you need to buy a week’s worth of dinners more than you need a fifty-dollar notebook!

I dare to flip the cover open, and god, the page is so thick and smooth. There are little doodles in the margins, too.

I’m mentally calculating my budget, wishing I could have worked a few extra hours at the diner back home before I flew to Thorn Falls. I have a little money to spare, it’s true, but it’s the start of the month, and I haven’t yet found a part-time job here.

Then again, starting next week, the school’s dining hall will be open, and my scholarship covers every meal, so I don’t technically need much money.

No, Claire. Put the notebook down. It’s not going anywhere. You can come back for it at the end of the month.

I hate conceding to the voice of reason, sounding strangely like my grandmother’s inside my own head. I’m no longer at home—I’m alone, without any family or friends around to count on. I can’t start with frivolous purchases. I’ve only just put the book down when a little hand reaches out to take it.

“Oh, it’s so pretty! Like a princess’s journal!”

I look down with some surprise, and see the most adorable little girl, with stick- straight golden hair and the biggest amber eyes.

My face breaks into a smile. She wears a cute dress with a big bow at the waist. If anything looks like a princess here, it’s her.

“It matches your dress, too,” I say with a grin, as she presses the book against her chest.

I know the feeling, kiddo.

The girl looks up at me and blinks several times. “Oh!” is all she says.

“What? Do I have powdered sugar all over my face?” I shouldn’t have eaten that beignet on the go, but the smell knocked me out as I passed by the store in the mall. I truly didn’t have a choice.

“No,” she assures me. “But you’re too beautiful. My dada says that when a girl looks like she’s perfect, it’s because she’s wearing lots of makeup. He says no one is as floo—flo…”

“Flawless?” I offer.

She nods eagerly. “Flulesh,” she repeats after me, butchering the word.

“Well, your dad’s right. I’m certainly not that.”

“Are you wearing lots of makeup?”

“No,” I admit. “But that doesn’t mean I’m flawless.”

I can’t believe I’m having a conversation about beauty standards with a six-year-old on a Saturday morning, but if it helps the little girl grow up to realize that perfection doesn’t exist, I’m happy to discuss it all day.

I tug at the end of the fishtail braid thrown over my shoulder. “My hair’s all over the place unless I tame it like this. It's like it explodes all around my head. I had a buck tooth, until I wore braces for three whole years. If I don’t tint my eyebrows, I look like I don’t have any, because they’re too pale. And in the summer? I turn as red as a lobster after an hour in the sun.”

Her eyes widen. “A lobster?”

Children are so literal. “Maybe more like a piglet. Oink, oink,” I add, squishing my nose.

She laughs so hard I think she’s going to stop breathing.

Suddenly aware that we’ve been chatting for a while, I turn my head. “Are you here with your family?”

The little girl looks around, and I see her face switch from laughter to panic when she realizes there’s no one around us except the sales clerk staring at us with amusement. “Da! Da was right here. Da!” she screams.

“Don’t worry, we’ll find him,” I assure her. “What’s your name, sweetie?”

“Octavia.”

“I’m just going to speak to the man here, okay, Octavia? I won’t be a minute.” I keep an eye on her as I step towards the clerk. “Excuse me, is there a way to call security? I think she lost her dad,” I say quickly.

The man makes the call, and in no time, there’s a voice calling Octavia’s dad to get his ass back to the stationery shop—though in a more polite tone than the one I would have used. How the hell did he lose her?

Octavia tries very hard not to sniffle. Feeling awkward as hell, I pat her shoulder, hoping to comfort her.

Octavia presses her little body against my leg, hugging it. Poor thing.

“I’m sure he’ll be here in no time. Where was he when you last saw him?” I rub her back.

“We were…in front of the store. I told him about the notebook and then I came to see it from up close.”

I don’t think I saw a man close to us at all. She must have dashed in the store while he was distracted.

It doesn’t take long. He comes at a jog, though his patent leather loafers certainly don’t seem designed for it.

“Vivi!” he calls, clear panic in his blue eyes, until he spots her, still attached to my leg.

I feel awkward as hell. Am I supposed to touch her back and let her cling to me like this? People can be, rightfully, rather strict about strangers interacting with young kids. But no, I did nothing wrong. He didn’t monitor his kid; I just provided a little warmth while she was scared, and about to cry.

No wonder she’s this pretty. She got very nice genes from her dad. The man looks so much like her. Blond, with a hairstyle a little longer than what’s fashionable, and ocean-blue eyes rather than her golden amber, he’s dressed in chinos and a light blue shirt under a blazer. The picture of propriety. Tall, and clearly athletic under the preppy clothes, he makes me think about a Ralph Lauren ad. Come to think of it, Octavia could also be on the cover.

“Da!” she says, all sadness gone, just like that. “I found the notebook. It’s so pretty. Can I have it, please, please, please?”

He runs his hand through his golden hair with a clearly relieved sigh. “Dammit, Octavia. I’m on the phone for two minutes and you just walk away? That’s definitely not okay. Your mom’s gonna kill me.”

He notices me then, frowning. Probably because his kid’s still hooked around my leg.

“Oh. I’m Claire.” I make myself smile. “I kept Octavia company.”

There’s something of a challenge in my tone. Go on, tell me I had no business chatting with your daughter, so I can shout at you for being so busy on the phone you freaking let her get away.

“Is that right?”

“Claire goes red like a piglet in the summer! And her hair explodes!”

He shakes his head, chuckling. “Naturally.”

“Oink, oink,” I repeat, dryly.

“I’m not surprised. You’re as pale as a ghost. Sunscreen must be your best friend, huh?”

I guess he’s not giving me a hard time. “And big, ridiculous hats.”

“All right, terror,” he tells Octavia. “Let’s get your notebook, then we can stop for some ice cream before I drop you off. But you have to promise not to run off like that. You’re lucky you found Claire. There are a lot of people who aren’t nearly as nice in the world.”

“I promise,” she says readily.

Far too readily.

He sighs deeply.

“I’ve seen some kids with a leash,” I offer helpfully. “It ties to their backpacks. Sounds like you might need one of those.”

“More like ten.” He smiles, and bloody hell, it’s quite unfair how gorgeous this guy is. He must be a model. “Thanks for watching over her, Claire.”

“No problem. Your daughter is a lot of fun.”

The guy snorts. “Claire’s my niece. Hell, do I look old enough to have a six-year-old?”

Oh. He seems to be in his early twenties. He could have a six-year-old.

“Sorry. My parents were sixteen when they had me, so I don’t like to assume. And she said she was with Da, so…”

“I see.” He extends his hand. “Darius. Darius Keller.”

Ah. That makes sense; that name’s probably a little too hard for a kid to say. Or maybe she just likes calling her uncle by a diminutive.

“Did you need anything else, terror?” he asks Octavia, taking her purchase.

Keller doesn’t even check the price. I’m not surprised. Everything he and Octavia wear looks like it costs more than what I earn in a week.

It occurs to me that while she’s no longer stuck to me, she’s still holding the hem of my dress. “Just my notebook!”

“You have excellent taste in notebooks,” I tell her.

“Did you want the same one, Claire? Then we can match!” she offers.

“Oh, I wish, but my wallet says no. I’m just here for these,” I say, pointing to the cheap row of folders I didn’t even get to, distracted as I was, first by the cute notebook, then by the equally adorable kid.

“How about you let Claire get on with her shopping, yeah?” Darius nudges gently.

She looks at her own hand, still firmly fisting the pale pink fabric of my skater dress. Noticing she’s holding on to it, she lets go, and bounces to her uncle’s side.

“You have all the crayons and pencils you need at Grandma’s?” I hear him ask as I make my way to the folders.

“I want glitter pens! And shiny gold ones.”

I’m a little sad to part ways with little Octavia, to tell the truth.

I try to focus on the selection of folders. Rather than flying with cumbersome luggage, I only brought my clothes, intending to shop for my stationery in person, but Christ, why is everything so damn expensive in Thorn Falls? They don’t look any different than the basic folders I would have gotten back home, but they’re ten times the price. Maybe I should shop online. I have a little over a week before school starts; that should be enough time to wait for a delivery.

Not wanting to leave the store completely empty-handed, I select a few pens, pencils, and highlighters, and head to the counter.

I’m right behind Octavia and her uncle. His bill comes to two hundred and fifty bucks, so I take it they must have raided the glitter and shiny gold pens.

I smile as they walk past me, waving at the striking pair, before buying my ten bucks’ worth of pens.

It sucks to have to watch my spending, but I’m used to it.

My grandmother raised me. I’ve never been hungry or worried about having a roof over my head, but she’s only had her tiny retirement plan for the last ten years. There was never much money to go around for extras. Through school, I worked part-time to afford any hobby, and whatever I needed beyond the basics.

I always knew the only way I ever could go to college was on a scholarship, so I’ve always worked my ass off, never missing a day of school, even sick. I got a fair few offers, and the one from Rothford was by far the best: a full ride, plus a grant for extra expenses, which will kick in next week. It covers all my books, my food, plus a bit of extra, but I’ll still need to work to be comfortable.

I have about a thousand bucks to spare now, after paying all my bills and buying my plane ticket here, and I have to make it last, at least until I find a job.

What do I need now? Food for this week, as the dining hall opens next Monday, the folders I’ll order online, and what else?

I’m mentally calculating my expenses when I spot Octavia again, in front of the stationery store. She’s beaming at me, a wrapped box in her hand. She holds it up to me. “Thank you for taking care of me, Claire!”

I stare at her in disbelief, then up to her uncle.

He’s on the phone again, a few steps away, though his eyes aren’t leaving Octavia this time.

“Oh, you didn’t have to, sweetie. It was my pleasure.”

“But you wanted the notebook,” Octavia said. “I could tell. Now you can have it, and we match! Open it! Open it!”

Oh, fuck, I’m a little teary for some reason.

It’s stupid, really. But the thing is, I’m not used to presents.

I get one on my birthday and Christmas every year, of course. But as I said, my grandma isn’t rich. Even she wouldn’t have dropped that much money on a notebook for me.

I unwrap it, and am completely speechless when I see a gift card on top of the notebook.

My gaze returns to Darius.

His blue eyes don’t look away, though he’s still taking on the phone—about finances, by the sound of it. I hear words like market, investment, trend, and stock.

“Octavia,” I say, because I can’t actually thank the person who did purchase all that. “This is too much. It was my absolute pleasure to chat with you for a few minutes; you really didn’t have to get me anything. But I’m very, very grateful.”

“It was my pleasure too! I like you, Claire.”

“I like you right back.”

She wraps her arms around my legs again, squeezes, and runs back to her uncle. He has the sense to take her hand as they walk away.

I stare at the gift card in my hand, and go back in the store for my folders.

2

KELLER

"So, who's the chick?" 

I'm not surprised my sister asks the moment her daughter is out of earshot. Octavia's been home for an hour and in that time, she has simply not shut up about Claire. Claire this, Claire that. Does Claire like cake? Would Claire like to ice skate? Do I think she looks more like Sleeping Beauty or Elsa from Frozen? Fucking hell. Not that I can blame her. That girl is the whole package, from the ribbon in her hair to the tips of her pink ballerina shoes. 

Honestly, she's ridiculous. The very idea of any woman waking up some day and deciding to look that sweet is insane. Is she prepping for a Barbie commercial or what? 

If you'd asked me yesterday, I absolutely would have said, without hesitation, that I don't do sweet. But fuck, I'd do Claire. She looks like I could break her in two, and I can't help it. I want to. I want to see the pretty, glossy pink lips parted as she chokes on my cock, those gray eyes wide.

No one's ever gotten such a strong reaction from me at first glance without even trying. She didn't flirt. She didn't look at me in any way to suggest she liked what she saw. She was more concerned about my niece than me. Hell, I could tell she was annoyed with me at first, for letting the little terror slip through my fingers. Which I relate to. I certainly was annoyed at myself. 

I took Octavia this morning because my sister's dealing with her abusive ex; the divorce is getting nastier by the day, and she needs time. But technically, I work on my investment portfolio on Saturday mornings. I cancelled most of my appointments, but there were some time-sensitive decisions I needed to make. So yeah, I took a couple of calls. And yeah, Vivi is the kind of high-energy, mischievous, spoiled brat we can't leave alone for a second. I say that lovingly, and fully aware that I am the first to spoil her. We should have stayed in the house, really. It would have been safer. But I can't regret my niece's little adventure when it ended so well.

"First time I saw her," I reply, accepting the beer Lisa slides across the counter, taking a swig. "She seems nice."

"My daughter certainly thinks so," my sister muses, shaking her head in disbelief. "And she hates everyone."

I roll my eyes. "She doesn't hate everyone. She loves me, doesn't she?"

Lisa snorts.

She's thirty-three, eight years my senior. Our mother had her when she was in her early twenties, and penniless. I can't imagine what it must have been like to grow up with Laura Prince as a single mother—particularly a poor one. 

I was raised by my father, an ex-model, part owner of a multi-million-dollar fashion brand, and honestly, I had it easy. He might not have been present much, but I had my cousin, and the Goltzes—the sons of dad's business partners—not to mention their parents, as an extended family. My understanding is, Lisa didn't have anyone other than our pretty, flighty mom. 

Laura flew in and out of my life, mostly showing up when she needed something. Lisa might be my half-sister, but I only saw her a couple of times until a little over six years ago. 

Arlo, my father, always told her she could reach out if he could ever help her, like he would to any extended family, and she smiled, nodded, and never asked for anything. But one day, she showed up at our door, heavily pregnant, needing "a place to crash for a bit." One look at her bruises, and we had her safe inside, with a security team around her twenty-four seven. She's been at the main house since. I can't imagine her anywhere else now. 

I was there from the moment Octavia was born. I even picked her name. She might go by Prince, but she's a Keller to us. She even calls my father Dada, at his insistence. We want Lisa's ex nowhere near the two of them—something the lawyers are working through at the moment—so he's her father figure. Frankly, he's doing a better job at it than he did with me, likely because he's now old enough to understand kids. 

Being a Keller means having it all. The house, the cars, the clothes. Especially the clothes. We might not be the richest family in Thorn Falls, but that's only because this town is full of billionaires. And through my father's company, we're connected to the Goltzes, anyway. 

Octavia's struggled to open up outside of our immediate family. Half of her nannies just wanted a chance at my dad, or even me. We don't really know many kids her age—all my cousins are in their twenties, so most of us don't have children. She's starting school in a couple of weeks, and I know she’s struggling with the idea.

Octavia's brilliant, adorable, outspoken, downright rude at times, but she does not trust people easily. Especially women. So finding her clinging to a complete stranger was seriously unusual, until I spoke to Claire.

Oink, oink.

She's not only strikingly beautiful, but she's also warm, self-depreciative, and down-to-earth, not unlike Lisa. Claire must have sensed that the woman had no ulterior motives. 

My instincts are rarely wrong, but I checked anyway. It was easy enough.

New in town. Twenty-ish. Blonde. Claire. 

I had two folders in my inbox within an hour of asking my PI. Claire Fairmont, nineteen, arrived two days ago, currently residing at the Rothford dorm, recipient of an academic scholarship and a grant. I have all the basics: financials—she wasn't kidding about her wallet not stretching far enough to accommodate unnecessary stationery, Christ—academic record, her latest texts and messages, her search history.

Nothing suggests she knew who I was. She's the real deal. An ingenue. I smile to myself. 

"You think she's be interested in babysitting? I'd like to go full-time after Vivi starts school, but she finishes at three, so I need someone from three to six. God knows the girls the agency usually send do not make my daughter gush." 

"What makes you think I know what a complete stranger might like to do?" I ask. 

"Please." Lisa sends me that look. The one that makes her look like our cunning mother. "My kid isn't the only one with a little crush. A present and a hundred-and-fifty-dollar gift card for chatting with Octavia for two minutes?" 

If I'd seen the state of her finances before loading that gift card, I would have added all the bills in my money clip. 

I shrug. No point denying I noticed her. "So what? I like a pretty damsel in distress. Who doesn't? Doesn't mean I can tell you whether she'd like to work for you." 

"I suppose not. But whatever casual stalking you've been up to likely gives you an idea whether she'd be open to it."

I lower my beer, staring at my sister. She only looks back at me, an eyebrow raised.

I want to ask her how she knows. It's not like I'm in the habit of doing that type of thing with every girl I fuck. On the contrary. Most chick taking my cock are gone the next day. I don’t feel the need to learn anything about them.

But I do like to control my environment. I like to understand what makes people around me tick. It tells me what to expect of them. 

I surprised even myself when I got a background check done on Claire, so how did Lisa know I would?

"She's broke," I say, finally. "And clearly, she liked Vivi. So I'm sure she'd like a job if you offered it. But she's at Rothford, so she might not be available when you need her."

My sister nods. "Did you ask for her phone number?"

"No." I wasn't about to come on to her with Octavia as a witness. 

"Oh well. Do you know where we might run into her, then?"

"Library, bookstore, movie theater, yoga studio," I list. "But she'll likely join the school's, so you can't just drop by. Or I can mention it to her when I bump into her tomorrow."

My sister smirks. "Please do. I look forward to meeting whoever can thaw the two coldest Kellers in this house."

"Like I'm anywhere as cold as my father," I retort with a snort.

Though there's no arguing that, usually, Octavia's icy as fuck to young, pretty girls too busy batting their eyelashes at us to pay her any mind. 

"Your dad's indifferent, not cold," Lisa retorts, leaning in eagerly. "So, what's the plan? You gonna ask her out?"

"I would," I assure her. "If it wasn't for one little problem."

"Oh?"

"She has a boyfriend." 

"Fuck. Sorry." My sister pouts. 

I tilt my head. "Whatever for?" 

"Well, you clearly have a crush on the girl. You must be disappointed."

I look at her. Six years and ten months. That's how long she’s lived with us. I don't technically live here, staying at the Vesper House during the academic year, but I make a point of coming every week, as often as possible, to hang out with her and Octavia. 

She knew I'd get Claire’s information. She guessed I'd planned to see her again. And she really thinks I'll let such an inconsequential obstacle stop me?

I smile. "I don't see a ring on it." 

And even if I did, it's not all that hard to remove a tiny little piece of jewelry. With the right incentives.

3

CLAIRE

I roll my eyes at the text exchange so far tonight. 

Noah: How much????

Me: 150. I bought everything I needed for school, and had some money to spare to get myself a new charger and phone case, too. 

Noah: That's insane. Who buys a fifty-dollar notebook and spends all that on a complete stranger?? I don't like it, Claire. That kid's uncle was into you, I bet. Did you encourage him? 

Me: Don't be ridiculous. I did something nice for Octavia, and they wanted to do something nice for me. When I said I couldn't afford the notebook, he guessed, rightly, that I don't have much money, that's all. People are rich-rich in this town. It was just spare change for him, I bet. 

Noah: People don't give away 200 bucks for nothing.

Me: They do, every day, actually. It's called charity.

Noah: So you're fine being a charity case now?

Me: I helped them. They helped me. That's not charity. 

I sigh into my pillow. When Noah tries to call, I ignore it. 

Noah and I have literally been together forever. He's the grandson of my grandma's best friend, Hilda. As there weren't many children in her circle, my grandma made sure we played together all the time, so I'd have a friend growing up. We shared a toddler pool, learned to write together, and when we were fifteen, he kissed me. We just made sense. 

Noah's studying art at Michigan State University. I applied there too, but it was the backup of my backup school, while for him, it was always the plan. His dad lives in East Lansing, so he could stay there, save money, and work on his sculpture. 

He was not impressed when I said I'd leave for California, despite the fact that Rothford gave me the academic funding equivalent of a red carpet. Staying close would have been more expensive for me. We still argued about it for days. In the end, I thought it would be best to part ways at that point, because he's right: a long-term relationship for years would suck. But the moment I mentioned it, he cried, apologized for arguing, and assured me we could make it work. 

I still wasn't sure. His first point was good. But my grandmother sat me down and proceeded to tell me that I'd be a massive bitch for dropping the one boy who'd always had my back just to move on to bigger and better things in Thorn Falls—not in so many words, but the meaning was there. She was right, naturally. And I hadn't wanted to break up with Noah to find a new boyfriend; just to give us some space and room to grow while we were apart. If we were meant to be, wouldn't we find our way back to each other? 

"He's been patient with you. He promised he'd wait until your wedding night, like a gentleman," my grandmother reminded me, staring me down. "He's a good boy. The best. And you'd risk that, in the off chance you might find a better one?"

"I don’t—" I stuttered. "I don't want to find some guy. I'm going to the best school to study, and get a good job. Earn a good living. And that happens to be over five hours away. Neither of us can afford frequent round trips."

All my reasons felt like feeble excuses. So, I just dropped it. 

I've been away for a week, and I'm already dealing with a headache over my actions. I'm glad I didn't tell him Darius Keller was young, and rather handsome, too. I would never hear the end of it. As I was speaking about a roughly six-year-old kid and her uncle, I know he pictured a middle-aged man. I'm probably a shitty girlfriend for not giving the details, but it's not worth the argument. 

I mostly told him about my day to gush over my new notebook, and it turned into a whole thing. 

He wasn’t jealous back in school. He was popular, as a hockey player also excelling in art, while I was the weird loner nerd always studying. But since that first argument about my going away, he's been territorial as hell.

It's not just that I don't like it, I also don't get it. There have been girls drooling over him for ages and I never cared. Why would it matter, even if some stranger had spoiled me with dubious intent? I wasn't going to act on it.

Besides, someone like Darius Keller does not need to buy anyone's affection. Not with his looks and the clear appearance of wealth. 

I find myself entering the name in my search bar on impulse. None of what I see, or read, is all that surprising.

He's the son of Arlo. Yes, that Arlo, the top model. He might have peaked about twenty years ago, when he was in his twenties himself, but he occasionally features on the covers of magazines, and he's still drool-worthy.

I see it in him, the golden blond looks, the confidence, the camera-ready smile. 

Predictably, both he and Octavia have modelled for his father's brand since they were in diapers. I follow toddler, children, teenager, and more recent ads, growing sexy, moody, topless in the last few years. 

When I close the browser, I am certain the two-hundred-dollar gift was spare change, inconsequential to someone like him. 

Noah sent another few demanding messages in the meantime. But after a break, he finally wrote one last text.

Noah: I'm sorry. I know it's probably nothing. But it's hard, you know? You're so far away. 

Me: I get it. I wouldn't want a pretty girl to buy you things, either. 

Noah: Wait. Is he pretty?

I sigh.

At least, it's the last I've seen of that man. Top models and heirs to fashion empires do not hang out with the likes of me. It's a miracle we existed in the same space for a while. He might as well be from another planet.

* * *

Oh, fuck.

I stare in disbelief at the man in front of me, leaving the campus library just as I enter it, a steaming cup in hand. 

"You're here," I say dumbly.

"Evidently." He smiles. "Claire, wasn’t it?" 

I make myself swallow, willing my brain to kick into gears. "Darius, right?"

"Most people call me Keller. Which is highly confusing, as there are two other Kellers on this campus, but whatever."

I nod like it makes sense. "Keller."

"You're new here?" he guesses.

"Yeah, starting next week. Accounting. You?"

"I'm on my last year. MBA." 

It occurs to me that we're blocking the entrance when someone has to circle us to get into the automatic doors. 

"I should get going. I figured I should familiarize myself with the place before school properly starts."

"Make sure you familiarize yourself with the cafe first. They make great coffee. The library's a bit of a maze, but the digital indexing helps. Make sure you ask Walter to show you how it works."

"Walter?"

"The main librarian working today. He's a nice guy."

"Right." I clear my throat. "How's Octavia?"

"A menace to herself and society, as usual." He smiles again. "Thank you for asking, Claire."

"Of course. She's a character, for sure." Christ, I need to move. "Well, then⁠—"

"There's a party tonight, at my cousin's house. Just a few people getting together before the start of the semester. You should come. Get to know everyone."

"Oh. Erm, I mean, I'm not much for parties, and I don't know my way around yet…"

"The Wyvern House. It's right across from the dorms, can't miss it." Keller removes two black cards from his back pocket and hands them to me. "Bring someone if you'd like. Roommate, boyfriend, whatever."

He's not hitting on me, then. He's just welcoming. I smile back. 

"I mean, maybe?" It's not the worst idea, to get to know a few people before school starts. 

I've barely seen my roommate, but I could ask her if she's there when I get back. 

"Thank you, Keller. And thank you so much for the notebook, and the gift card, too. You didn't have to get me anything. It truly was my pleasure to spend a few minutes with Octavia." 

"I know," he assures me. "See you later, little ghost."

I walk in, still feeling out of sorts. I really didn't think I'd see him again. 

I stare at the cards in my hand. They're fancy. Shiny business cardstock, with an ouroboros stamped in foil at its center.

Welcome to the wyvern's den. 

Who uses this kind of invitation for a college party? Rich, uppity folk, that's who. 

It occurs to me that I was right to think of Keller as belonging to another world. The kicker is, for some reason, I'm the one who landed on his planet, somehow. 

I look back, and he's still at the door, staring at me. 

He's no longer smiling. Those blue eyes seem darker in the distance, somehow. 

Fuck. If I tell Noah I saw him again, I will never hear the end of it.  

I definitely shouldn't go to that party.

4

CLAIRE

I arrived in Thorn Falls three days ago, and in that time, I’ve only seen my roommate twice in passing, dropping off boxes so full of colorful clothing they were left open on her side of the room. The bright pinks and blues and yellows are surprising, as both times she was dressed in sensible navy and gray.

She seemed friendly enough from what I saw in the ten minutes we spent together, but I don’t think there’s any chance I’ll see her today. Both times we met were early morning; she’s disappeared the rest of the time. Her social life is clearly very active.

When I come back from the library, my backpack full of books, I’m surprised to see her hanging her stuff in her wardrobe.

Lily’s a pretty, tall girl with straight black hair and bangs. I am officially jealous. I’d look ridiculous with bangs, and my hair wouldn’t behave like that even right out of the hairdresser. She wears overly large, oval glasses that complete her sexy librarian look. She is truly pretty; a classical beauty.

“Oh, hi!” I say, feeling a little awkward.

Today, she’s in jeans and a cream button-down blouse with a large lace collar; the kind of clothing I could have worn, and I shop with my grandmother. Incongruously, she’s holding a piece of shiny fabric—PVC or latex, I think—in bright red.

“Hey!” she calls back. “How are you doing? Used to the madness yet?”

I shrug. “I can’t say it’s been all that crazy so far. I shopped for stationery, registered at the yoga studio, that kinda stuff.”

She spares me a glance. “New in town, huh? Don’t sweat it. That was me last year. You’ll fit in just fine. Only about a tenth of the students are local, given the insane admission requirements. I can introduce you to my friends, but fair warning: we’re all major geeks.”

“Oh, I’m a geek,” I assure her, unsure how that wasn’t clear.

At home, everyone seemed to know I was the kind of girl who could write full sentences in Sindarin. Maybe because I grew up in the same small town my whole life, so they’d all tried to talked to me and realized that I was weird by the time I turned twelve. Come to think of it, my general style might say proper young lady more than closet Star Wars fan. But then again, Lily isn’t all that weird.

“No, I mean, major geeks,” she repeats, tossing me a piece of fabric.

I catch it and lift it up, unsure what I’m looking at, at first. I tilt my head.

“Is this…a cloak?” It looks familiar. Black and green, with golden panels. “Loki’s,” I say.

“Yep. Part of my genderbend Loki cosplay. Though arguably, I shouldn’t say genderbend, as Loki is canonically fluid in myths, and even Marvel got that right-ish. So, just Loki,” she concludes.

Bubbly, chatty, lovely.

“Sylvie,” I reply, remembering the name of the variant in the terrible miniseries I suffered through last year. “That’s the name of the series’ other Loki, right?

“Yeah, but she’s lame, and I’m pretending that show doesn’t exist, so just Loki,” she repeats.

I grin, handing it back to her. “It’s very well made.”

“Thanks. I sewed it myself. I’m that kind of geek.”

“Ah. Well, I haven’t crossed over to the world of cosplay yet,” I admit. “So, I guess I lose some geek points. I’ve drawn some fanart though.”

“You have?”

It’s only fair that I show her some of my doodles after she let me see her cloak. I’m not very good, but I enjoy the creative outlet. Besides, it’s a cheap hobby now that I crossed over to digital drawing. It used to be fairly expensive, back when I used pencils and paint.

“Shut up. These are so good! Are you getting an art bachelor?” she asks, wide-eyed.

I wrinkle my nose. “Nah, accounting for me. Don’t get me wrong, I love drawing. But art doesn’t immediately lead to a lucrative career.”

“I get it. I mean, I’d love to study fine art. You know, do something with my passion.” She gestures to the box she’s unpacking. “But I’m in marketing.”

I smile, glad I ended up with someone I can relate to.

“My boyfriend decided to study art. Everyone told us both it was too risky. I wish I were that courageous.”

“Nah.” She shakes her head. “I’d rather be able to afford a comfortable life, independently. Honestly, most people who have that sort of courage tend to come from stable, privileged backgrounds; enough to have a safety net to fall back on if their dream don’t pan out. I don’t. And this college is just too expensive to waste it on a dream.”

I take a minute to think about Noah, and his dad’s house, and the job he’s guaranteed to be able to fall back on at his uncle’s construction company. I mean, he isn’t exactly rich-rich, but he does have fairly good prospects, even if his sculpture ends up not taking off. By contrast, what I have is a grandma with no saving and a bum knee.

My mother, Hyacinth, is thirty-five, and looks and acts a lot more like an older sister. She’s done well for herself, and has a nice job in finance, in New York City. She sends presents, gift cards, and wire me cash almost every month, too, but she’s in no position to help me if I can’t support myself.

My sperm donor has never been in the picture. I never thought of it that way, but Lily’s right. What Noah truly had wasn’t courage; it was a real choice.

I don’t know how I feel about that. Jealous, mostly.

“Hey, is that a Wolverines sweatshirt?” I say, spotting the next item she unfolds.

There were a few fans of the University of Michigan’s team in my old school.

Her nose wrinkles. “Yeah, my ex’s. He was a dick, but a pretty good hockey player.” The last part, she adds somewhat reluctantly. “This is my girlfriend tax. Trust me, I earned it.”

“I wish I could steal Noah’s sweatshirts, but he never wears any. Cardigans and blazers, all the way.” I roll my eyes.

Lily makes a face, though frankly, a cardigan or blazer would look amazing with her outfit.

“So, your ex is from Michigan?” I ask, pointing to the yellow and blue logo.

“Yup. So am I. Ann Arbor, born and raised.”

“Seriously?” I gape. “I lived, like, two hours away.”

It’s wild we both find ourselves on the other side of the country.

"I guess they must have done it on purpose, figuring I could show you the ropes.” Lily beams. “As I said, my friends are pretty nerdy, but it sounds like you’ll fit right in. There’s a concert tomorrow, if you want to come?”

“Sure!” I reply immediately, even knowing tomorrow’s Sunday.

College starts the next day; I didn’t plan on doing much, to try to rest, but I’m certainly not passing on the opportunity to meet new people.

"Hey,” I find myself saying, retrieving the two cards in my wallet. “I got an invitation to a house party tonight. Fancy coming with me?”

I don’t know why I do it. I had actually decided not to go. Keller is too attractive, talking to him is too easy when he’s a stranger, and I know Noah would hate the fact that I accepted an invitation from a guy. If he knew the guy happened to be the one who gave me the overpriced notebook, plus a huge gift card, his head would literally explode. My plan was staying at home.

But surely, going with a friend isn’t the same as showing up alone. Accepting a guy’s invitation alone is an opening. A bit like a date. I wouldn’t do that. I’m not that kind of girl. But turning up with Lily is innocent. Besides, Keller was just being nice to extend the invite. He saw I was new, friendless, and took pity on me, that’s all.

I make myself ignore the look I caught as I entered the library. The intense, steely stare, without a smile, without a word.

Lily gasps out loud. "Seriously?” She’s almost screaming. “Dude, three days here and you got a house card from the fucking wyverns? That's insane. I didn’t get one in a freaking year!”

I flush. “Oh. I didn’t know. I mean, Keller just said it was his cousin’s house…” I trail off.

“Keller?” she repeats, her voice an octave higher. “You got invited by Keller? Wait, which one?”

I remember him saying there were two other Kellers.

“Darius,” I say.

This only makes Lily stare at me wordlessly.

“I didn’t realize it was a big deal?” I’m a little embarrassed somehow.

“Fuck. Okay, let me explain. I forgot you’re new.” She abandons her clothes and sits on her bed, so I do the same, hopping onto mine. “I said only about ten percent of Rothford is local, right? Well, most of them have been admitted, not because of a pristine transcript like you and I, but because their parents, and grandparents, and great-grandparents studied here. Local rich families founded the school for their kids, and still sit on the board. The legacies are a shoo-in.”

I roll my eyes, nose wrinkled in distaste. “Isn’t that the same everywhere?”

“True. Well, as you can imagine, the spawns of the Archers, and Hunts, and Montgomerys, and Goltzes, and yes, Kellers, certainly aren’t about to share communal dorms with the rabble. So, instead, they built fancy houses on their private lane. What you have here,” she tells me, eyeing the cards on my lap, “are invites to the wyverns, one of the fanciest houses. When you said Keller, I assumed you meant the wyvern cousin. He’s a bit of a wildcard. He plays hockey, actually—badly, from what I’ve seen—and is sort of approachable. Then, there’s Sebastian Keller, who was the head of the Vesper House last year. He passed the bar, and has started working for a big firm in town, but he was pretty chill. Almost human.” She chuckles. “Darius Keller? That guy’s a god, and he knows it. He never hangs out with us mortals. I haven’t seen him at any party, concert, or club in southie. He stays with other legacies.”

I can’t deny that was exactly my initial impression of the man. Like he didn’t exist on the same plane as me.

“I mean, it’s pretty normal,” Lily reasons. “His dad is a top model, and he’s also been a celebrity for most of his life—nothing huge, but he has a bit of a fan club. It’s not surprising he keeps his circle small. There are some crazies out there. But yeah, all that to say, it’s pretty wild you got that from him.”

I can only bob my head. “Maybe I shouldn’t go.”

“Are you kidding? We are absolutely not missing this. It'll be awesome to see them get drunk and ridiculous. Plus, free booze.”

“I don’t really drink,” I argue.

That’s not quite true. I haven’t made the conscious decision to not drink, I’ve just never had an opportunity to do it before.

“Well, I drink enough for both of us, so you can be the DD. Except, it’s thirty minutes’ walk, max, so no point waking up my old, tired car for the trip. All right, what are you wearing?”

Shit.

I have literally nothing fit for a young crowd’s party. A church group’s luncheon, sure.

I look through my wardrobe, far sparser than Lily’s, and find various versions of the simple A-line skater dress I’m wearing, in beige, and pink, and baby blue, and cream. There are a few knee-length skirts and blouses, not unlike the one Lily has on.

My roommate joins me, clearly sensing my despair as I riffle through the selection a second time. “Sorry, I—” I bite my lower lip. “My grandma shops for me, most of the time. I mean, it’s her money.”

I feel incredibly lame.

“Wait, this one!” Lily says as I pull out one of my shirts; white, with a layer of lace, and then a top underneath.

It’s rather pretty, but I literally wore it to accompany Grandma to brunch.

“Yeah?”

She nods eagerly. “Yep. With one of my skirts. Give me a second. Do you have tights? And heels. You’re going to need heels.”

She hops back onto her side of the room as I look at my five pairs of shoes.

I am pretty certain that by heels, she doesn’t mean two-inch tall Mary Janes or loafers, but that’s all I have.

“The red ones,” she says, pointing to the first pair of heels. “And this.”

“Hell no.”

She’s holding a pleated leather skirt, high-waisted, and shorter than anything I’ve ever worn in my entire life.

“Hell yes.”

5

CLAIRE

There’s no date, or even time, on the invite. I’m not sure when we should show up, so I defer to Lily on that point.

She might not have been invited to a party in one of the private student houses before, but she’s as confident now as she is about everything else. “I’d say eleven or so.”

“Eleven!” I repeat.

That’s about when I usually go to sleep.

“Ten at the earliest, but expect to help set up. No one really shows up before that to any college party.”

That’s my first cue that this party isn’t going to be like any of those I’ve attended with Noah and his friends. As jocks, his crew and the football players had a lot more parties than the rest of our old high school, and they did get pretty crazy, but they tended to end around one. I don’t think I’ve shown up after eight or stayed until past midnight before. I bite my lip nervously. If it weren’t for Lily, I wouldn’t go at all, but she is eager at the prospect, and I don’t want to disappoint her.

I won’t deny a part of me is curious about a number of things: witnessing how rich college people party, seeing how I’d feel in Lily’s tiny skirt. Plenty of girls my age wear skirts just like this, or even shorter, but not me. Never me. It looks pretty. I feel attractive here, in front of the full-length mirror hung over the wardrobe’s door. But what would it be like out there, with people looking at my bare legs? My stomach flutters each time I think about it, sometimes with dread, other times with excitement. I half expect someone to point to the skirt and declare that I’ve violated some sort of cardinal law by wearing it, and that I’d better change into a knee-length full skirt right this second. Probably my grandma. But she isn’t here.

“I’m not going to stay long,” I warn her.

Lily shrugs. “Me neither, probably. None of my friends will be there except you. We can leave when you wanna leave.”

I nod gratefully, some of my anxiety dissipating.

I really lucked out in the roommate department. Looking around as she’s finishing hanging up her cosplay, it’s evident that Lily’s both tidy and fond of pretty things. Her side of the room has a number of personal touches, like a throw that looks so soft flung over her bed, two colorful pillows nearby.

We order pad thai from a little place she recommends—the best and cheapest food I’ve eaten so far in town—and then, she has to excuse herself to see some of her pals for drinks. She does invite me, but one party is enough socializing for the day, so I decline, making it clear I’d love to another time.

While she’s gone, I try to nap, but I’m too wired, so I just read while listening to music.

As soon as I’m alone, something ugly and shameful crosses my mind. I should text Noah. I should tell him I’m going to a party. I don’t. I should have told him about Darius Keller, too. I certainly didn’t. It doesn’t seem worth it in light of yesterday’s argument.

But the nugget of guilt grows larger as I time passes. Finally, I give in, glancing at my phone.

I haven’t talked to him much since last night, but there are several messages from his end.

Noah: You know I didn’t mean to call you a charity case. It’s odd though. It’s a lot of money.

Noah: I’m sorry.

Noah: The guys are wondering how you’re doing.

Me: Good! I grabbed the books I needed. Eager to start Monday.

Noah: That’s my girl!

Noah: Your grandma says hi!

Noah: Facetime tonight? I miss you.

Noah: ??

I glance at the time. Ten thirty. Lily isn’t back yet, so that’s perfect. I call, with video, and only when the phone has started to ring do I realize that I’m wearing the skirt.

I scramble to climb under my sheets just as the call connects.

“Hey!”

I grin at the screen. Noah’s handsome. Shaggy brown hair, warm honey-gold eyes, he’s well built after four years of varsity sports—perhaps less so right now. He hasn’t played since last semester, and won’t be playing in college.

“Claire Bear. You move to a fancy town and forget all about the rest of us, huh?” He’s grinning, but there’s a bit of accusation both in his tone and the way his eyebrow raises questioningly.

He last texted over two hours ago.

“I was socializing. I ate dinner with my roommate, Lily. She’s super nice.” I start to tell him about her cosplaying, but I haven’t gone far when he interrupts me.

“Listen, I’m out with the guys. We were just about to head home and I’m the DD, you mind if I call you in the morning?”

“Oh, right!” By the looks of the background, he’s in a quiet room—there’s no loud noise, and the wall’s plain, so I didn’t realize he wasn’t home. “I was just returning your text. Catch you later.”

In truth, I’m relieved to keep it short tonight.

The guilt doesn’t shift, because I still haven’t confessed to any of what I’m up to. But to be fair, he didn’t give me a chance to get to it.

Tomorrow, I’ll tell him about the party, I decide. I also consciously make the choice to bypass any mention of Keller. That’s truly not worth it.

Maybe that’s why the guilt doesn’t dissipate—because I’m hiding something. But little white lies don’t hurt anyone. It’s not like I’m cheating.

The problem is, Keller is very, very handsome. No, he’s hot, point-blank. There’s a reason he’s a freaking model, taking after his superstar dad. And acknowledging I find him attractive—more attractive than my boyfriend—makes the guilt about hiding anything associated with him worse.

“I’m back!” Lily sings, opening the door. “The guys are eager to meet a fellow nerd, by the way. I told them all about you. They’re highly impressed at you getting us an invite to the wyverns’ tonight. Get this: apparently, those cards let you into any of their parties, all year. Unless a wyvern revokes your welcome, but that hardly ever happens. Amazing, right?”

“That’s great.”

She’s all excitement. “Of course, I’ll give you back the second invite after tonight, if you want to take someone else next time. They’re yours.”

“Oh, no, don’t sweat it. Please, keep it.”

She’s far more enthused about the whole deal than I am. And I’m all for keeping her on my side.

“You’re too sweet!” She hugs me. “Come on, I’ll do your makeup.”

My eyes widen. “Oh, no need.”

Lily isn’t one of those girls wearing too much makeup. Her skin is fairly clean, with just a discreet blush, eye liner, and some lipstick, as far as I can tell. But her lipstick is bright red, which looks epic with her straight haircut and those large glasses, but it’s far more in-your-face than my go-to pink blush.

“I insist.”

I fidget, but end up letting her do it. There’s a little more powder and cream than I would have guessed, looking at her. While she works, she tells me she’s not touching up my skin much as we have different skin colors. Hers is the warm, Mediterranean tan we see on Italians in the summer, and mine is similar to a Twilight vampire. Or a ghost.

See you later, little ghost.

I feel myself flushing. Quite frankly, men like him shouldn’t be allowed to talk to regular girls. They make us stupid.

“There, how about that?”

She holds a mirror up to my face, and my eyes widen. I don’t think I’ve ever looked or felt this pretty. My lips aren’t the scarlet of hers, but a deep blush, closer to mauve. My lashes are longer than your average horse’s and there’s a certain glow to my skin that looks completely natural. Sadly, my natural state has never been this perfect. I also look like I don’t have a single pore.

“You’re very good at this.” I’m glad she didn’t transform me into someone who doesn’t look like me.

“Thanks! I’ve been cosplaying since I was like, twelve, so I use makeup a lot.”

“No, thank you. You’ll have to teach me how to do that, without foundation.”

“I’ll talk you through it next time. Consider it my first payback for a year’s worth of wyvern parties! Are you ready?”

6

KELLER

In another life, I could have been a wyvern. Out of the seven Rothford houses, that’s the one that fits me the most.

Raventhorn Hall was the first, and only house here. It used to be called the Legacy Lounge, and included a number of second sons and debutantes attending Rothford as a finishing school. It hasn’t changed much: it’s still a bunch of Heritage heirs from big families, and the girls they can screw and manipulate to their heart’s content. In all honesty, their play is a little too extreme and controlling for me. I have certainly had fun with them on occasion, but I find the idea of their constant power exchange exhausting.

When Rothford went from a tiny, exclusive college to the household name it currently is, they built the dorm and all six other houses at the same time, to separate us from the plebes.

The houses are lined up by order of importance, the least prestigious being right at the gate of our private drive, and the most, at the end.

Lion’s Den is the first. Honestly, the four dozen students living there are basically an embarrassment to the Thorn Falls elite. They’re…chill. I can smell the stench of weed as I drive past at any time, any day. They do have the largest house, and throw a mean party. Over the six years I’ve spent in Rothford so far, the four nights I hung out with them are the only four nights I don’t remember. Somehow, I survived their cocktail of booze, drugs, and decadence. Most of them call themselves artists. Don’t ask them what actual art they produce, though, unless you want to engage in conversation about gum sculptures and spit paint.

Next, there’s the Sharks. The jocks. They’re the only ones with an outdoor pool, and that’s all the positive things I can say about them. I genuinely can’t recall a single conversation with one of them that didn’t make me want to gouge my eyes out. No, I don’t need a protein shake recommendation, thank you very much. No, I haven’t watched you last football game. Yes, I actually sat through half of your hockey game, but that’s only because it’s entertaining. Also, you suck.

The Serpent House is the third on our lane, and the first half-decent one. It’s, in a way, the house of aspiration. Some of the members aren’t all that rich, or influential, or with the right last name. But they have the skills and willingness to become someone one day. Wannabe lawyers, business owners, even some of my fellow med students are in that house. But it’s a hungry vibe, meant for go-getters who don’t truly have anything yet.

Then, there’s the Web. In a perfect twist of universal sarcasm, it’s the IT guys, tech geniuses, math freaks, and all that. They’re intelligent enough, I suppose, but I understand about one word out of ten from them; their skills are definitely not social.

The last two houses could have been one, if there wasn’t a risk of us killing each other in our sleep. The wyverns and the vespers.

Those houses are not all that different from the serpents—meant for those willing to rise above all—except, we aren’t aspiring. We have it. The name, the money, the fame. I’d say the main difference between the wyverns and the vespers is that the wyverns are direct, all for a show of force, punching their way through life to get their way—metaphorically speaking, of course. They have people they pay for the actual punches. We vespers are less obvious. Yes, we’ll get our way, and yes, someone might get threatened, or perhaps disappear, but no one would ever suspect us. We’d lead the charge on the search for the body, and cry into our monogram handkerchief at the funeral. Unsurprisingly, almost all our alumni go into politics.

I truly could have been a wyvern. I don’t mind getting my hands dirty if there’s a need. The thing is, I joined Rothford the same year as Markus Goltz, my cousin, and we genuinely would have murdered each other. Aware of that, the legacy council sat us down our freshman year and asked how we’d dispose of each other’s body. I guess my answer earned me a place in the tower. Besides, my other cousin, Sebastian, was a vesper, and likely wouldn’t have survived years under the same roof as Markus.

I’m not complaining about the outcome.

By now I really should leave, get my own place in town. I have my Bachelor of Science, double majoring in biology and biochemistry. I’m on my first year of med school. Most of the other vespers are annoying little undergrads with too much time on their hands, while my course of study is going to be demanding. But staying here is convenient, just five minutes’ drive away from my classes—or a twenty-minute jog if I feel so inclined. There are showers in the Dome, and I keep a change of clothes in the legacy council chambers, so I’ve been known to occasionally do that when my schedule was so packed I couldn’t fit in a proper work out.

Besides, I am the head of Vesper Tower, and as of this term, also the head of legacies. It has a nice ring to it…and a lot of direct acting power attached to the titles. I wouldn’t want to miss out on any of the benefits. Such as getting the wyverns to throw this party. I wouldn’t want to mess my house up right before the start of school. And yes, my cousin almost punched me for it.

The wyverns do tend to have parties every Saturday, but typically, they are close doors, legacy only, and a lot easier to manage. I couldn’t have that today.

Winking at Markus, I move on to another one of my cousins, Sebastian, and his new wife.

“Hestia,” I say, grinning at the beautiful, blue-haired firecracker my cousin met and promptly married.

Like, six months later. He’s ridiculous.

“Hey, Keller!”

“You can’t call me that,” I remind her. “You’re a Keller too.”

She grins as my eyes slide to her husband.

“Bas,” I say, acknowledging him second.

“Darius.” He nods, his gaze challenging, like he’s expecting a trap of some sort.

No one likes when I make a move. No one can tell who my prey is until I let them know.

“So, an open party, huh? That’s not like you.”

I roll my eyes. “I love parties.”

“But you don’t tend to throw them. What are you up to?”

“I’m not throwing this one,” I tell him.

My cousin only shakes his head. “Whatever you’re up to, keep us out of it, yeah?”

“Cross my heart,” I promise readily.

I don’t drink much as a general rule, but tonight, I barely touch my glass, nursing my beer for a full hour, letting it go warm.

And then she gets here.

Fuck.

I down the rest of my drink in one go, and turn my back on the front of the house to gather my thoughts.

I…did not expect that, somehow. I mean, I should have. It’s a party, so naturally she dressed up. But from the pictures in her background check, and how she was dressed the two times I saw her, I figured her idea of dressing up was a knee-length Sunday dress. Instead, she’s wearing a tiny little shiny black pleated skirt that shows off her amazing, long, toned legs, and a shirt that while outwardly appropriate—a button-down with sleeves—is also incredibly suggestive. The outer layer is transparent. There’s a top underneath, but it’s still taunting.

I didn’t count on her making me want to grab her and pin her to the closest surface like a savage in two seconds, dammit. Tonight is supposed to be subtle. The girl is taken. She messages her boyfriend daily, FaceTimes him a few times a week. Of course, she doesn’t realize he’s been screwing a cheerleader on the side since sophomore year of high school—a girl his family wouldn’t approve of, and who’s not really interested in him other than the occasional lay, in any case. He started college two weeks back and already has three girls calling him “baby” in his inbox. But as far as Claire’s concerned, she has a boyfriend she’s committed to.

Tonight, the plan is moving one pawn up the board, not shooting for the damn queen right away.

I surprise myself when I realize I was this patient and strategic with someone I’d just met. It shouldn’t matter if I fuck it up. I should just shoot my shot, then move on, whether she says yes or no. I don’t quite get why I’m so very taken with her. Maybe it’s how she handled Octavia. Maybe it’s just that she’s exactly my type: formal, uptight, so damn pure. There’s something fascinating about immaculate, pristine wholesomeness. Makes one want to get it dirty.

Still, I didn’t expect her to make me half hard in three seconds.

I don’t immediately approach her, watching from a distance. She’s greeted curiously, cautiously. Everyone knows security checks unfamiliar faces at the door if they’re not accompanied by legacies. It’s impossible to fake our invites; they include a hidden code our guys scan for. So no one wonders if she belongs here, but they’re curious about who brought her in.

I should say them. My gaze only follows her while I get another drink and circle the room, pretending to chat with a few acquaintances, but eventually I make myself notice the other chick. She’s pretty enough, I suppose.

All right, no, that’s unfair. Claire’s friend is hot, too. Nice butt, in tight jeans, an inch of skin displayed under the hem of a lovely blouse with a healthy cleavage, she’s a looker. I would likely consider her entirely fuckable any other day. Her bangs and long black hair, plus huge glasses, also give her a bit of a prudish vibe. She’s playing the sexy librarian, and it works for her. But instead, I only watch Claire.

Holy fuck, what’s wrong with me?

7

CLAIRE

I try not to gawk stupidly at everything, but gosh, it’s hard. This place is insane. It looks like the kind of club I see in TV shows; too posh and luxurious to really exist. The furnishings are all warm, dark leather—the kind that looks like it’ll be the same in fifty years.

In high school, I used to know a girl whose dad was making a fair bit of money in estate planning. She always had the latest of everything, followed the last fashions. A few years back, she invited Noah and me to her birthday party. We’d never been close, as she was part of the popular crew—a cheerleader—but Noah wanted to go, so we did.

Her house was the very opposite of this. I could tell every piece of furniture was chosen because it was expensive, or well known, or fashionable, but the overall vibe was cold, impersonal, uncomfortable.

This house is…cozy’s the wrong word, but I can imagine people just lying back on those sofas and reading a book. I bet they’re comfortable. There are too many students here tonight, so most of us are standing, but I’m curious to try my theory someday.

This isn’t the obvious, in your face, I-make-six-figures-a-year that I’ve encountered in the past. This place whispers wealth. Every piece goes together. I get the feeling most of the interior has been there for decades, and yet, it still looks pristine. All because the right thing was purchased from the start.

The art on the walls is another indication that I’m most definitely no longer in Kansas, Toto. The brushstrokes and the colors make it clear they’re all genuine, and every piece is stunning. But also interesting. I find myself looking at a red and gold abstract on white canvas that seems to speak of violence, pain, and beauty all at once.

“That’s Markus’s,” someone says.

I steel myself, recognizing the deep, slow, low timbre, which makes no sense as we’ve spoken literally twice.

Plastering a smile on my face, I turn to face Darius Keller. “Oh?”

He gives me that smile again. The one that doesn’t reach his intense, probing blue eyes. “Yeah. If a piece looks like it could be about murder, it’s definitely Markus painting it. I wouldn’t touch it if I were you. I think he mixes blood in his paint.”

My eyes widen. “You’re kidding.”

That strange smile morphs into real amusement. “Clearly, you haven’t heard about my cousin Markus yet if you think that.”

“He’s very talented. Is his last name Keller too? I definitely want to follow him.”

Somehow, Keller finds that less amusing. “It’s Goltz, actually. He’s my aunt’s son. But you won’t find any of his art on the internet. He doesn’t display.”

“Shame. This is really good,” I praise.

Keller shrugs. “It’ll be gone next week. He replaces them when the mood strikes, and chucks the old ones out.”

Now, I gape wordlessly. That’s just…such a waste, in every possible sense.

The paint alone must cost a fortune, and the canvas too. But all materials aside, he’s good. People would buy his art. Hell, I would buy his art, if I could afford it.

“Don’t let him throw this one away, please. If he’s really just sending them to the trash, do you think I could have it?”

Keller raises an eyebrow. “Really? It feels a little violent for you.”

Somehow, I know what he means. I look sweet. I am sweet. “This piece doesn’t feel like me,” I admit, “but we don’t have to relate so something to love it.”

“Oh, hell no. That’s way too deep for Saturday night. You, my friend, need a drink. What’s your poison?”

I flush, embarrassed by the fact that I don’t actually have an answer. “I don’t know, I don’t drink much. Something sweet?”

“You’re in luck today. We have a bartender in the lounge. I’ll go get you something. How about you?” he says.

I suddenly remember I’m not alone. Lily has remained silent and out of sight, standing patiently next to me. I’m the one who stopped noticing her, first fascinated by the painting, and next, by him.

“Something sweet sounds great, thanks.” She offers her hand. “Lily.”

“I’ve seen you around a couple of times,” he tells her, shaking the offered hand for less than a second. “Be right back, ladies.”

Lily’s staring at me with a funny look in her eyes. I pretend to ignore her, but she doesn’t look away, so I have to cave. “What?”

“You have a thing for him.”

“Please.” I huff in annoyance. “I have a boyfriend.”

“Uh-huh. And I was literally standing there, waiting for you to introduce me, but you were too busy staring into the depths of his eyes like nothing else existed.”

Like an extremely mature eighteen-year-old grown-ass woman, I stick my tongue out at her.

She chuckles. “I don’t blame you. Man, he’s pretty. Everything and everyone here is pretty.”

I see exactly what she means. There’s literally not one unattractive person in the room. It’s eerie. There are people of varying size, shape, nationality, and gender, but what everyone seems to have in common is looking like they came out of a Vogue photoshoot.

“Then we must be pretty too, or they would have kicked us out,” Lily declares.

I grin.

Once I start paying attention to the people more than the art and interior design, I feel some probing stares, like they can’t really place me, but no one seems hostile. That doesn’t stop me from feeling like I’m an imposter, in the wrong clothes, in the wrong house. I don’t belong here.

“As I live and breathe. Lily Trueman, here on my street.” A tall guy with an incredible physique his vest does nothing to hide approaches my roommate, smirking.

I see her stiffen, which is a little out of character, given nothing really seems to get to her.

“Cross,” she sneers, with a glare I wouldn’t have thought her capable of.

He only grins wider. “Want to introduce me to your pretty friend?”

“Not particularly.”

Ignoring her, Cross offers me his hand. “Hector Cross. You’ll have to give me your name or I’ll call you Barbie.”

“What is it with old, unusual names in this town?” I wonder. “And I’m Claire. Definitely not Barbie.”

So far, I’ve heard Aurelius, Darius, Markus, Magnus, and now, Hector.

“Well, Claire, you can blame the name on those guys.” He waves in the general direction of a group assembled on one of the comfortable-looking dark green sofas.

Unless I’m mistaken, the Markus, Marius, and Aurelius are amongst them.

“The Kellers’ grandfather was a palaeophile, way into lost civilizations, dead languages, that type of stuff. He called his kids Arlo, Augustus, and Marcella. They, themselves, chose Grecian names for their kids after that. The daughter married Eriks Goltz, the most loaded man in town. He sets trends. So, my sheep of a mother decided to hop on the trend. I just go by Cross.”

“Hector suits you,” I say, because, well, the golden tan, the pile of defined muscles, dark hair, and ever-changing amber-hazel eyes definitely give the impression of strength.

“Please don’t encourage him. His head is plenty big enough,” Lily begs me.

I’m definitely trampling over some history, and I certainly don’t want my new friend to be mad at me, so I take my cue, hooking my arm around her elbow. “We need to find Keller; he has our drinks.”

Cross’s smirk morphs into a full-on smile. “Oh, I got it. No need to hold up a sign screaming I’m spoken for. No one’s going to encroach on Keller’s territory. I just wanted to see my favorite little cosplayer squirm.”

I can’t decide what, amongst everything he just said, shocks me the most. “I’m not—” I was going to say I’m not spoken for, but that’s not right; I am. Just not by Keller. The fact that he assumed so makes me squirm much more than Lily. “We’re not…” I try again.

Lily saves me. “Come on, Claire. He’s not worth the bother, trust me.”

As we walk away, in the direction Keller took to get us those sweet drinks he promised, I whisper, “What was that all about?”

Lily rolls his eyes. “He’s a player on the college hockey team. Which is terrible, by the way. What are they thinking, playing hockey in California? They don’t even have snow half the time. Anyway, it’s like him and the rest of his hockey friends haven’t left high school. They just love picking on my friends and me for being…” She shrugs. “Us. I don’t mind too much, but they’re just horrible to Liv. You’ll meet her eventually; she’s painfully shy.”

“Ugh, I know the type.” I glance back at the guy who’s watching us walk away. “I didn’t get a bully vibe from him, though.”

“I suppose he’s not the worst of them,” she admits reluctantly. “But he doesn’t stop anyone, and he could.”

I’m silent for a while. I never really thought to blame someone for their inaction, as such. This makes me scrunch up my nose. Back home, some of Noah’s friends were pretty terrible to anyone they didn’t consider consequential. It was awful to watch, and I was pretty certain the only reason I was left alone was because I was with Noah. But Noah has never actually said anything to stop any of them. When I think about it, it’s pretty messed up. At the time, I was just glad the bile wasn’t thrown at me, so I just kept my head down and didn’t think much about it.

We enter a second lounge, with bookshelves filled with both academic texts and fiction; anything from graphic novels to classics, and fantasy titles. I would have expected gaming consoles and DVDs from a college house, but instead, this study-slash-lounge-slash-bar has a reading nook. The seat’s taken, but I can imagine myself claiming one of those deep armchairs and tuning out the world, a good book in hand.

“They don’t even have a TV,” I muse.

“There’s a home theater on the first floor, actually.” I was too focused on the room and missed Keller’s approach until he was right in front of us, two drinks in hand. “Ladies. I asked for something sweet, and Luke made you what he calls a porn star martini.”

I’m blushing like an idiot. Porn is another word that shouldn’t cross Keller’s lips in public.

“Oh, I know that one!” Lily says, taking her glass eagerly. “Thanks.”

The drink is orange with half an inch of foam on top. I take a tentative sip, and my eyes widen. “Oh, yum.”

“Yeah? I’m a little curious, after seeing him make it.”

“Oh, you should try!” Without thinking, I offer him my glass.

It only occurs to me that it’s an oddly intimate thing, sharing a single glass, when he’s dipping his lip in the foam. “Fuck, that’s good.”

Add fuck to the list.

He gives me back my drink. “I think I’ll order one of those.”

“Most guys wouldn’t want to walk around with a girly cocktail in hand.”

“Most guys have something to prove,” he replies, shrugging.

The implication he doesn’t is something I refuse to dwell on.

“Be careful with that; I think he put more vodka and liqueur than anything else.”

“Really?” Lily pouts. “But it tastes so good! I can’t even tell there’s any alcohol.”

“Trust me, there is. I’d better go bug Luke again.”

With his warning in mind, I make myself sip my drink slowly.

“Oh, we’ll tag along,” Lily offers.

My guess is, she’d do just about anything to avoid another chat with Cross.

“It’s pretty crazy that you guys hired a bartender for a college party. What’s wrong with punch and beer kegs?”

“Nothing, but the ladies like cocktails.” He shrugs. “Luke’s a student, anyway. We have a fair few helpers from the main dorms. They do odd jobs for the houses, and we pay into a pot to cover their dorm fees. Everyone wins.”

Luke was awfully busy, with a dozen people waiting around his marble bar for their orders, but when he spots Keller, he immediately asks, “What do you need?”

Keller points to the two of us, standing on either side of him, with each of his thumbs. “The girls are already halfway done with their cocktails; and I wouldn’t mind one myself. You can make it all in one shaker, right? It’ll be easier to do all three at once.”

“You got it, let me just finish the couple of kir royales.”

I watch him serve the mix of crème de cassis and Champagne, pouring Moët and Chandon from a magnum bottle. “I’ve never had champagne,” I say idly.

“Luke, we have an emergency over here,” Keller calls. “This philistine needs Champagne, stat.”

“Damn, never?” From Luke’s wide eyes, that’s a sin. “You can’t have a kir for your first time. It’s lovely, but you need to try it neat.”

“Well, I’ve had cava, and prosecco.”

Luke looks like he could cry. “You’re breaking my heart, girl.”

He grabs a crystal flute with a delicate design from under the bar and fills it before sliding the drink to me. I set down my half-finished martini to try it.

It occurs to me he gave the girls their drinks in plain glasses.

“Hey, I’ve had Champagne, but not from a fancy expensive brand. I’ve seen this one around, it’s like, twice the price of the one my mom gets. Can I have some, too?”

Lily is also given a pretty glass.

“It’s the best the wyverns keep on hand, chilled,” Keller says. “They have a few nicer bottles in the cellar, but nothing like what we keep in the vesper tower. If you like it, we’ll have to expand your palate someday.”

I dip my lips into my drink. “Oh, fuck.”

“A four-letter word, huh?” Keller smirks. “Somehow, I actually didn’t think you were that kind of girl.”

I pout. “I’m not a prude.”

Except I kind of am. But not out of choice; I’ve just been raised in a way that doesn’t allow for most kids’ usual activities—booze, parties, that kind of thing. My grandmother was very against it. She constantly compared me to my mother, assuring me that I’d end up like her if I didn’t do what I was supposed to do.

Which is stupid. My mother is doing fine for herself.

Sure, she had a kid early, and let her own mother raise the kid, but she has a good job, friends, a social circle. A lot of things I missed out on myself. Like freedom.

That was one of the reasons I applied to so many out-of-state schools. Get to really see the world, out of my grandmother’s judgmental gaze. And here I am, drinking expensive Champagne from a fancy flute.

“I don’t want to ever drink anything else,” I gush.

“Not even your cocktail?” Keller teases.

I amend my statement to, “I only want to drink what Luke serves.”

“Luke better serve some water eventually, then,” Lily teases me.

Watching Luke work on our cocktail is fascinating. It’s so good, I make myself observe him to remember how to make it. But after one porn star martini and half a flute of Champagne, I’m already a little tipsy. I really have to slow down.

“So, Keller,” Lily says. “How come you get priority over everyone waiting around? No one really seems to mind.”

“Seniority,” he replies with a shrug. “And hierarchy, as a general rule. If my cousins were waiting, they would have been served first.”

“I see.” Lily nods, like what he’s saying is no big deal. “I’ve noticed some of the pecking order amongst you guys from the sidelines. Who’s above you in Rothford, would you say?”

He tilts his head. “My cousins, for sure. Magnus, Marius, and Markus. The first two have seniority and a much bigger wallet, along with the kind of name that makes people notice. Markus is younger than me, but we’re both on our first post-grad year. The little shit’s a genius. He’d still have priority here, as this is his house. Next door, we’re around the same level.”

“And?” Lily prompts.

He shoots her a wolfish grin. “And no one.”

“Not even the other Kellers? Voss, Cross, Rothford, Hunt, Archer…” she lists.

The only name that stands out to me is Rothford, the name of the school. And I guess Cross, as I just met him.

“Voss is new money. A lot of money, but new all the same, especially in this town. His dad’s a Hunt, but the least consequential of them. Everyone knows Lewis is a cunt. The Rothfords lost all their money and some of their status. Vi’s fine, but she gets more clout from being married to Voss than her own name. Archer and Hunt? They would be way, way above me; same level as the Goltzes, really, if they were studying here. But they’re at Stanford and Harvard, so, yep. Just my cousins. As for the other Kellers…” He winks. “Well, there’s a reason I’m the one they call Keller.”

Somehow, he doesn’t sound boastful. It almost feels like he’s limiting the extent of his reach and status. He didn’t hesitate to say both Hunt and Archer—whoever they are—were above him in status, and didn’t expound on why he’s the Keller, for example, although my internet search gives me a hint. After all, the whole family is loaded, but from what I understand, it’s Arlo, his dad, and his modelling career that launched them all. He’s even the reason why Marcella Keller met Eriks Goltz in the first place.

When I snooped on the Kellers, the internet was all about Arlo, Darius, and—somewhat strangely—Octavia. Maybe because they’re all models.

“Makes sense,” Lily says. “Well, if that gets us drinks faster, you’re a good friend to have.”

“Friends,” he muses. “I like that. I don’t have many of those. Yes, let’s be friends, Lily Trueman.”

“Really?” Lily chuckles. “What would you call the dozens of people always around you.”

“Acquaintances.”

“What’s the difference?” I ask.

I feel a bit left out of the conversation, mostly because I was just watching and finishing my Champagne flute. I place it back on the bar and start on the cocktail.

“Friends do things for each other. There’s a degree of loyalty with that sort of relationship. With acquaintances, it’s all about give and take. I can’t take much from you,” he tells Lily. “So, we’ll have to be friends instead.”

“How about me?” I question.

He was looking specifically at Lily, and excluding me. Not anymore.

My heart skips a beat in the seconds when he turns those blue eyes back to mine, assessing and probing. “I haven’t quite decided, little ghost.”

He says it like he’s kidding, but those eyes? There’s no humor in them. Just cold, unadulterated focus.

He smiles. Lily laughs.

I take a big sip of my cocktail and look away.

I don’t like this. It’s not right. We’re flirting. I shouldn’t flirt with a guy I met two days ago. I have a boyfriend. I certainly shouldn’t feel my core tighten and heat from a single, intense glance.

I really shouldn’t have come here.

8

CLAIRE

No sooner do I finish my second cocktail than a third comes across the bar. I’m feeling a little too light and amused and unbothered about, well, anything, so I take it, with a chuckle. “I’m going to regret this tomorrow, aren’t I?”

“Hangovers are mostly due to dehydration. The secret is to drink as many glasses of water as alcohol. You need four, so far.”

“I suppose you are a future doctor,” says Lily.

“I mostly know because of being a former teenager, but sure.”

Lily’s about to respond when the guy she’d done her best to escapes calls her surname from the room entrance. He’s surrounded by a bunch of beefy, looming guys like him, some in letter jackets, others in casual shirts. “Yo, Trueman, is that really you?”

“Damn, who knew you hid those tits under your clothes…do you take nudes, too?”

Lily rushes toward them, shouting about privacy and assholes and bullies. I follow after her at first, but Keller holds me back, hand clamped on my wrist. “Leave her to it. She enjoys it.”

I frown at him. “She doesn’t seem to be enjoying herself.”

"Doesn’t she?” he smirks. “It’s basically that pair’s idea of foreplay. If they aren’t fucking yet, they will soon.”

I redirect my gaze toward these two, trying to see Keller’s point of view.

Lily is acting…weird, from what I’ve seen of her so far. She is remarkably chill, fun, easygoing with everyone else, but with that Cross, she’s high-strung, stressed, angry, and…

Oh. She’s blushing. He’s smiling at her.

“Oh,” I say out loud, stunned I didn’t catch that vibe myself.

“Yes. Better leave them to it. Besides, I wanted to talk to you.”

I wet my lips, feeling oh so awkward. “What about?”

My brain, slower than usual, only now seems to register the fact that we’re alone, at a corner of the bar. Though there are several students converging around Luke, they leave plenty of room, reluctant to crowd Keller.

I really should have followed Lily.

“Several things.”

That smile again. The one that never reaches his eyes and makes my entire body tense.

“For starters, my sister, Lisa, wondered if you’d consider babysitting Octavia occasionally. My niece really took a shine to you.”

“Oh!” I’m thoroughly taken aback. “Sure. I mean, so long as it doesn’t interfere with my classes; I won’t really know until Monday, but I’d love to. I used to babysit growing up. I have references.”

“Lisa will be delighted to hear that,” Keller assures me.

My unease has disappeared. Of course he wants me to babysit. He wouldn’t think of me that way. Guys like Keller are into glamorous, famous, rich top models.

“And secondly, I’d very much like to kiss you.”

I blink. I heard him wrong. I must have. “Sorry, what?”

He doesn’t repeat himself, those blue eyes glistening now.

“I have a boyfriend,” I remind him. 

“Mm. So I heard. But you look positively delicious tonight, and he isn’t here. Someone ought to appreciate it.”

“A girl has the right to look nice without being objectified.” I bristle. “I’m sorry, but I’d never cheat on my boyfriend.”

And I am. Sorry, that is. Because I like chatting with him, and I’d hate for him to ignore me. I don’t really know anyone else in town, except my roommate.

He laughs a little. “Care to make a wager? You're going to kiss me of your own volition in the next five minutes. If you don't, I'll leave you alone. If you do, you have to give me your number.”

“That's…” I try to find the right word, my tipsy mind not coming up with anything strong enough at first. “Absurd.”

“So you take the wager?”

He’s fucking cocky about it, like he knows he’ll win.

I wave him off carelessly. “Sure, whatever.”

Keller leans in. “Kiss me, and I'll pay for your grandma's knee replacement. The whole thing, including her recovery. She'll be told it's covered by an anonymous donor.”

My mouth falls open in actual shock. I don’t think I understand what’s going on at first, each awful seconds making the entire situation clearer.

I never told anyone here about my grandma’s knees. How does he know she needs a replacement? Or that we can’t afford it? How, how, how…

I make myself spell it out.

“How did you learn she needs surgery?” I ask, my voice low.

There’s only one answer. He doesn’t bother to voice it.

“You have ten seconds to decide.”

He’s been looking into me. Intrusively. Learning intimate details he should absolutely not have access to.

This isn’t…normal. Or good. Or safe.

“Seven.”

“Keller,” I say, forcing myself to talk and think clearly.

He doesn’t so much as blink. “Six.”

“That's insane. You can't just—” I start.

Her entire surgery. Paid for. She’s needed it for over a year. The risks. The pain.

I know my grandmother would hate this bargain.

But it doesn’t matter.

“Four.”

Keller can afford that sort of expense, and then some. It won’t even be a blip in his fortune. And it would be such a comfort for the woman who selflessly raised me. I’d hate myself if I let this opportunity slip.

If I kiss him and he goes back on his word, I can hate him with all my heart body and soul. And if I kiss him and he does what he promises, I can hate him anyway for making me do it…although, the relief it would bring us would make it hard. At the very least, I’d be able to keep my distance, stay away from him.

“Two.”

I never had any choice. And it’s just a little kiss. It doesn’t have to mean anything.

I cross the space between us, lifting myself onto my toes to reach his mouth.

9

KELLER

Holy fuck.

I expected, I don’t know, a peck. More protests and reluctance, and oh, but my poor boyfriend who lives two thousand miles away and is likely balls-deep in some slut right now, whatever would he think, or something. But it seems all she needed was an excuse.

Claire wraps her tiny arms around my neck and kisses me like she’s dying for air and I am the only source of oxygen in the room. Fuck, I don’t think I’ve ever bothered to kiss anyone like that. Like I needed it. My arms move around her waist on instinct, pulling her to me. And fuck, she feels so right against me. Like she belongs right there.

I don’t even register when I decide to lift her to the bar and settle myself between her thighs as I explore every inch of her lips, her mouth, and neck, my hands on either side of her, caging her in.

You’re going nowhere, my little prey.

She sucks in her breath when I find a spot right between her neck and shoulder that makes her body tighten, those legs squeezing me a little, and it’s all I can do not to open my zipper and take her right there. No one would bat an eyelash. Tonight’s a public party, so our club events are strictly confined to the second floor and above, but the crowd is still mostly composed of either Heritage members, House occupants, or those we keep around. They’ve all seen far worse. The only thing stopping me is the fact that I don’t want it quick and dirty. Not with her. I want to take my time. I want all of her, for hours, until I’m so painfully intimate with every inch of her skin I grow bored of it. That’s the only way I’ll be rid of her: if I indulge until I’m sated.

I make myself step back, grinning down at her dazed expression. The girl’s a lightweight. Another reason not to push it tonight. “See?” I tell her, thoroughly entertained. “It's easy to make people do what you want. All you need is to know what makes them tick.”

That gets her attention. “How did you find out about my grandmother?” she asks again.

She doesn’t sound pissed off, shocked, or fearful, like she should. Just curious.

“There are only two Claires new in town. It wasn't hard to figure out.” I shrug indifferently. “What? Are we going to pretend you didn't research my name?”

She glances down, biting her lip guiltily.

Don’t do that, little ghost. Let me do it for you.

Claire isn’t tipsy enough to completely miss her wit. “Details about her, about her need for a knee replacement? That’s not on the internet when you type my name in a search bar.”

“So, you did research my name,” I glean. “Find out anything interesting?”

The little firecracker narrows her eyes at me. “Why should I answer any of your questions when you don’t answer mine?”

She’s really going to push this, isn’t she? “You have your trusty friend, Google. I have a full team of PIs on retainer. Nothing personal,” I add. “My father and I check most people who walk into our lives. And especially when they come into contact with Octavia.”

That makes what I did sound positively reasonable. Selfless, even. Somehow, I don’t like misrepresenting myself as the caring, overprotective uncle here.

“You were just so cute, I had to see if you were worth getting to know. Now, I believe you owe me your number.”

“Don't you already have it?” Claire challenges, attempting to conceal a touch of amusement behind a frown.

“Perhaps,” I admit. “But a gentleman still asks.”

“Are you?” One of her eyebrows lifts a little. “A gentleman.”

She truly has me pegged, doesn’t she? Then again, I didn’t mask who I really am around her. I could have. I could have played the wolf in the sheep’s clothing; but that’s frankly exhausting. Besides, I get the feeling she doesn’t mind. The three cocktails aside, she did not react like someone freaked out by casual stalking. She can take a few nips.

“I can wear a lot of masks. But if asking isn't getting me what I need, I'm fine with taking.” I lower my mouth back to hers, smiling against her lips to illustrate my point.

“I have a boyfriend,” she repeats.

Right. That guy. “Oh, my little ghost. You and I both know that if that was relevant, you wouldn't be here.”

She straightens up, offended. “You made me kiss you. And you owe my grandma an awful lot of anonymous money after that.”

Isn’t she adorable? We’re both aware I didn’t make her kiss me like that. Instead of pointing that fact out, I say, “I mean, you’re here in the first place. And in a teeny, tiny little skirt, so I can do this…”

My fingers slide from the counter to her knees, and run up along her thighs. They press together when I reach the apex, but I’m already there. All she does is trap me.

“I didn’t…I’m not⁠—”

I curve my finger.

“Oh! You can’t!” Claire swallows hard. “You can’t just do…”

My thumb is running circles around her clit while I insert another finger to play with the vise that is her cunt, robbing her of any protest.

“I really do love your skirt, little ghost. Admit it. You wore it for me. You wanted to look gorgeous, and sexy, and irresistible for me tonight.”

“Please!” she pleads, leaning into my touch, practically bent in two.

“I know what you need. And I’ll give it to you,” I assure her, my fingers moving faster, sliding in and out of her as she tightens. “It’s my prerogative and my privilege. But first, you’re going to tell me you came here to see me.”

“I…” she starts, her hands moving to my wrists, clamping around them. I don’t know if she’s trying to keep me there or move me. “Please, Keller. I’ve never done this. I can’t⁠—”

“What, come on someone’s fingers?” I guess.

She just shakes her head, hands squeezing even more. Christ, I can feel her nails digging into my skin.

“Come at all?” I throw out.

Her sudden flush is telling.

“Damn, do yourself a favor and dump the moron. You deserve a man who makes you come every day, sweetheart.”

Me. I could do that. I want to do that.

The thought comes unbidden. It’s a first. Shit, I need to fuck her already. Rid myself of this fascination.

“You still haven’t said anything. Tell me, or I stop,” I warn, hearing little delicious moans escape her, while her breathing gets ragged.

She’s so very close.

“I…”

The damn vixen licks her lips.

Oh, I will enjoy that mouth.

“You seemed nice,” she tells me, almost pleadingly. “I thought we could be…friends.”

I see the truth in her gaze, too. She genuinely believed I was a good guy, asking her to some party so we could be besties. Jesus, how did she remain this naive? What I’ve seen about her made it clear she’s sheltered, but that’s another level.

“We can be very good friends,” I assure her. “The best kind.”

That wrangles a sob from her lips, and then she’s screaming as she loses it, drenching my entire hand.

“That’s it, little ghost. You’re such a good girl to come for me like that.” I bring my hand to my lips, tasting her. “So very sweet. You wanna try?”

She just stares at me open-mouthed, so I take it as an invitation, sliding two fingers right to her tongue.

Claire shakes her head, jumping off the bar. “Oh my god, oh my god, I can’t believe we just did that!” she practically screams. “I can’t believe you did that to me! In public! And oh my god, Noah! I have a boyfriend, you idiot!”

I laugh while I watch her lose it. In truth, I’m pretty sure no one looked at us twice; we were pretty discreet, and for those thus inclined, there are far more interesting things happening upstairs. But now her little scene is drawing plenty of eyes.

“You weren’t thinking about Noah when you came for me,” I remind her. “In fact, I think you said Noah never made you come.”

“I’m not a cheat!” she screeches. “I’m not the kind of person who goes behind their boyfriend’s back! You had no right!”

That makes one of you, I want to tell her. But at the same time, it’s not my place to make her see what anyone with eyes can guess.

She doesn’t want her high school sweetheart, and he doesn’t want her either. He prefers sluts who give it up easily. As for her, I’m not quite sure what she wants yet. I am only certain that if it was him, she wouldn’t have moved to the other side of the country.

“You would have been a bit more convincing if you’d said all that before the orgasm,” I tell her with a shrug.

She groans, glaring at me. “I’m not playing this game. Leave me alone.”

Then she hurries her little ass away, and I let her walk. The sway of her hips as she rushes out is enough of a reward. Besides, I’ve had a taste. It’ll do for tonight.

10

CLAIRE

I can’t believe it! How could he just…and how could I? Why didn’t I stop him from—ugh!

I groan, stomping my foot as I head out of the bar slash library and into the sitting room. It’s a lot busier than it was when I first arrived. Lily was right about the starting time, it seems.

Oh, gosh, Lily. I can’t leave without her. We came together. I might not know much about parties, but even I understand that. Girls don’t dump each other in the middle of a party. I mean, technically she left first. But I’m sure she would have been back.

God, what if she did come back and saw me…doing that. Letting him touch me, like some tramp?

But no, I see her around Cross and his friends, looking like she’s seconds away from snapping.

“You can’t just remove my clothes with some dumb program and post that!” Her voice is so loud, not even the music playing around the room drowns it out. “I could sue you!”

“You can’t afford to, darling,” I hear Cross retort, as I wade through the throng of bodies jumping, twisting, circling to the sound of a deep beat.

On instinct, I grab my phone and start recording them.

“Plus, my lawyers can take you. And let’s face it. It wouldn’t stop the world from seeing the picture.”

Is every guy in this place a huge dick?

On instinct, I grab my phone and start recording them.

“You’re vile!” she screams in his face.

“Yeah, yeah. But you can kiss me or become the newest porn star in Thorn Falls. Up to you.”

Yep. They’re all cut from the same cloth.

I don’t feel even a little bit sorry as I turn my screen so it faces him. “You sure about that? Because even a shitty lawyer can nail your ass after a recorded confession, not to mention some blackmail on top.”

Lily turns to me, gaping in shock.

“Oh, isn’t this interesting?” Cross says, his voice turning so light and sweet. “We have ourselves a little snitch in the house.”

“She didn’t mean it,” Lily promises. “Claire, please delete that. It’s a private house; you can’t film people.”

Oh. I’m shocked, and feel beyond foolish at her reply. I thought she’d be pleased I helped.

“Maybe he should delete that fake picture first,” I grit between my teeth.

“No. I’ll kiss you later,” Lily tells Cross, making it sound like a threat. “Just taking my roommate home. She’s tipsy. The video will be deleted. Don’t make a fuss, understood?”

Cross’s eyes slowly leave mine to settle on Lily. “Get her under control or I will.”

My roommate nods. I’m thoroughly confused as she grabs my hand and practically drag me out of the house, as fast as she can.

We’ve not even across the threshold when she turns to face me. “You can’t threaten those people. Don’t even try. Oh my god, Claire, this could have ended badly for you.” She shakes her head, looking at me like I’ve grown a second head. “They’re all powerful here. Not only in the school; in this town. They can literally make you disappear if they want to. Don’t piss anyone off in Thorn Falls. Especially not those who live in these houses.”

“He was going to make you kiss him,” I protest somewhat weakly.

Maybe I was projecting my issues of tonight on her a little, but surely I wasn’t wrong to make him back off?

She sighs deeply. “It’s…a game, all right? And I don’t mind any of it. Come on. I’ll take you home. Damn, you’re lucky Keller likes you,” she mutters as we walk. “I thought Cross would eat you alive on the spot. He likely would have, if he wasn’t reluctant to step on someone else’s territory.”

“I’m not Keller’s territory,” I bite out.

“Right. Just like I’d say I’m not Cross’s if anyone asked. I don’t belong to anyone. But as far as they are concerned, they’ve decided to play with us,” she explains slowly, like she would talk to a child. “And they respect that. None of the other people in those houses will really fuck with you since Keller registered an interest. It’s, like, common courtesy for them. And trust me, it comes in handy. Come on, let’s walk a little faster.”

She is eager to get me away from the house and back to the dorm. A few times, I see her turn, checking if we’re being followed, I think. Finding her entire behavior both worrying and irritating, I redirect my attention to our surroundings.

The long road between the dorm and the private houses of the rich legacy students is paved in smooth gray stone, a sidewalk on both sides of it, wide enough for three or four people to walk side by side. Each house is surrounded by gates, all electric, and I also spot security personnel walking around the buildings. Handsome, well-groomed trees have been planted both behind the houses and in front of them. It occurs to me they obscure the view from the street level to the houses. Most of the windows are tinted; despite seeing lights inside, I can’t really spot anything, not even a shadow from any windows. These places are completely private. It’s a bit of overkill for glorified frat houses.

While the view from the outside is completely blocked by those trees, hedges, and higher, stronger gates, from the private drive, I can see a little. Things like the shape of the buildings; each one seems to have made a point of picking a different style of architecture, colors, vibes, to differentiate themselves from the others.

I’m glancing across the road when something I see that makes me frown. I’m not sure why at first. A girl’s jumping into what seems to be a full-size Olympic pool outdoors. It’s lit up, both in and out, in front of a gorgeous three-story white Regency manor house—one of the most imposing on the drive. They are bigger towards the entrance of the drive.

At first, I can’t tell what’s wrong. It’s just a girl jumping in the pool. Maybe it’s all the drinks I’ve consumed, but it takes me a while to decide why it seems odd.

She’s completely dressed. Why would she jump in with all her clothes? Even her shoes, I think. It’s hard to tell in the distance.

In the time it takes me to ask myself that question, another odd fact hits me.

She’s not surfacing.

Oh my god, she’s not surfacing. I can see the entire pool, and as I scan it more and more frantically as seconds pass, I realize that she’s not coming up.

“Hey, Lily? How long can someone hold their breath underwater?”

“What?” My roommate looks at me like I lost my mind.

“A few seconds, right? Thirty or so.”

“I mean, that depends on the person. A minute max, for a normal person. But people who train for it can hold it much longer. Why do you ask?”

It’s been a lot longer than a minute since I watched her go down. “A girl jumped in that pool,” I say urgently, pointing to the house. “A while ago. She was all dressed. I didn’t see her come up. Oh my god, what if⁠—”

Lily’s already dashing across the road. Though she made it clear she doesn’t usually party this side of the drive, she doesn’t hesitate at the gate, punching in a code. Moments later, we’re inside.

Immediately, I spot her, all the way at the bottom of the pool.

“Oh my god,” I gasp, thunderstruck and horrified.

She’s not moving. Fuck. I should have told Lily sooner. Why was I so slow? I am never drinking again.

Lily’s already tossed aside her jacket and bag, and dives in without hesitating, swimming underwater at the sort of speed I don’t usually see from anyone outside of watching the Olympics. In no time, she’s dragging the girl to the closest side. I run, making it at the same time they do.

I kneel to reach them, and take the girl’s arms, pulling her out of the water with all my strength.

“She’s not breathing,” Lily whispers, eyes fixed on the dark beauty.

She’s only wearing a slim dress, now soaked through, so it’s easy to see that her chest is completely still.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

My body on autopilot, I check her pulse, then move my hands to her chest, pushing it, until it’s time to breathe into her mouth. Again and again, I repeat the movements I’ve learned on mannequins. Never flesh.

It feels wrong. Too soft and warm and…

She’s not responding. She might be⁠—

No, Claire. It’s just practice. It’s just a person. You know how to do this. Don’t think. Don’t think don’tthinkdontthink, just fucking do it!

I’m shivering, my ears ringing so much I barely register Lily’s cries. Until the still, immobile body convulses, rolling to the side. The girls coughs out water from her mouth and her nose, I think.

Oh my god.

I sit back on my ass, still cold and numb and shivering.

Oh my god.

11

CLAIRE

I have no idea how long I stay numb for. Minutes, hours. By the time feelings return to my body, an ambulance is here, loading the girl onto a stretcher. She’s unconscious.

Lily’s silently crying as we both watch.

There are police cars, too, and a small crowd has formed. I don’t know how I didn’t notice.

“That was awful,” I whisper, my heart still pumping fast.

“Yeah. That poor chick.”

“Do you know her?” I ask.

Lily shakes her head. “Not really. I mean, I’ve seen her around, so maybe she’s a student? I don’t know. She was fine, right? The medic said so.”

I’m glad she was aware enough to take in that information. I certainly wasn’t.

“But she could have died. For a minute there, she was dead,” I reword. “She wasn’t breathing when we got her out.”

“Yeah. Good work on the CPR, by the way. You’re definitely a handy roommate to have around.”

Lily hugs me a little, likely because she can tell I need it.

“I think I need to tell Cross.” Lily grimaces. “I mean, this is his house. He’ll be a huge dick, if he finds out I was here and didn’t tell him. Do you mind if I give him a quick phone call? Won’t be long.”

I do. I do mind. I don’t want her to leave me alone tonight. But it’s stupid and selfish, so I say, “Of course.”

She steps away, already snapping as she talks to the man on the other end of the phone.

They clearly have a weird thing going on, but who am I to judge, really? I just let a quasi-stranger finger me.

“Excuse me?”

Damn, I was so out of it I didn’t even notice the cop approaching until he was right in my face.

“Yes, Officer?”

“You’re the one who found the girl, miss?”

I clear my throat. “That’s right. We were—” I start to gesture to Lily, but she’s already at the edge of the garden, as if she’d tried to put as much distance as possible between herself and the house. “We were walking home, and I saw a girl jump in the pool. Only, it looked wrong. And she wasn’t really resurfacing, so I told my friend. She jumped, got her out. She wasn’t breathing, so I did CPR, and then, we called the ambulance.”

I’m rambling, only he was going to ask all those questions anyway, so might as well blurt the answers out.

“I see. You said you were going home; is that to the dorms?”

I nod. “That’s right.”

“And would you have been coming back from the party up the road?”

“Yes, in the Wyvern House.”

“I see. Did you notice this girl in the Wyvern House?”

I shake my head. “No, I—” I clear my throat. “I’m new. I don’t know many people, and there were so many faces. Maybe she was there. You should ask Lily. My friend. She’s on the phone.”

The officer glances up from his notes to spare one look at Lily, but doesn’t move. “There was alcohol at the party?”

“Well, yes, it’s a college party.”

“Drugs?” he prompts.

“I wouldn’t know.” I don’t like that line of questioning at all.

“Think. Were people acting strange?”

“Maybe? I certainly didn’t take any.”

“Of course not,” he replies like the idea didn’t even cross his mind. “But it’s possible someone might have slipped something in that poor girl’s drink. Would explain how she tripped.”

Except she didn’t trip. She jumped, I saw her, and I told him so.

“If they did, I didn’t see them.”

“You’re new, you said. A freshman at Rothford?”

I nod again.

“So, what, you’re eighteen, nineteen? And a little tipsy. Did they serve you at that party?”

“No,” I lie immediately. It doesn’t feel right to throw anyone under the bus for giving me delicious champagne and cocktails. I made that choice. “I helped myself.”

There. It’s not like people get more than a slap on the wrist for underage drinking. Serving to minor is a different story.

“So there was alcohol available for you to help yourself?” the officer insists.

“I stole it,” I hiss.

And maybe admitting to theft to a cop isn’t the smartest idea, but I doubt Keller and his friends will press charges, so whatever. Better than to tell him about the open bar without any ID checks. It’s not like they were selling anything, anyway. Luke just made drinks for everyone for free.

“No one gave me anything,” I insist. “And even if they had, I don’t see how it has anything to do with a girl trying to kill herself in a pool.”

“What makes you think she was acting in her right mind?” the officer retorts, with a smug smirk. “A girl almost dies, and you’re protecting your rich friends, huh? I see how it is.”

How the hell did this turn around to make me the bad guy?

“Look, maybe there was alcohol, or drugs, or whatever. I don’t know. I was there with a couple of friends, and hardly talked to anyone else. What I drank, I helped myself to.”

“That’s your statement?”

“It is.”

“And what’s your name?”

I really don’t want to tell him.

“Is there a problem, Officer?”

Cross.

I’m relieved to see him, if only because my interrogator seems pissed.

Ignoring the dark-haired hunk, the officer keeps his attention on me. “I’m going to need you to come down to the station tomorrow, ma’am. Record your statement. Until then.”

He walks away without a parting glance.

Cross takes a step towards me, his gaze scrutinizing. “You okay?”

I nod. “I think…that guy was trying to make me tell him bad things about the party. I didn’t, though.”

“Didn’t you?” he asks, those mercurial hazel eyes unrelenting. “Because the only thing one should say to a dick like that cop is ‘no comment.’ You seemed to be having a nice chat.”

I shake my head. “I told him about finding the girl, that’s all. When he pushed about the party, I said I only drank what I took. No one served me anything. He was trying to push. I didn’t let him.”

He pauses. “I heard what you did for Charlotte. The CPR. That’s the only reason why I’m telling you this now, Keller’s pet. Don’t go down to the station tomorrow.”

“I can’t just ignore the police.”

“You’re not under arrest. They have nothing on you. You’re nothing but a weapon for those wanting to harm us.”

“Maybe that’s how it works in your world, with the lawyers you can afford and all that, but in mine, I do what the police tell me to do,” I snap.

Cross sighs. Deeply. “Have it your way.”

And then he just walks away, past Lily, who watches us in horrified silence.

12

CLAIRE

Urgh.

A rat died at the back of my throat, somehow making it drier than the Sahara in the process. I can only conclude he was trampled by the herd of kangaroos jumping in my brain.

My eyes flutter open, and I immediately regret it, the light setting them on fire. I close them again.

“Ugh, kill me,” I groan.

“That bad, huh?” Lily sounds far too awake. “I thought you only had, like, three or four drinks. Here, take this.”

I chance opening one eye a bit, to see her handing me what looks like a tall glass of orange juice, with two Tylenols. “You’re an angel.”

It’s a struggle, but I make myself sit up, and wash down the pills with a big gulp.

“What you really need is grease. I’m about to head down to breakfast. Wanna come?”

“No,” I reply, because the idea of moving more than I already have in the next forever sounds like torture.

“Well, too bad. You actually do need to eat, or you’ll feel like this all day. Trust me, it’s not my first rodeo. Except mine involved a hell of a lot booze. God, you truly are a lightweight, aren’t you?”

“I hate alcohol. Give me fifteen?”

I drag myself to the bathroom. It’s only after a long hot shower that my brain can think in anything other than garbled groans. Then flashes from yesterday come back to me.

Oh god. What the fuck did I do?

I’m blushing as I brush my teeth, thinking about the way Keller touched me. And I let him. I really did. I mean, I might have said a few words like “shouldn’t,” and “can’t,” and “boyfriend,” but the bottom line was, I didn’t even try to make him stop, or get away from him. I wanted it. Him.

I wish I could blame it all on the booze, but that wouldn’t be truthful. Even now, as my mind replays the way he touched me, I’m not filled with regret as much as craving for more.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. I am a terrible person.

I know what this means, of course. I need to break up with Noah. I can’t have him as a boyfriend and think about another guy that way. Letting that other guy do what he wanted with me, too.

I distract myself from my personal drama by thinking about the later part of the night. The girl in the pool.

“Have you heard what happened to her?” I ask as I walk out of our small en-suite. “The girl from yesterday. Is she okay?”

“Yeah, I asked Cross first thing this morning. She woke up. Apparently, she’s dealing with some issues at home and wanted to end it all. So fucking sad. Cross says the sharks are going to pay for her therapy. She’s seeing one of them.”

“Oh. Generous of them.”

And generous isn’t the first word that comes to mind when I think about Cross and those cold, probing hazel eyes.

“More than likely, he doesn’t want her family to sue. She did it in their house; they could claim she fell, the pool was unsafe, or whatever. Those people always solve issues with money. You really like that skirt, huh?”

Distracted, I look down at myself. I just grabbed the first clothes I saw, the skirt from yesterday and one of my dozens of cream blouses.

“Oh, sorry, I can change.”

“Don’t sweat it, wear it whenever you’d like. It suits you. And in case you hadn’t noticed, I am a bit of a clothes addict.”

She tilts her head to her side of the room, where next to the generous built-in wardrobe, she’s placed a portable one, filled to the brim.

I hadn’t noticed, actually. I just figured the extra space was to fit her cosplaying stuff. She does dress pretty conservatively, from what I’ve seen so far—outside of her fandom outfits. But she always looks very nice.

“Thank you. I like it. Maybe you should take me shopping. After I find a job, that is.”

I remember Keller telling me his sister is looking for a babysitter, but the idea of approaching him about that after last night is preposterous. I’m going to have to start job hunting as planned, after I get my schedule tomorrow.

“I’ll never say no to a shopping trip.” She grins a little before clearing her throat. “So, about yesterday. Are you really going to go to the cops?”

I pause, unsure. Something about that officer really rubbed me the wrong way. He was trying to get dirt on the houses, that much was obvious.

“I don’t know. I don’t want to, but do I have any choice? Won’t I get in trouble if I don’t?”

“Please, they didn’t even get your name.” She rolls her eyes. “You didn’t do anything, and the girl’s said she jumped of her own volition, so the police aren’t even involved any longer.”

I smile, relieved at least one of my worries is baseless. “Good. So, where are we eating?”

“The cafe under the library has lovely, affordable croissants, pastries, that sort of thing, but I feel like something a little heftier is probably the right call. Pancakes?”

“Sure, but didn’t the bus leave twenty minutes ago? I don’t have it in me to walk into town.”

“Oh, I have a car.”

Damn, she’s a useful roommate.

“Well, sort of. I have a criminally ugly vehicle on wheels big enough to carry my cosplay, in any case.”

“Any car is better than what I have, which is a bus pass.”

“You say that now. Wait until you meet Bertha.”

Bertha is a blue Nissan Cube, compact, and yes, rather ugly, but I’m certainly not complaining.

We drive into town, which is far more convenient than waiting for the bus—although there’s one every hour. About half an hour later, I am devouring a plate full of grease and carbs like I’ve never seen food in my entire life.

“You definitely were right about breakfast,” I admit. “Or lunch, I guess.”

“I’m often right, especially when it comes to hangover cures. Trust me, they’re needed after comic cons and ren fairs. You gonna answer that?” she asks, pointing to the vibrating phone on the table I’m actively ignoring.

“No.” I leave it at that.

The screen is facing down. That doesn’t change that there are only two people who would call me on a Sunday at twelve—or three in the afternoon, for them: Noah and my grandmother. I don’t want to chat with either. First of all, the food might have contributed to making me feel slightly human again, but I’m still miserable. But also, I am deeply ashamed of both my behavior, and the fact that I enjoyed what happened last night.

Crap. I will disappoint them both. Besides, what sort of person breaks up with their boyfriend over the phone? Less than a week after leaving the state? All of that is highly distressing and I simply don’t have the mental space for it.

“So what’s the deal with Cross and you? You’re seeing him?”

Lily laughs so hard, for so long, I think I’m going to have to put my Heimlich maneuver knowledge to the test night, but she eventually gets a hold of herself. “Erm, no. Cross likes to fuck with me, that’s all. I like ice skating. I’ve been doing it most of my life. There’s a rink on campus, and they have a pitiful hockey team he belongs to. He heard me talk shit about them with a friend one day, and has decided to be a dick to me ever since. It’s all very immature.”

“But you like him?” I guess. “It looked like you liked him a bit yesterday. Especially when I told him to back off and you took his side.”

She sighs deeply. “No, Claire. I took your side. It’s one thing to push back against the teasing; but threatening them with exposure? That kind of stuff, they take seriously here. If you’d posted that video, they would have ruined your life, and your reputation, before the end of the night. Made it so you run out of here crying, and no other college would ever accept you. I’ve seen it.”

My jaw falls. “Seriously?”

“It’s not high school. It’s not a small town. These people—they’re known around the country. You post something that makes them look bad, it goes viral and it causes problems for them, their politicians, their mummies and daddies, then their families’ stock shares plummet…so yeah. They respond swiftly to threats of that kind. I’m not saying don’t stand up for yourself. But don’t bring a gun to a swordfight. Unless you’re okay with them getting the bazooka in response.”

Fuck. Suddenly I’m grateful she intervened. “Okay, I get it. I’ll just stay away from them.”

She snorts. “Is that an option for you? I mean, Keller seems quite taken with you.”

I see her questioning eyebrow lift an inch and I ignore it entirely, redirecting my attention to my phone just for something to do which isn’t about Keller.

I spot a notification from my email, showing me that one of my VIP contacts sent something, which is unusual on a Sunday. I only have my bank, the college, and my old high school’s administration in that category. Maybe Rothford sent me my schedule early.

I open the message, and everything goes blank around me, all of my attention laser-focused on the subject of the email.

Notice of Enrollment Termination

Dear Ms. Fairmont,

In light of recent events, it is with our deepest regrets that we must notify you of the termination of your enrollment at Rothford University, California, as well as the termination of your scholarship, effective immediately.

The termination is due to a breach of section 7, paragraph 12 in the Code of Conduct signed by yourself on the 21st of July.

Please surrender your keys and student pass by 6:00 pm today.

Regards,

Marissa Collins

Executive Assistant

Rothford University Board of Directors

13

CLAIRE

I reread the email at least a hundred times, stunned speechless.

“—aire. Claire, what’s wrong?”

My eyes don’t leave the screen for more than a fraction of a second, taking in Lily’s worried expression. She must have tried to call me a few times.

“I…” I can feel my lower lip tremble. “I don’t…understand. I’ve been expelled. Kicked out of school before it even started.”

“What?” Lily screeches.

She reaches for my phone and I let her take it, hoping against all hope she’ll tell me the email’s fake, that I didn’t understand it correctly.

“Oh god. Section seven, paragraph twelve, what is that, even? Fuck. Let me check.”

She switches to her own device and scrolls through it, eyebrows scrunched up in concentration.

“The section is ‘Tarnishing the reputation of the school.’ Shit, Claire. God, let me get to twelve…student privacy on private premises. Oh, no.” She looks up at me, eyes wide. “I’m so sorry. Oh, Claire.”

So that’s it. It was real. And it was…about something I’d done.

“I suppose you tried to warn me,” I hear myself whisper.

She and Cross both warned me, in different ways, to mind my business. But I didn’t. I did what I thought was right. I don’t know if I got that letter because of filming Keller, or my chat with the cop. Maybe both. I thought my reprehensible actions of last night were limited to what happened with Keller, but as far as the school is concerned, the line was making any of their precious rich students look bad.

I swallow.

I did this. And worse yet, I didn’t, at any point, believe I was doing anything wrong—anything that deserves this. I still don’t.

How even have they heard about it? Keller must have told them. I guess the term snitch is reserved for me, not the likes of him.

“I’ll call Keller. Ask if he can help.”

A dry chuckle works its way up my throat. “Right. The same guy who told them in the first place.”

“I sincerely doubt that, Claire. I mean, you talked to the cops. In all likelihood, they made a report. What happened to Charlotte at the Shark House had minor media attention.”

“Don’t you think it’s about the video I took?”

“No.” She’s strict. “For that, Cross would have made you pay, directly. Or me,” she rewords. “Tattling to his daddy isn’t his style. But the cops—shit. I should have seen this. Stopped you from saying anything at all.”

In what world does a university expel a student for telling the truth to the police? Well, a heavily edited version of the truth, but still. I even made sure no one could be directly reprimanded, insisting I helped myself to their booze.

It occurs to me that defense likely wouldn’t fly with everyone.

God, I am expelled. The reality of it hasn’t hit yet. I had other offers, but none as good as Rothford’s, and the enrollment period is over for any other school. Besides, I can’t afford to pack up and fly—well, anywhere.

All of a sudden, I’m bent in two, crying so hard I can’t even see straight, loud, dreadful sobs coming out of me, uncontrolled.

“Oh, Claire. Please, don’t cry. We’ll…” She hesitates, because what can we do?

It’s done. I’m expelled.

I cry harder.

“I’m going to make Cross help, okay?” She sounds desperate, the words coming out in a rush. “His family’s part of the board. And you can appeal to Keller too. His uncle’s the most powerful man in town. It’ll be okay. In this town, it’s all about who you know, and you already know people. I promise, we’ll make it okay.”

I nod over the tears, trying to speak.

A few minutes ago, my entire plan was not to speak to Keller. Break up with Noah, because what happened last night shows we shouldn’t be together in the first place—I feel nothing like that for him—but avoid Keller, because he’s playing in a whole different field than me. We’re not even playing the same ball game, and he’s pro, I’m kiddie league. I can’t handle him. But this is another story. I will pray and beg and prostrate myself in front of anyone I can to keep this from happening. This is my entire future.

“That’s it, Claire, just breathe. We’ll manage. I can vouch for you—I was there the whole time. We’ll make sure this doesn’t stick.” She talks slowly, softly, like she would to a wounded animal.

I don’t know why, but it works. Slowly, I manage to breathe normally, and even stop the tears.

“Okay. Okay, yes, we can—I can.”

God, I don’t have Keller’s number. Yesterday, he wanted a kiss for mine. Today, I’d do just about anything for his.

“Do you know Keller’s number?”

“No, but Cross probably does. I’m going to call him, okay?” she asks gently.

I feel myself nod.

“It’s all going to work out,” Lily assures me before standing and stepping out, phone in hand.

I watch her walk away, still a little numb.

All of a sudden, there’s a large pink and white sundae in front of me. A pretty blonde smiles at me awkwardly. “On the house. You look like you need it.”

I glance at her name tag. “Thank you, Penelope.”

“Don’t sweat it. I’ve had more than my fair share of days crying into my pancakes. It’s a rough town.”

Except it isn’t. I’ve been in Thorn Falls for less than a week, and everything seems to be quiet, peaceful, beautiful, well maintained…but I see what she means now.

It’s a rough town for people like me; like us. Working class who can’t just snap their fingers and get what they want. There are rules here, and flouting them reaps a swift punishment.

I didn’t really believe Lily was serious when she warned me yesterday or this morning. I know better this afternoon. Let’s just hope it’s not too late to fix it. I can’t afford to ruin my future over my pride, or my notions of right and wrong. They don’t matter here.

I make myself eat my sundae, mostly for something to do, and halfway through, I finally notice it’s delicious.

Lily comes back, her lips tight, and entire body tense, and my heart drops.

It didn’t go well.

“I take it there’s nothing Cross could do.”

“What?” She looks up at me, frowning. “No, no. You have a meeting with the board at six.”

My eyes widen. “I do?”

I thought it would take days, hours, tons of unanswered letters full of apologies and some begging to get a meeting.

“Yeah. We don’t have much time to get you ready for it.”

From the way she looks at me, she seems to think that a few hours is not nearly enough time, but she doesn’t understand the change I’ve undergone in mere instants.

Yes, I was pretty sure of myself, rejecting her idea of what should be done yesterday after the video, and even today, when she told me how things were here.

This email changed everything. There’s nothing I won’t do to set things right.

14

CLAIRE

Lily spends the next three hours teaching me to act like an ant might when faced with a boot.

Yes, sir. Of course, sir. Ever so sorry, sir.

I can do this. I will happily do this to ensure I haven’t ruined my entire life.

After she’s certain I am aware the only response to anything the board might say is to agree with them, she focuses on my appearance, insisting I remove her skirt—she leaves it in my wardrobe—and picks one of my most conservative outfits.

My expulsion is suspended pending my meeting with the board tonight, so I can still say my wardrobe.

So much depends on tonight. I don’t think I’ve been this stressed before, even during my various virtual interviews with colleges last year. Back then, I was fairly certain I would get one offer; it was only a matter of picking the best one. Today, I have but one option: trying to convince those guys why they wanted me here in the first place.

I’m dressed in a full length, dark green skirt and a blouse with a big satin ribbon, rather like the evil stepmom in a Disney movie. My grandma would love it. I wouldn’t have paired the two together myself as both are extremely over-the-top prudish, but if I’m supposed to meet some old board member, I suppose Lily has a point.

The administrative building is across the street, just a ten-minute walk away from the dorm’s main doors, so once Lily’s done with me, I head over there, trying to appear prostrate, submissive, defeated.

Ugh, someone kill me.

I still feel like shit on top of anything else. I am sick to my stomach for a variety of reasons. The pancakes I ate before getting that email are threatening to come back up my throat. If the situation I’m in wasn’t enough, my hangover makes it a million times more miserable.

“The director will see you now, Ms. Fairmont,” the beautiful secretary tells me after a few minutes of waiting that I believe were mostly designed to spike my anxiety.

It worked.

I’m led to a large room, meant for at least twenty people, and there are just two of us. Me,

feeling about the size of pea, and this giant across the room. And him.

He’s…pretty. The kind of pretty not really supposed to exist, especially in an older man. Hollywood beauty, except if there’s anything unreal, I can’t spot it. Sharp cheekbones, stunning bright eyes, perfect hair, the body of a Greek god, but with the dignified grace of someone in their thirties.

“Ms. Fairmont.”

Oh, great. Even his voice is hot. A rough, dark, slow, low grunt.

“Yes, sir.” Lily would approve. “That’s me.”

Please, for the love of God, please stop me from rambling.

I know that’s my default mode when I’m stressed out.

“Indeed. Take a seat.”

I do as I’m told without a word. He remains standing.

“Claire, is it? Do you mind if I call you Claire?”

“Of course, sir,” I happily parrot.

“I’m sure there are many other things we’d both rather be doing on a fine Sunday evening, Claire.”

I nod.

“So let’s get this over with in as fast as possible, yes?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You won’t mind if I speak plainly. This university was built and founded for one purpose: educating the children of certain families. Nowadays, when a school achieves this level of excellence, many young students, such as you, aspire to be accepted there. So we opened it up. It is the modern way. But, Claire, don’t mistake what that means. Rothford remains ours.”

He takes a few steps, crossing the length of the long table until he’s only a few feet away from me.

“Some of the students here are rather stupid, actually. But their fathers, and their fathers’ fathers, spent money and time to ensure they could still have a place to improve upon their former level of stupidity, turning them into something more or less useful to society. Do you understand?”

Again, I nod, because I really do. Isn’t it the way everywhere? People don’t truly need to be super-smart to get into an Ivy League either; not if they have the right surname, the right amount of money. I know this. I hate it, but I know it all the same.

“You’re no one’s daughter.”

The accusation is a blow straight to the chest, but it’s still right. More right than he knows, in all likelihood. My mother might have chosen to give birth to me, despite her pregnancy happening when she was sixteen, but she played no part, and has never had an interest in raising me. My father has never been in the picture. But even if they’d both “done the right thing”—as was seen at the time, though how can it be right for two kids to try to raise a baby neither of them wants, I’ll never understand—they would still very much be nobodies. In this town. In the world.

“And when no one’s daughter chooses to become problematic, we don’t tend to have much patience for it,” the man concludes.

I bite my lower lip, desperately preventing myself from telling him all the reasons why he should find time, have the patience.

“That said, people who are of consequence to the board have intervened, so here we both are. On a Sunday evening.”

He makes it plain he would rather be anywhere else, and he resents me for dragging him into his office.

I lower my eyes.

“Do you understand what you’ve done?”

I swallow. “I talked to the cop. I was…tipsy.” Thank god for Lily coaching me on that specific question. “I’ve never drunk much alcohol, so it went straight to my head. Even then, it was obvious to me they were trying to incriminate people—get me to say someone gave me something. I lied. I said I took the drinks myself. I told the officer I stole it. But Lily and Keller have made it clear I shouldn’t have said anything. I am sorry. So sorry. Please, sir. I'll do anything,” I assure him, meaning each word.

"Would you indeed?” The man marks a pause, those eyes fixed on mine. “Well, the board has made its decision to protect the privacy of the student body based on your actions.”

My stomach drops.

“But everyone makes mistakes. If you can prove to the student council that this was indeed a mistake, the board can reconsider. Note that several students on the council were directly affected by your actions, and it will take some convincing to rectify this. I will inform them that you'll discuss it at length with them tonight at ten, in the Vesper Tower. The council will email back their assessment and you will have our final decision Monday.”

That’s it? All I have to do is plead my case to some students, and I’ll know tomorrow?

But even as those words cross my mind, I rebuke them. No, it won’t be that simple. They’ll want me to pay for it. That’s the way in Thorn Falls. Lily had to kiss Cross to get that fake picture erased. Keller convinced me to kiss him by dangling something I couldn’t resist either.

They will make me pay for my right to remain here.

This man is just allowing them to do so.

But I told the truth. There’s nothing I won’t do to avoid being expelled from the best college in the state, on this coast, maybe in the country. Especially since I can’t afford to go anywhere else.

Whatever the council wants to do with me, I’ll have to submit to their will.

15

CLAIRE

I really wish Lily were around when I head back to our dorm room, to keep me sane, and maybe prep me again.

The board member—I don’t even know his name—said ten at the Vesper house. Even planning to arrive a good fifteen minutes early, I know there’s no point in leaving before a quarter past nine; the Vesper House is right next to the Wyvern House, and it took about half an hour to walk there yesterday. That means, time to waste.

I know I should eat, but the very thought of food makes me nauseous.

In the absence of my advisor, I opt for an outfit change. And a shower, first. I need something to do to combat the anxiety.

I frankly don’t know if the board meeting clothing choices are appropriate for a student council meeting. I guess Lily was trying to help me look like a good girl for whatever old guy sat on the board. She likely didn’t picture a near-perfect Henry Cavill lookalike. I may not be the best at fashion advice, but my personal experience says the good girl vibe doesn’t tend to work on people my age.

After the longest shower I’ve ever taken, which does little to soothe my nerves, although I cry twice, I slowly blow dry my hair, a painstaking yet completely useless endeavor as it’s raining tonight. It’s all about wasting time. Then I braid my hair. It’s only eight thirty when I’m done, so I apply some makeup. I don’t even try to do the sort of magic Lily worked on me, sticking to my usual pale, boring shades. Then, I get dressed in a pink skirt and white blouse. A little less formal than my earlier clothing, but nothing like yesterday’s outfit.

It’s finally time to head off to the tower. The footpath gate of the private drive swings open before I buzz the ringer, which feels ominous. My walk seems a lot longer tonight than it was yesterday, either because I’m alone, or because there’s so much at stake. I have to convince the council, at any cost.

What will they demand of me?

Does it matter?

I get the sense of eyes following me. When I glance around, there’s no one except a few security guards patrolling. They don’t pay me any mind.

When I reach the gate, a few yards away from the Wyvern House, my feet pause of their own volition, my heart thundering in my chest. What’s going to happen to me here?

The door swings open, and I’m shocked to see someone I recognize in the entrance.

There’s no mistaking it; the beautiful dark curls, the smooth russet skin, and that big, soft mouth. I’d recognize her any day. The girl will likely haunt my nightmares for the next decade. Last time I saw her, she was almost a corpse.

I didn’t see those striking pale jade eyes last night, even when she finally coughed up the pool water in her lungs.

“Hey, Claire. I’m Charlotte. I heard I owe you my life.”

She smiles like it’s amusing. When people say “I owe you my life” they probably mean “thank you thank you thank you, how could I possibly repay you?” But we both know she jumped.

I’m so startled by how casual she looks. Shouldn’t she be at the hospital? Surrounded by doctors and shrinks? What is she doing here? Is she part of the council?

“How are you doing?” is all I manage to ask.

At least it’s not as rude as what the fuck are you doing here?

“Not any worse than yesterday. Except I have babysitters twenty-four seven to ensure I don’t nope out of existence like I want to.” She just rolls her eyes. “Come on in.”

I do.

Thinking on it, it’s good she was the one to greet me. I’m not at ease, exactly, but I’m considerably less freaked out about my situation, in light of all my curiosity about her. She’s suicidal. Yesterday made that plain, and the way she speaks now reinforces it. And yet she seems…fun? Funny, cracking jokes at her own expense. Alive.

“I’m glad you’re all right, Charlotte. Truly.” I want to tell her the world’s a better place with her in it, but it sounds like a platitude from a stranger. “And having you here stresses me out a hell of a lot less.”

“Oh, they weren’t kidding. You are so sweet,” she tells me. Before I can ask who she means by “they,” she adds, “And unbearably naive. I have no more power than you do here, darling. Don’t think I’m any kind of a shield.”

The warning sends shivers down my spine. “Still. I’m glad to see you.”

“Ditto, sweet cheeks. First door on the right—the study,” she tells me, pointing to a large wooden double sliding door that evokes castles and alcoves and secrets. “I’ll be downstairs once you get there, okay? And keep your chin up. It’ll be over before you know it.”

I turn, but before I can ask her what she means she’s hopping down a flight of stairs at the end of the room.

Fuck. I’m all alone.

Rather than sliding the doors open, I opt to knock.

Both doors glide apart, and at my first glance of what waits for me inside, I am glad I skipped dinner. It would have made a reappearance immediately.

The room, a vast university-style library, can hardly be called a study. It’s mostly plunged in darkness, except for dim, low lights along the many book stacks on the wall. All that would have been worth plenty of observation, had my eyes immediately not converged to the center of the room, where seven masked, cloaked shadows stand in a semicircle.

Seven. One for each of the houses.

“Welcome to the council, little snitch. Come in.”

I resist the instinct to do the opposite, to turn on my heels and run in the opposite direction. They’re…terrifying. Everything about their appearance is meant to intimidate, and it works. The masks. God, the masks.

Each is different; one, all white, with deep black cuts where eyes are supposed to be, reminiscent of a skull. Another in the shape of a wolf, a third, silver. In the middle, the tallest of the figures wears a dark blue neon-accented mask with blue eyes and a mouth carved in a sewed-up parody of a smile.

Fuck. I’m seriously seconds from pissing myself.

“Come on in.” I get the feeling it’s the one in the center talking. I can’t say for sure; I don’t see any mouths moving. The voice isn’t recognizable. I think some device alters it, making it deeper, almost robotic.

I don’t want to come in. Masks and cloaks, gloves, and darkness. Are they going to fucking kill me?

Shit, not even Lily knows I’m here.

They’re going to fucking murder me, aren’t they?

“The board wants us to assess whether you can keep your mouth shut about private business. You also have earned a punishment from us. Should you submit to the council, we will vote to reinstate you at Rothford.”

I can hear my heart beat in my ears. “You’d do that?”

“Depends. Can you be a good girl and do what you’re told, Claire?” There’s a challenge there.

I make myself take three steps into the dark room, and repeat what I told the board member. "I'll do anything.”

“Yes, the president said as much.” The eerie voice sounds amused. “Let’s see if it’s true. Kneel, Claire.”

I fight my body and all my instincts, but I do it. I get on my fucking knees, jaw tight, fists shaking.

“How about that? We have ourselves a good girl after all.”

A few chuckles ricochet off the walls, freezing my blood.

“Your punishment is four hours at the mercy of the council. You will not protest, no matter how much you want to. You will not speak unless prompted. And you will keep your mouth shut about what happens, permanently. If you breathe a word, you will be immediately expelled and extensive records of those four hours will be sent to everyone you’ve ever known. Understood?”

I should be shocked. I should be outraged. In truth, I am both unsurprised and relieved that they’re only demanding four hours, not the whole year, not my entire life.

“What will you do to me?” I whisper.

There’s a pause. “A great many things.”

“I'm a virgin.” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them, as I look down, cheeks aflame.

Because it will be sexual, I have no doubt. They are going to use my body for four hours.

It can’t be how I do that for the first time. I’ll remember it for the rest of my days, and it will be so awful. Fuck, I should have had sex with anyone. Keller, yesterday. Noah, ages ago. Anyone.

“Your pussy can be left out of the equation.” I lift my eyes to the masks, shocked. “No vaginal penetration will occur.”

“Really?” I whisper, completely dumbfounded.

That’s…kind. A lot kinder than expected. How fucked up is it that I’m finding that kind, and reasonable?

“Everything else is permissible. So what do you say, Claire? Is your comfort and dignity for four hours worth four years of tuition at Rothford to you?”

There's only one answer.

16

CLAIRE

“I’ll do it.” I swallow. “Whatever you want, for four hours.”

“How very obliging.” The man in the middle, in the blue mask—I was right then, he’s the speaker—lifts his hand to show me an alarm clock. “Tick-tock, Claire. Your time starts now.”

I don’t know why, given the fact that his voice is definitely modified, but something—his height, his way of speaking, or moving—tells me I know him. I say him, because he’s just too broad shoulders and tall, even under the cape, to be a girl. This means he is one of two options: Cross or Keller.

Keller. I would bet anything it’s Keller. Cross wouldn’t have left my vagina out of whatever they’re planning to do. I hate that I’m grateful for something this vile, this wrong, but I am.

“Follow me.”

The blue-masked man takes the lead, walking out of the study, in the direction Charlotte took earlier.

As we walk down to the basement, I can hear echoes of music beats. When Blue Mask open a heavy door, the sound’s much louder—hard drums and bass, the kind of music we feel more than hear.

There’s apparently a nightclub in their basement. Low blue lights running along the wall and floor allow me to see enough not to fall on my face, but not enough to truly distinguish much. I see silhouettes gyrating, and hear sounds that make me blush and tremble.

Moans, the wet slap of flesh against flesh, furniture creaking. There are people having sex here. That is apparent.

My heart sticking in my throat, I look down, reluctant to see much. I don’t need a preview of what’s about to happen to me.

Blue Mask removes his cloak and hangs it up on a rack close to the entrance. I see the six others do the same. They all keep their masks on.

I was right. There were some women under the cloaks; three of them, and four guys. I can’t exactly express why, but I hate them more than the guys. I expect men to be disgusting, to take advantage of women when they’re at their lowest. But girls? They should have spoken up, told them that making me a slave for half an evening is insanity, unfair, completely disproportionate to my infraction. But they didn’t.

“This way.”

Under the cloak, Blue Mask wears a hoodie and a pair of navy-blue slacks, tight over his strong thighs.

Definitely Keller. Not that it matters.

As we walk into the basement-slash-club, the lewd noises grow less and less subtle. This place is huge, and there are at least fifty people in the middle, elevated on a platform they use as a dance floor. Around it, a dozen booths with leather benches and low armchairs are mostly left empty. My eyes catch things I’ll likely never forget.

A girl on her hands and knees, with her pants down her thighs, while a guy squats behind her, pounding into her, right here in the open. I gasp, but I’m the only one. No one else seems to even notice.

Glancing away, I redirect my gaze to the dance floor instead, and my jaw falls all over again. The first thing I see is a girl, one of her legs lifted up over her partner’s shoulder. Both the guy in front of her and the one behind her penetrate her at the same time. Again, no one cares.

The more I look, the wilder it gets. Even the couples that just seem to be dancing quietly are behaving like absolute beasts, one guy fingering his partner, one girl with both her hands around one man’s cock while kissing a second, two men kissing each other while grinding their bare cocks against one another.

I was right; it’s a club, except it’s not the kind where people come to dance and drink. This place is a sex club.

Some of the people here wear masks, others, not. Not that it matters; I wouldn’t recognize anyone.

I start to notice some strange things around the booths; yes, they have seats, but there aren’t any tables in the middle. Instead, one has a gymnast bench, used for a very different purpose than what I’ve seen before. A guy’s bent over it, ankles and wrists locked, and the man behind him flogs his bare ass. In the middle of another booth, this one empty, there’s a seven-foot tall wooden cross, with cuffs and chains. I don’t need to guess what it’s for.

Oh, fuck.

So much for not knowing people here. I see Charlotte. A hell of a lot more than I saw last night when she was in nothing but a drenched dress clinging to her skin. She’s completely naked, except for a network of white harness straps, which slither over her dark skin, around her breasts, her stomach, her thighs. It’s beautiful, in a completely inappropriate, perverse sense. And I’m not the only one to think so. Everyone seems to want to her their hands on her, and she basks in the attention, curving her back into their touch, smiling, looking drunk on adoration.

She likes this. She’s not faking it; no one could pretend to look this close to ecstasy.

It takes me a while to tear my eyes away from her, from the sheer pleasure she exudes.

We approach another empty booth, this one with a simple armchair chair set up in the center. My eyes immediately zero in on the brown leather restraints attached to it.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, I’ve bitten off more than I can chew. That much is clear. Is it too late to change my mind?

Then I remember what will happen if I change my mind. I’d be in the exact same situation as I was two hours ago. Kicked out of school, my entire future destroyed.

“Take a seat,” the voice rasps.

I do as I’m told, and the six masked proceed to take their seats around me.

The armchair is comfortable. Upon inspection, I see the cuffs are lined with padded leather.

“So obedient. You’re a smart girl, aren’t you, Claire?” Blue Mask is the only one who remains standing.

I didn’t think that was a question, but he seems to wait for an answer, so I make myself nod.

“I thought so. These four hours can be absolute torture for you, or they can be rather fun. What you’ll experience will depend on whether you give into it or resist. I recommend the former option.”

“Are you going to hurt me?”

I can barely hear my voice over the music and the moans and the pounding of my heart.

Shit. I was told not to talk.

He doesn’t reprimand me though.

“Yes.” He doesn’t bother to lie. “And you’re going to like it.”

17

CLAIRE

As he fastens the lined leather cuffs around my wrists—snug, but not uncomfortable—I watch his hands. Strong, with long fingers. Familiar.

Part of me wonders if I am deluding myself; if I’m just hoping it’s Keller so there’s something familiar in this madness. But no. It’s him, I just know it. Those fingers were on me, in me, only yesterday. And they made me feel exactly like this. A bit afraid, tingly with both anticipation and dread.

“Why the cuffs?” I ask. “I’m doing as I’m told.”

“I know you’re trying, little ghost,” he whispers in this metallic voice. “But weren’t you also told to shut up?”

My eyes snap to the mask.

It truly is him. I knew it, but the confirmation is welcome. Some of my tension eases. He won’t actually hurt me, I don't think. Not the way Cross might have.

“I’m binding you because however much you wish to be good for me, you’re going to try to bolt. I’m going to make you want to run away screaming. But you’re going to stay right here, for the next three hours and thirty-seven minutes, aren’t you?”

I made myself nod.

“And then you’ll keep your mouth shut about it, won’t you?” As he speaks, his fingers, done with the cuffs, slide along my arm, electrifying me. “You can reply.”

“Yes. I’ll never tell.”

“I am quite certain of that, Claire.” He chuckles. “Do you know why?”

I shake my head.

“Because the first person we’ll send the recording of what we’re doing to you will be your sweet old grandma. Then the boyfriend. Maybe even deadbeat Mom in New York. And every time you apply to a school, to a new job, every time you meet someone you get along with? They’ll get an email leading them straight to your little performance.” My heart drops. “You’ve proven yourself untrustworthy. The only way you stay here is if we have collateral to hold over your prissy little head.”

“I wouldn’t…”

“You have,” he counters, guessing how I’ll end my sentence. “Twice. You threatened to expose one of us for a silly little game with his girlfriend, and then, you told the police we were drunk and likely high. The simple fact you don’t understand what’s wrong with that is why you’re here. You don’t mind throwing others under the bus, but you’ll be very good if it’s your neck, your reputation, your future on the line.”

He makes me sound so selfish. Am I like that? I don’t think so; I did what I did to help Lily, then to help the police.

It hits me suddenly that this is why I’m in this situation: because I genuinely don’t think I was wrong. Because I might do it again for a friend. But knowing they have blackmail material over me? I’d bite my tongue.

I hate what that says about me.

“Don’t worry too much, gorgeous. This video is only useful to us if it’s abundantly clear how much you’re enjoying yourself.”

His hands slide to my knees, and I shiver. I expect him to move up my leg, but he goes down to my ankles instead, fastening those in place too. Only then does he return to the hem of my skirt, lifting it, while his two hands slide up my thighs. 

He's pushed the fabric all the way to my hips when I suddenly remember, despite the darkness, the music, that we're not alone. I sweep our surroundings in one glance and find that we have a larger audience; rather than just the six other masked people around us, there’s a crowd of at least two dozen people around the booth, all of their eyes focused on me. 

That doesn't stop him. 

“I should have gotten those panties off you before binding your legs. They're in the way. But no matter." 

Carelessly, he slides the thin fabric aside, exposing me completely. 

No one really seems to notice. They're chatting, drinking, or fucking each other. I’m not the main attraction, just one of the spectacles available amongst a sea of debauchery. Somehow, the fact that they barely watch him uncovering me like this nails home just how strange this place is. I would never have believed it possible that a world like this existed.

“Hey, pass me the box, will you?” Keller asks, and the guy closest to him, wearing a red mask, kicks a rectangular box concealed underneath the leather sofa towards him.

The size of a carry-on suitcase, a little larger than a toolbox, the black plastic case opens to shelves displaying a number of things, most of which I can’t identify on sight. Some, however, are easy enough to recognize, even for me. I’m a virgin, not a complete prude. They’re sex toys. Dozens of them. Some are obvious—dick-shaped dildos and vibrators, butt plugs, canes, floggers. Others, I can’t for the life of me guess the purpose of.

“Don’t worry. They’re all brand new, so completely clean.”

I don’t tell him that I wasn’t, for one second, concerned about the cleanliness of the many tools. If I look panicked, it’s for many reasons, and that absolutely wasn’t one of them. While the fact that I’m not going to be touching dirty things is good to hear, it wasn’t one of my concerns, so it does nothing to settle the erratic beats of my heart.

“This is your box, Claire. It’ll be labelled and saved exclusively for your use.”

He’s talking like he expects me to use them again. Yeah, right. They might as well chuck that entire box into the trash in three hours and thirty-something minutes.

“Have you ever used one of these?”

I’m too busy staring at the three shelves, trying to guess what some of the things inside are going to do to me.

There seems to be an order of sorts. The lower shelf is full of things that seem obvious, the vibrators, the butt plugs, a line of plum-sized balls, ribbons, masks, that sort of things. The second and third shelves are more obscure. Yes, I recognize the flogger, cane, and paddles, but there are other things that seem a lot stranger. Clothes pegs. A microphone? It looks like one in any case. An electric tool, attached to a battery.

“No, that won’t do at all. If you start by ignoring my questions, you and I are going to have a problem. Here’s how it’s going to go, Claire. You answer, you get to feel very good. If you won’t…”

Keller takes the strange, long, and thin black tool—like a wizard’s wand—detaching it from its charger, and points it straight at my exposed clit.

I don’t even realize I’m screaming, my entire body leaping forward, as a jolt burns my clit, and travels through my entire body. But I’m attached to the arms and feet of the armchair, so I don’t go far. I can’t escape the point of the thing, which sends several zaps at my sensitive nub.

The insane fucker is actually electrocuting me.

I don’t think I’ve ever screamed so loud. It’s, not to be glib, shocking. And yes, there’s a certain degree of pain, too, but as my core constricts, ignites, and pulses, I can’t deny there’s something else, too.

I don’t know how long he keeps the tool in place. Seconds, minutes. It might be an eternity. But at long last, he places it back on its base, turning that neon mask to me.

“Now, Claire. I asked you a question.”

He did? It seems like a million years ago.

“I…” My mouth is dry, my tongue strange. “What was it again? Please,” I add quickly.

“So very polite. You’re easy to train, aren’t you? Good little submissive bitch.”

I’m offended in at least three different ways, but I know better than to say anything.

“I asked whether you’ve used any of these before,” he repeats.

The question rings a bell, but it seemed to have been asked so long ago. Another day. Anything before the sudden jab of electricity was in another life.

I shake my head and also say, “No.”

Just in case the gesture isn’t enough. I don’t want to earn another punishment just because I didn’t say it out loud.

As soon as that thought crosses my mind, I blush because, he’s right. He’s training me—and very efficiently. I’m behaving like a good little bitch. Fuck, if that doesn’t enrage me. I want to rebel against the very idea. But not if it means he’s going to make me pay for it.

“Not even this?” he asks, picking up a small device.

I shake my head, flushing. I don’t even know for sure what it does. I took it for a vibrator.

“Oh, Claire. Did you think the devil was going to take you if you made yourself feel good?”

He makes me sound like a church girl. “No,” I snap. “But I lived with my grandmother.”

The very thought of doing anything sexual next door to her is ludicrous.

“Is that why you came here, pretty girl? Did you want the space to be as naughty as you’d like?”

I shake my head. My reason for choosing Rothford had nothing to do with sex, in any way, shape, or form. They just gave me the best scholarship.

But it’s true I was looking forward to having a little bit of freedom.

“Don’t worry, little ghost. I’m going to help you catch up.”

He moves the device between my legs, just like he did with the thin device, and I tense in advance. But there’s no pain, no sharpness. This toy gently blows against my sensitive flesh. My mouth falls open, my insides pulling, but for a very different reason.

“Like that, huh?”

“Yes!” I reply, no longer willing to ignore any question.

“Figured as much. How about this function?” He taps on the toy, and instead of blowing, its soft surface sucks me in.

I can’t help wiggling, attempting to close my legs and move, for all that I know it’s pointless.

“Fuck, you’re drenching your panties already. Are you going to be a good girl, Claire? Or do you want your dear nana to see you just like this? Say cheese, you’re on camera. Here,” he says, pointing to a feeble light flickering in a corner. “And here. These two will stay fixed on you until we’re done.”

It’s strange that these people are allowing themselves to be filmed. But then again, it occurs to me that all of them, all of us, wouldn’t want the events of tonight to be released to the public. By filming every participant, they’re ensuring no one will ever say anything about tonight. It’s certainly efficient. I can already say I’ll take everything to my grave, although I’ve just arrived. The thought of anyone I know seeing me like this is horrifying.

Grandma. Noah.

Oh god, Noah. My boyfriend, who hasn’t so much as touched my bare skin under my clothes, or even seen it. And here I am, legs spread and locked in place, a guy I’ve met this week, masked, shoving a clit suction toy between my legs.

The most shameful thing about this is that I like it. I like it so much. I don’t want it to stop. I already know I’ll do this again. I’ll get myself one of those toys and press it right there, every day and night. This just feels so damn good.

“I think you might just come already. Fuck, it’s been, like, three minutes. If you don’t brace yourself, darling, tonight is going to be exhausting for you.”

The gentle advice is completely useless. There is no holding back, and I don’t even try. My body is on fire, racing towards an overpowering climax.

And then he withdraws his hand.

The asshole just stops.

I stare at the mask, speechless. The nasty smile doesn’t shift, but I can imagine Keller smirking underneath.

“I said brace yourself, Claire. We wouldn’t want you to pass out.”

I am speechless.

“Just look at those puppy dog eyes. You’re adorable,” he says, with no small amount of condescension.

A chorus of chuckles remind me we’re not alone. Most of our audience is occupied by their own games, but a few watch me, and apparently find the whole thing amusing.

I can’t explain why, but spotting their eyes on me only increases the hollow, numb, deep need growing in my core.

“I’ll tell you what. Just because you’re so cute, I’m going to let you come.”

I heat up at the compliment, lifting my head hopefully.

“But only if you ask nicely.”

Of course there’s a price. “Please.”

“Go on, little ghost. Ask.”

“Please,” I say. “Put it back on.”

I have never felt so embarrassed in my life.

“This one?” he asks. “Or should I try something else for you? Something even sweeter.”

I bite my lower lip, curious. The toy was so good but the promise of something better piques my curiosity. “I don’t know.”

“There’s no point being so very shy, with your cunt exposed to me and your cum all over the leather,” he says gently. “Tell me what you want.”

“Anything,” I reply. Then I remember the electric shock, see all the floggers and paddles and canes, and reword. “Anything that feels good.”

“Good girl. I’m going to make you feel really, really good,” he promises.

Keller gets to his knees, and once again surprises me, by lifting his mask high enough to uncover his mouth, and pressing his tongue between my legs. Wet and hot and soft, it flicks my clit, then runs along the opening.

My head flies backward, my hips lifting to give him better access, without my direction. Oh, fuck. He’s excellent at that. I wouldn’t have believed a mouth could be as amazing as the blowing, sucking toy, but Keller proves me wrong; he can do that, and so much more. Firm one moment, teasing the next, the man devours my folds and clit and entrance like it’s his favorite lollipop.

I am completely out of control, thrashing against the padded manacles hard enough to hurt myself, in my desperation to move. I don’t even understand why my limbs flail and buck like this, when I don’t want to go anywhere. I just want more, more, more of this, forever.

I can’t even see properly, my eyes full of tears at the sheer intensity of it. I’m sobbing, laughing, panting, and Keller keeps grinding his mouth to my pussy. Suddenly, there’s something cold and wet pressing lower, right against my asshole, and I don’t know what to make of it. I am too busy trying to survive the onslaught of sensations to assimilate another one. Even when it presses against it. I don’t know what the thing is, and I don’t care. My ass just lets it in.

“Christ,” Keller grunts, the word teasing my flesh.

It didn’t seem very large when it went in, but I’m so very full, the thing in my butt pressing my insides in a way that only increases my frantic race for a mind-blowing orgasm.

Keller moves the thing filling my ass, almost removing it entirely, then sliding it back in. I lift my ass as much as I can, demanding more as I scream. It’s so, so good. He does it again and again, fucking my ass with whatever he’s holding, all the while sucking, licking, tapping my clit.

And then the thing in my butt starts to buzz.

I lose the inner battle my body was fighting, all my muscles grasping one last time as I drench his mouth. I am completely spent, faint and dazed. But the thing in my asshole keeps buzzing, and he continues sliding it in and out, although his uncovered mouth has moved away from me.

He’s smirking, that familiar mouth curving up, clearly self-satisfied.

“Who would have thought you’d be so much into butt plugs, little virgin?” Keller croons.

Certainly not I.

“Too bad we agreed to leave this pretty little cunt out of tonight. I think you would have enjoyed being completely filled everywhere, wouldn’t you?” As he speaks, Keller slides his fingers back on my clit, and my body tightens in awareness.

Moments ago, I could have fallen asleep. Now, my inside clench, intrigued, wanting more, like I’m nothing but a greedy little slut. That’s what he’s reduced me to. I’ve never felt this good.

“Yeah, I could fuck her ass while you plow her cunt,” a guy calls, making me remember our audience.

Instantly, I’m tensing for an entirely different reason. Fear.

“Oh, I don’t think so, my friend. This cunt is mine,” her says, pressing his lips against my folds again, just once. “And this ass. And that mouth. And those tits.”

“That’s cold, man. I share my girls all the time.”

“That’s your prerogative,” Keller replies. “But this one is mine.”

I want to tell him he’s wrong. I’m nobody’s property. Certainly not his. But I’m too tired and overwhelmed to speak.

Leaving the butt plug right where it is, vibrating inside me while my taut insides keep straining, Keller stands again, his hands moving to my blouse.

It’s a button-down, but instead of unfastening it, he takes both sides and rips it open, destroying it to expose my breasts. And then, he caresses them gently, softly, exploring them like he has all the time in the world.

Little by little, my exhaustion recedes as my core demands attention. Keller’s mouth moves to my nipples. He’s as gifted with tits as he is with clits, circling, flicking, and then, sucking.

He hasn’t so much as touched the inside of my pussy, yet its walls keep contracting, feeling empty, demanding. Even my butt wants more of the friction he gave me earlier. I need more. Unfortunately, he seems perfectly content sucking my tits reverently for the moment.

Frustrated, I whisper, “Please,” again. It worked last time.

“Please what, darling?”

Again with the demand that I spell it out. He knows what I want. The amused curve of his mouth proves it.

“Tell me, and I’ll give it to you,” he whispers. “I promise. You only have to ask.”

The softness of his voice is enough to make my insides constrict. I realize why. With his mouth no longer covered by the mask, it’s his voice. His soft and deep and dark voice. His tantalizing, skilled, beautiful mouth. I’m not getting a masked stranger. I’m getting Keller.

“Please give me more,” I beg, feeling oh so ashamed and terrible; neither matters so long as he gives me what I crave.

“Somehow, despite the button-downs, and the braid, and the pink, I just knew you’d be just like this,” he tells me, one of his hands trailing down the length of my skin. “Desperate to feel.”

His fingers slide along my pussy, and it grasps, eager for his touch, but with a chuckle, Keller aims lower, to the vibrating butt plug. “Oh, no, my little ghost. We had an agreement, whether you regret it or not. Nothing is penetrating your pussy, remember?”

I whine, and he chuckles harder.

But I sort of still get what I want—what I need—as he moves the butt plug in and out. It slides easily, with dirty, wet noises to compound the filthy, needy noises coming out of my mouth.

“It’s a bit small for you, I think,” Keller says, interrupting himself again.

I pout.

“Don’t be like that,” he teases. “I’m only going to give you something better. Wouldn’t you like that?”

I nod eagerly.

“Give me a second. I’m going to change your position, too.”

He does that first, freeing my wrists. I’ve only had time to put them together to rub them, when he takes them again, sliding them to my back, and locking them again, behind me this time. I huff, unsatisfied. This position is even more restrictive.

Next, he unties the cuffs around my ankles, and as I gasp, slides one of my legs upward, this time, tying the thigh to the armchair. Jesus. My legs are up in the air. He does the same with my other leg.

“I forgot your panties again. They’re really in the way now,” Keller says.

Somehow, I doubt that man forgets anything.

“Oh, well.” He grabs the fabric, and tears it just like he did with my blouse, then pockets the ripped panties, his hand running along my completely bare pussy. “You should see yourself just like this. I see your pussy drip and clench. It’s so very desperate.”

I only moan as he skims his fingers through the folds. I know what he can do with those. But for the second time, he returns to the butt plug, removing it entirely.

“And here I thought a size two was pushing it,” he says. “But your ass already wants more, doesn’t it?”

Flushing, I make myself nod, remembering the consequences of ignoring his questions. If he completely stops, I might die.

Keller selects another toy, the exact same shape as the first, but twice as big. Watching him lather it with lube, I gulp. “That’s too big.”

The shape is odd, its engorged head like a strawberry, then a thinner end, and a very large handle. The strawberry itself is almost the size of a fist.

“I don’t think so, darling. I think you’re going to take it easily, given how dripping wet and needy you are. The first one slid in so fast. And it was the first time anyone touched your ass, wasn’t it?”

I nod, my eyes glued to the toy in his head.

“Don’t look at it. Don’t think about it. Just feel,” he orders.

I’m surprised to see him put the toy down on the top of the box, and my eyes widen when his hands move to his slacks, tugging down his zipper.

I’m not prepared for watching him free his cock and fist it. My entire body goes rigid, while I gasp and stare in complete, stunned shock.

I know what a penis is supposed to look like. I’ve been sent a number of unsolicited dick pics online.

Cocks, in real life, are not supposed to look like this. As thick, and long, and perfectly curved as a dildo. A very large one. It occurs to me that anatomically, there is no way this man is compatible with me. His cock just can’t fit anywhere inside me. But as I stare in horror, it presses right against my folds.

I wince in anticipation, but no pain comes. Instead, Keller slides it all the way up to my clit, taps it twice, and then back down, parting the folds to press right at my opening, but never past my walls, just skating back up.

Oh, god. That feels so, so, so good. I whimper as he keeps dragging his cock along my pussy, desperate for more. He goes faster, that huge nub pressing harder, but never aiming to enter me. And all of a sudden, I am desperate for him to do just that, to fill me, press inside, even though I’m fairly certain he’ll tear me in two.

“Fuck, you’re drenching my cock,” Keller laughs, sounding half mad.

He sucks in his breath as I pant, like he’s just as feverish as I am, the friction driving both of us insane.

Then he shifts, never stopping the movement, and all of a sudden, there is pressure pushing inside me; but not my pussy. It’s at my ass. I don’t tense. How could I, when he’s fucking my pussy lips and bringing me so very close to another climax?

The plug—the huge butt plug I didn’t think could possibly fit—is inside me in a second, my ass sucking it in, and it shakes while Keller moves harder, faster. I scream as my insides flood him, coming without warning, faster than I would have thought possible.

This time, I’m not losing it, faint, or tired. I’m wired, my body aflame. It knows there’s more. Wants much more.

He slides the plug in and out of the ring of muscle, and my ass takes it, something inside me shifting at each penetration.

“That’s it. Prepare your ass for my cock, darling. I’m going to take it. I’m going to fuck you until you’re full of my cum,” he promises.

I sob a yes, then another, and another, chanting the word.

“Bloody hell,” I hear someone say. I don’t care who. I don’t look. But I’m reminded again of the audience, and my pussy quivers at the thought. “She’s hot.”

I like it. I like that they’re watching.

Keller reaches for my hair, tugging at the elastic bands keeping my braids in shape. Immediately, my unruly curls fly all around my face. I’ve likely been sweating, so they’re as out of control as ever. Keller secures his mask in place once again and lifts a hand toward some of the onlookers, who have edged closer, standing, to watch the lewd display.

“The wand,” he demands in that robotic voice.

I tense, expecting the electric tool, but it’s the microphone-shaped toy that one of the onlookers—a masked girl—hands him.

And suddenly, the head of the white toy’s pressed between his cock and my clit, and I’m screaming as it vibrates, covering so much of my delicate skin.

I wouldn’t have thought it possible for anything to be this good. Surely it’s a sin. Nothing is supposed to be so close to paradise. I’ve never really bought into the whole church thing my grandmother has preached, but if this isn’t divine, otherworldly, I don’t know what could be. And if I’m damned for it? I don’t think I care.

The next orgasm comes way too fast. I’ve not even recovered from the last. My body’s starting to ache in odd places; maybe it’s not made to feel this much.

“Please, please, please,” I hear, and I am startled to realize it comes from me.

I don’t even know what I’m begging for. But he does. Keller slides the butt plug out completely, and the next second, he’s pushing his cock inside my ass in one smooth thrust.

Fuck.

He’s so, so big, and completely different, the head of his cock punching the wall between my ass and pussy, stimulating both as each deep, fast, unrelenting plunge.

I can’t make sense of the pleas and moans and screams coming out of my mouth, as he grunts and keeps plowing me, my visceral need growing.

If this is sex, why isn’t everyone doing it every day, all the time? Why is it kept secret, private and discouraged? I want to keep doing only this for the rest of my life. I want him inside my dripping pussy, and my ass, and circling my clit with one thumb, and cupping my breast with one hand just like he’s doing now, until the end of time.

It’s my last thought as I completely lose all concept of time and space.

I think I pass out. I’m fairly certain I do, because the next time I blink, there’s something hard and soft all at once pressing against my lips.

“I cleaned it,” he assures me, as my eyes lazily lift to his mask face.

The head of his cock hovers over my lips. I part them. Keller doesn’t ask if I’ve done it before, so I’m spared the embarrassment of confessing to yet another way I’m completely ignorant. Instead of waiting for me to do something, he sways his lips a little, pushing his cock in and out of my mouth. All I need is to keep it open.

“Head back,” he says gently. “Don’t fight it. Breathe through your nose, yeah?”

I’m past protests. My mind and body simply obey. His cock presses past my tongue, into my throat. It narrows in protest, but then I force a breath into my nose, and the huge appendage eases farther inside.

I breathe with my nose, and he fucks my throat, his hand fisting my curls.

My ass and pussy are empty, wet and raw, both tightening without reason, as if somehow still in need of attention. Letting him use my throat makes me want his cock elsewhere, everywhere.

He’s turning me into something I wasn’t yesterday, something I didn’t think I ever could be.

A needy, mindless slut.

I like sucking him. I like him fucking my ass. This is what I am, who I am. Someone who genuinely loves sex.

Part of me wonders how he could have known I’d be like this. Because he did know. He told me, and I didn’t believe him. Maybe everyone actually enjoys it once they give it a try. Or maybe he saw something in me.

“Look at her dripping cunt,” I hear someone laugh. “It looks like it wants my cock.”

“Touch her and I cut it off,” Keller snaps.

That makes my entire body sing. He’s not going to let anyone else touch me. I’m his toy, and I love it.

The sound of his grunt as his hips move faster, his thrusts shallower, make me feel powerful. Wanted. Skilled.

“I’m going to come,” he tells me, retreating, and then wet, viscous warmth covers my face, my hair, my lips.

I dart my tongue out to taste it. It’s salty and slimy.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” he informs me in that metallic voice.

That’s only fair. He killed the girl I used to be tonight.

I know, deep down, that however much I am enjoying myself, I’m not going to keep doing this with him. First of all, he’s gotten what he wanted from me. He won’t be interested in more. He’s a billion years away from me, in both experience and social standing. There’s no we. He wanted to use me, and he has. But I’m secretly grateful for the awakening. Now, I know this is a part of me, that sex needs to be in the equation for me to be happy with anyone.

I’m thinking of Noah while covered in Keller’s cum. I am a terrible person. First of all, I decided to break up with him earlier today, but I haven’t yet, so I’m cheating. But I’m also horrible because he’s been my friend my entire life, and he’s always been kind, nice, and patient with me, and I’ve never, ever wanted him like I want Keller. I don’t want his cock in my mouth or my ass. I’m not craving to know what it feels like deep in my pussy.

I only want Keller.

Fuck. He’s likely already tired of me, and here I am, desperate for more. How am I going to get over him?

18

CLAIRE

I wake to unfamiliar surroundings, dazed for one blink. Then I remember, mostly because parts of my body that never ached are calling for my attention. My throat. My clit. My asshole.

Oh my god. My hands fly to my eyes, covering them in shame as lewd memories jump right back to my mind. Embarrassingly, my pussy walls respond, immediately tightening in need, feeling empty.

Oh my god.

“Would you like to take a bath?”

My gaze jumps in the direction of the sound, finding Keller leaning in a doorway, wearing nothing but a towel around his wet, glistening body.

“I imagine you’re rather sore after all that.” He just waves vaguely, the gesture encompassing all of my humiliating memories.

“No, thank you,” I snap, although god knows I am very sore.

A bath sounds amazing. Just not here. I need to get out of here. Immediately.

Dragging my eyes away from Keller’s bare chest, I force myself to sit up, intending to get up, but the sight of my own body under the sheets stops me in my stride. I’m entirely naked. I gasp, trying to remember how I got that way.

“Your clothes were unsalvageable,” he tells me casually, like everything about today is normal. “Except the skirt. It’s in the wash. I got you some stuff,” he assures me, pointing to a neat pile of clothing. “Should be your size.”

I look at the neat bundle of clothing, but don’t move towards it immediately.

Given everything that occurred, and feeling my clammy skin, I regret declining the bath. Soreness aside, I am filthy. In more ways than one.

“Chill,” Keller tells me, returning into the en suite. “I’ll run you a bath.”

Seconds later, the water’s running inside.

I’ve never felt anything further from chill. Mortified, awkward, shy, angry, frustrated, and to my everlasting annoyance, a bit aroused, yes, but certainly nowhere near relaxed.

I ask the one question that matters this morning. Everything else is irrelevant. “Can I go back to school?”

Because that was the point, wasn’t it?

Keller’s voice answers from the bathroom. "I think so. The council sent a report back to the board to let them know you were very obliging.”

The formal, polite tone, glossing over what I’ve done to be considered obliging, makes this entire situation surreal. Are we supposed to ignore what he did to me, or worse yet, pretend he wasn’t the one under that blue mask, that it wasn’t his fingers, his lips, his cock I felt on and inside me?

“I think they let you back in. Check your emails,” he suggests.

“Oh.” I look around the unfamiliar, tidy, vast room, spotting nothing. “My phone’s in my bag.”

I have no idea what I’ve done with it. I certainly came in the house with it, but what happened to it, I couldn’t say.

“I’ll find it,” he assures me, finally coming back from the bathroom, still unfairly gorgeous, and distractingly mostly naked.

I ease to my feet, taking the bedsheet with me, and sway a little, my legs weaker than they’ve ever been, like I’ve had a hard workout. There’s also an uncomfortable awareness low in my core.

Keller’s next to me in an instant, first steadying me, his hands around my waist. I freeze, electricity shooting through my skin, certainly much more pleasant than when he jabbed a device right at my clit. Before I can tell him to let go, he grasps me under the knees and behind my back, lifting me up bridal style like I weigh nothing.

I gasp, as the sheet pools to the floor. “This is unnecessary.”

“Tell that to your jelly legs. Hold on.”

I don’t want to do it, but he’s so damn tall, I’m too far from the ground. Though he holds me steadily, with no hint that my weight is of consequence to him, I can imagine falling to the floor, and I don’t want to. So, I wrap my arms around his broad shoulders, flushing. It’s the rational thing to do. Attempting to get back to my feet would likely just end in my tumbling down and hurting myself.

The moment I’ve done it, I regret it.

I am naked. My bare breasts are right against his wet, sculpted chest. But Keller’s not even leering, acting like my nakedness is of no consequence. I suppose he’s seen it before.

He strides to the bathroom as I blush, both at the ridiculous position and his proximity.

I can’t stop myself from noticing things that shouldn’t register. He smells very good. Woodsy, spicy musk, some sort of a cool undertone evocative of winter. I’m looking down to avoid meeting his gaze, but it’s not helping. His muscles are downright absurd. It’s truly unfair that someone like him exists at all. If life were fair, he would at least have a microdick to make up for it. No such luck. My asshole can attest to it.

But we’re not talking about that. We’re pretending today’s normal, that nothing’s strange or wrong. He washed my skirt, drew a bath for me, and is now carrying me towards it like a princess, and we’re not addressing the elephant in the room.

Cool, cool.

The dark slate bathroom is gorgeous, with a free-standing claw foot tub right at its center. White foamy bubbles almost reach the top already. Smoothly, Keller lowers me into the warm, fragrant water, his face so very close I can no longer escape his eyes, fixed on me.

I can feel his breath against my lips. Can he tell how hard my heart’s beating?

But once I’m immersed, Keller stands up and turns on his heels.

“I’ll get your bag,” he announces, leaving me flushed and embarrassed and thoroughly angry at myself.

After what he did to me yesterday, I should loathe him, not look into his gorgeous, cold eyes and wish his mouth could get a little closer. What the hell is wrong with me?

Your problem is you liked it, a little voice whispers. You liked it, and you want more.

I lower my entire face under the surface of the water, willing myself to not think. If that’s what my brain can come up with, it needs to stop.

I am so fucking messed up. Especially since he’s no longer interested. I am completely naked, at his mercy, and he just left.

He got what he wanted yesterday and is done with me. Not that I actually want to keep his attention. He’s insane. Not only has he fucked me—there’s no other word for it, regardless of the intact state of my hymen—in exchange for letting me stay in school, but the night before, he also kissed me in exchange for money—for my grandmother, but same difference.

Keller is absolutely not a normal person. I should be glad his attention is no longer on me, given how much he’s screwed with me in two days.

Come to think of it, everything, down to my expulsion, is his fault. None of it would have happened if he hadn’t set his eyes on me, and invited me into his crazy world.

He’ll find someone else to fuck, and fuck with tomorrow, and it’s a good thing, I firmly tell myself, refusing to analyze why my heart contracts uncomfortably.

The sooner my life goes back to a semblance of normalcy, the better.

19

KELLER

She looks good in my tub. She looked good in my bed. I have come to the conclusion that Claire always seems like she’s right at home, so long as she’s in my space.

Her eyes are closed as she enjoys the bath, so relaxed I wonder if she’s asleep. I consider joining her, but choose to leave her to it today. She’s still skittish and besides, I just took a shower.

Next time, little ghost.

“I have your bag,” I tell her.

Her eyes flutter open, unfocused for a bit. Was she really sleeping?

“Oh, great. Could I have my phone?”

I frown. “Not in the bath. Just because I call you little ghost doesn’t mean we should hasten your demise and make the description more accurate.”

“I’m not going to die in a bathtub,” she retorts with an eye roll.

“Yes,” I agree. “Because you’re not going to get your phone while you’re in it.”

Claire’s little mouth pouts, and I wonder if she’s often told no. Doubt it.

With a sigh, she sits up. “Fine. I need to check what the faculty said. Would you turn around? I’m getting out.”

I laugh. “In case it escaped your notice, I’ve seen it all before.”

I love how easily she blushes. It extends past her face to her chest and neck, coloring the ridiculously pale complexion.

“Can I have a towel?”

I walk to the sink, and grab two towels—as she washed her hair—and a silky dressing gown, too.

I linger, because I want to see her expression. I want to see every change in her pretty, unbearably naive face today. I'd like if I could watch her all day, not letting her out of my sight for a moment.

I know she’ll be happy. Delighted. Ecstatic, even. For a time. And then she’ll realize what the board has done.

I lean on the wall, watching her wrap one towel around her chest, then proceed to dry her hair. I can’t stop watching, fascinated.

“May I have my phone now?” she asks, ever so polite, even annoyed.

I hand it to her, and watch her immediately unlock it and start to scroll. She attempts to conceal the fact that she’s avoiding my gaze purposefully.

Her pretty mouth lets out a frustrated groan. “My internet is so slow!”

“Night25, capital N,” I tell her.

As soon as those ocean-blue eyes meet mine, she flushes again.

“The Wi-Fi password.”

“Oh. Thank you.”

She continues to navigate the screen for a few minutes; and then her eyes finally widen, her mouth stretching in a smile that lights up her entire face, making her look just as sweet and adorable and beautiful as she looked the first time I saw her in that stationery store, chatting with my niece and rubbing her back so protectively.

“What would you like to eat?”

“Hm? Oh, I…” I think she’s about to tell me she’s not hungry, but at the mention of food, her stomach roars, betraying the lie before it crosses her lips. “Sorry, I haven’t eaten since yesterday morning.”

“That won’t do. What would you like?”

She shakes her head. “I don’t have time. I’m supposed to go get my schedule this morning, in…” She checks the screen. “An hour. Shit, I’d better rush—it’ll take a good forty minutes to walk to the admin building.”

I watch her, waiting for her to ask for help. Give me a ride. Bring me to school. Feed me. Take care of me.

She doesn’t. It doesn’t matter. She’ll need to by the end of the day. And then, she’ll learn…in time.

“Thanks for the offer. And the bath. And the clothes,” she adds, moving back into my room.

“So they re-enrolled you, huh?”

She beams. “Yes! And god knows I’ve learned my lesson. I’m going to stay the hell away from, well, everyone.”

Oh, sweet summer child.

Does she truly believe that’s an option?

I follow, watching her get to the pile of clothing. Given the fact that my extensive folder on her includes all of her emails, bank records and text, I’m confident they’re the right size.

It’s good to see her in decent clothes. Her super-sweet style is cute as fuck, and I did stick to it, with a pink A-line skirt and a cream top, but I would bet the polyester blend shit she wore before didn’t cost more than fifty bucks apiece. Now, in a Dolce and Gabbana skirt, with a top from my dad’s latest collection, she looks…right. Like she belongs here in the Vesper house. I don’t truly care what clothes she’s covered in, being far more interested in what’s underneath, but it’s satisfying to see her wear my choice of attire, just like it was satisfying to watch her in my bed, in my bath.

Fuck, I didn’t even know it was possible to feel so very strongly that one person belonged to me, should be with me, close, protected, cared for, spoiled by me at all times.

Mine, mine, mine.

She dresses as demurely as she can, keeping the towel on, and I watch with amusement.

My attention’s mostly on her hair. Soaking wet, her hair seemed dead straight, but as it dries, it starts to gain volume, forming a messy yet enticing cloud around her face. She wasn’t joking when she told Octavia it explodes. And it’s gorgeous. She tames it into a braid again, and it’s my turn to want to pout. I like it wild. It’s so perfect with her sweet, preppy, proper vibe.

“All right, I’d better go.” She drags her eyes up, to meet mine. “Thanks for…”

That blush again. I grin.

“Everything,” she concludes, red as a beet.

“I’ll walk you out,” I say pleasantly, following her to the door.

I don’t want her to walk through the house unaccompanied; not until I’ve had a chance to talk to everyone here, and make it crystal clear that everything, from the tips of her wild white-blonde hair to those tiny toes, belongs to me.

At the door, I open it, and watch her hurry out, knowing she’ll be back very soon.

Honestly? It’s not even my fault. They came to the decision unprompted. I just didn’t see the need to argue with their highly logical conclusion. But I am very certain she won’t see it coming. She’s going to be thoroughly miserable.

I can’t wait to see how she reacts. I’m never entirely sure what she’ll do. If she comes to me right away, of her own volition, I’ll be sure to reward her for it. Has she learned yet, that whatever she needs from now on will come from me?

Doubtful.

20

CLAIRE

I can’t quite determine how I feel today. One moment, I’m floating on a cloud, the next, I am flushing whenever anyone seems to look at me for longer than a second. Did they see me last night? Were they hidden under a mask? And I groan, or stamp my foot, when lurid images assault my mind. Telling myself to pull myself together every fifteen minutes achieves very little.

On the whole, everything is fine. More than fine. I’m enrolled again. It’s as if Sunday didn’t happen. That’s what I have to tell myself. It never happened. If only my brain would get the memo. Is there a way to remove some memories from someone’s brain? Asking for a friend.

“Hey!” Lily calls from her table at the cafe on the ground floor of the library, beaming as she waves.

She’s at a table with six seats, two of them occupied by two strangers. The guy has bad acne, large glasses, and a frame similar to mine, thin and rather small for a boy. I would have guessed he was sixteen, at a push. The girl is a brunette with the most startling pale jade eyes I’ve ever seen. Dressed entirely in black, her hair is cut in a bob that reminds me of a fashion model, but she slouches, looking down, like the last thing she wants is to get noticed.

Good luck with that. That girl is not shaped to be a wallflower.

“Hey, Claire! This is Liv and Jack.”

I wave back. “Hi.”

“So, did everything get sorted?” she asks eagerly, and I nod.

“I’m officially re-enrolled.” I can’t help my grin. “I just got my schedule. I managed to squeeze in a drawing class, too, for fun.”

“Oh, what happened?” Liv asked.

I’m relieved Lily finds the right words before I can come up with anything. “An admin snafu. She thought her enrollment got cancelled last minute.”

“Oh my god!” Liv gapes at me, those beautiful eyes terrified. “I can’t imagine the stress. Even thinking about it is triggering my anxiety.”

“Olivia,” Jack says, rolling his eyes, “a broken mirror triggers your anxiety.”

“Well, they’re unlucky,” she states defiantly.

“And water is wet. Not to mention the sky’s blue,” Lily teases.

Liv doesn’t seem to mind. “I’m a bit of a scaredy-cat,” she tells me with an indifferent shrug.

“A bit?” Jack echoes.

I’m not judging. After yesterday, it wouldn’t take much to turn me into one either.

“What’s good here?” I ask, dropping my satchel on one of the empty seats, before rifling through it to get my wallet.

“Everything. It’s also ridiculously cheap,” Liv tells me.

“Seriously?”

I didn’t think cheap was a word I’d hear in Thorn Falls.

“The cafe’s actually a nonprofit,” Lily tells us. “The proceeds go toward some of the scholarships they offer here.”

“Oh, wow, I didn’t know that!” Jack stands. “This is officially my cue to get a second blueberry muffin.”

We walk together toward the short line of students waiting to order. “So, what are you studying?” he asks me.

“Accounting. You?”

Before he says anything, I think he’s in STEM, because, well, he kinda looks like the caricature, doesn’t he?

“STEM, sophomore year. I’m not sure what I’ll specialize in yet. There’s just so many options.”

Smiling to myself, I look at the choice of snacks and immediately start drooling. God, Liv wasn’t kidding.

There are a number of stuffed croissants, toasties, and salads, and another shelf with muffins, brownies, doughnuts, and cakes, all of which seem freshly made and delicious.

I spot one elaborate decorated pie behind the counter, on a cake stand under a transparent cloche.

That. I want that.

Jack orders his muffin with a pink haired waitress, and asks me what I’d like.

“Oh, I can get my own, I haven’t decided yet,” I lie, not wanting to offend him.

He smiles. “No worries. The muffins are to die for.”

“I’ll bear that in mind,” I assure him as he walks back to Liv and Lily.

Once he’s gone, the barista smirks at me. “Poor guy. A bit out of his weight class with you, huh?”

I flush. “Rather, exactly in my weight class.” I feel a little wicked immediately, so I explain, “But he wasn’t hitting on me, I think; just being friendly. The thing is, I don’t have much money, so I don’t like people buying things for me. I can’t really return the favor.”

“Relatable,” she assures me. “So, have you picked something yet?”

“How much is the gorgeous pie over there?” I ask, pointing to the complex piece of patisserie.

It’s so beautiful, it’s kind of a shame to eat it, but two slices have already been cut out of it, so I don’t feel too bad.

The guy behind me snorts. “More than you can afford, Barbie.”

“Hey! Rude,” the waitress snaps, before I can.

I glance back at him, and lose my ability to say anything anyway. Not only because he’s gorgeous—what is there in the water in this town? Guys did not look like this back home—but because he feels…dangerous. That’s the only word I can think of. A shiver travels up my spine as I look at him.

“Just for that, you can have a slice,” the waitress tells me.

The guy’s eyes narrow at her. “No.”

She crosses her arms in front of her, her ample chest rising up. “I made it. I pick who can eat it. Anything else, love?”

“That’s my pie,” the guy practically growls.

“Nope. Today, it’s Barbie’s.”

I obviously walked into the middle of something, and I’m not sure how to extricate myself from it, until a chuckle makes me shiver again, for a very different reason.

My eyes immediately fly to the man strolling up to the counter, ignoring the three people in the queue behind the self-proclaimed pie owner.

“Darius,” the pie asshole greets him.

Of course they know each other. I assume everyone knows Keller, anyway.

“Markus,” he replies, his eyes remaining fixed on me. “You’ve officially met Claire?”

“Claire, huh?” He shrugs. “I prefer Barbie.”

I glare at him, although frankly, a minute ago, I wouldn’t have dared. But Darius’s presence shifts the dynamic a little. It’s not me against a dangerous-looking stranger with cold golden eyes anymore. I get the feeling Markus won’t strangle me for the offense of looking at him the wrong way with Keller here. Or having pie.

“This is Markus,” Keller tells me. “And this is his future wife, Daisy.”

The waitress snorts. “He wishes.”

Markus lifts his chin. “Yes, he does.”

Grinning, Daisy plates a slice of pie for me. “Did you want a drink?”

“Wait, you’re seriously giving her pie, Dez?” Keller marvels.

“Yes. Maybe Markus will learn a valuable lesson: I can give whatever I want to whomever I want.”

The look they exchange makes me want to run and hide. “I don’t need a drink.” It’s a lie; I’d die for a coffee. “How much do I owe you?”

“Oh, nothing. Pie’s not on the menu. It’s mine,” she repeats, staring at her…something?

Someone, get me out of here.

“How about you, Keller?”

“If you give him some of my pie, I will leave your ass so red you won’t be able to sit for a fucking week,” Markus states.

Keller laughs. “Black coffee, please. And a caramel macchiato for Claire. Try not to terrify her so much she considers surviving without her midday caffeine fix next time, you psychos.”

I was about to leave with my slice of pie, but his response has me staring at him, positively red.

I knew he looked into me. He made that very apparent Saturday night. But he even worked out my coffee order, as well as my habit of ordering coffee around twelve? That’s…crazy. He’s crazy.

About you.

I tell the voice that added that to shut up. He’s crazy, full stop. I’m just the target he chose for the weekend. It’s likely going to be someone else next week. He didn’t even try to touch me this morning. He’s done. Right?

I return to Lily’s table, where her friends are all staring at me.

No one’s so much as said a word when Keller saunters his way to me, wordlessly sitting at one end of the table.

“I need to try some of that pie,” he tells me, sliding my coffee across the table until it’s in front of me. “Markus is ridiculously territorial over them, and I must know if they’re as good as they look.”

Lily stares at him. Jack stares at me. Liv stares at her nails.

“I don’t know, I feel like that other guy might murder me for sharing his pie.”

“He might murder you for eating his pie,” Markus himself assures me, as he sits at the other end of the table.

Again, Lily and her friends are astounded.

“You’re lucky I’m feeling generous today. The actual culprit will be the one to pay for it,” he says, glaring at the bubbly, pink-haired girl who smirks at him from behind the counter while serving an older woman—likely a teacher.

I would not want to be in Dez’s shoes right now. It’s wild to me that she’d push the buttons of a guy like that.

Is it?

My mind flies back to last night. To the jolt of electricity pressed right at my clit when I earned a punishment. At the time, it was overwhelming. So much so I screamed. I must have had tears in my eyes. Today, the only response is—embarrassingly—my thighs clenching, and my core heating at the memory.

Yes, it was a lot. It didn’t feel good…exactly. But it felt. Right there.

Maybe Dez likes earning punishments.

I cut a little piece of pie—I’m not that generous—and lift it to Keller’s mouth, before trying it myself. My eyes widen.

Oh, this is good. Like very, very good. There’s a layer of something creamy, but a bit solid, like creme patissiere, and then a fruit coulis of sort, tangy and fresh. Then, the slightest hint of chocolate, all with the most perfect crust.

“No wonder you want to marry her,” I tell Markus honestly.

“Right?” he smirks.

“If she keeps saying no, can I marry her?” I joke, a little unsure.

I feel like there’s a fifty percent chance the guy might flip on me. But he just laughs. “Your funeral, Barbie.”

“Seriously, she should be a pro. Is she studying culinary arts?”

“No, believe it or not. She just locks herself in the kitchen and tries stuff.” He stares at Dez like he wants to eat her up.

“I’d love to spy on her. I mean, I like to bake, but I’ve never even seen anything like this, outside of fancy cooking shows or Instagram pictures.”

“You bake?” Keller asks.

I lift an eyebrow. “Oh, you didn’t know?”

The corner of his mouth hikes up. “I didn’t, actually.”

It occurs to me the rest of the table is silent. I cut up the rest of my pie in four pieces, and eat one, before sliding it to Liv, Lily and Jack, who all take a bite, and moan in delight, just like I did.

I’m glad Markus doesn’t explode at my sharing the pie slice. In fact, he seems rather smug at all the delight. Why wouldn’t he? He snagged the genius who bakes him his own pies all the time. Lucky guy. Suddenly, he doesn’t seem all that crazy about wanting to keep them to himself.

“How are you so ripped?” Lily asks him. “If I had a baker like that in the house, I’d be the size of an elephant.”

“Oh, I work it off,” he announces, his tone highly suggestive in my opinion. Then, he glances at me. “You can, you know. Spy on her, that is. She lives in my house—wyvern. Pop by any morning around seven. That’s when she likes to bake. She doesn’t mind. She’s given lessons to a bunch of people.”

“Oh!” I blink. “I mean, can I?”

Somehow, I thought I wouldn’t be welcome again in the Wyvern House.

Markus shrugs. “Sure. Dez likes you. Hey, how did the chat with Dad go?” he asks Keller.

I blink. “You’re brothers?”

That would explain so much. They look nothing alike, Markus being tall dark and handsome, while Keller’s rocking the Apollo vibe, golden blond and sky-blue eyes. But they’re equally stunning. But my internet search didn’t mention another son for Arlo.

“Cousins,” Keller corrects.

“Sort of,” Markus responds, rolling his eyes. “His aunt’s married to my dad.”

Yep. There’s definitely something in the water, then.

“Your dad acted as expected,” Keller tells him. “I’m very satisfied with the result—though not everyone will be.”

Markus smirks knowingly, leaning in. “I knew you had a little beast in you, too. What’s it like to leave the moral high ground and join the rest of us?”

I don’t know what it’s about, but he’s baiting Keller.

The man at my left smiles. “A hell of a lot of fun.”

Somehow, I’m flushing. Nothing they’ve said indicates that they’re in any way referring to me, but the word “fun” on Keller’s lips calls to mind everything he did to me.

Fuck. I need to stay the hell away from him. But it doesn’t look like he intends to stay away from me.

“I guess I need an actual snack, since you’ve all had a piece of my pie,” I say, pouting at the empty plate in front of me.

Markus snorts, smugly eating the rest of his without offering anyone a bite.

“I got it.” Keller’s already on his feet. “What would you like?”

“Oh, don’t worry. I need to tell Dez how wonderful the pie was. I’ll get my own lunch.”

His eyes do the thing where they’re too intensely focused on mine. It’s hard to tell, as his expression doesn’t give much away, but it feels like a warning of sorts.

I ignore it, making my way to the counter again. There are only a couple of people waiting.

I tense as Keller falls into step next to me.

It’s one thing to speak to him with other people around, but when it’s just the two of us, it feels different.

Intimate?

Dangerous.

“How’s your grandma?” he asks me.

I blink. “Oh. I…” Biting my lower lip, I wonder how to voice the fact that I’ve actively avoided any calls or texts over the last thirty hours or so.

Because of him.

I clear my throat. “I haven’t had a chance to chat with her yet.”

“I’m sure she'd love to hear from you. She booked her surgery; it’s next Friday.”

So, he did keep his word.

“Thank you.”

“No thanks necessary. You paid for that, with interest, if I recall.”

Great, I’m vividly remembering how. With those lips and those fingers and⁠—

Jesus, what happened to me in the course of a single weekend?

Him. Darius Keller is what happened to me. And he’s still right next to me for some reason, like there’s nothing more natural in the world.

“You will also hear from my sister, Lisa. She’s hoping to get you to babysit Octavia some evenings, so she can extend her working hours. I gave her your number.”

He had it already?

A gentleman asks.

But if asking isn't getting me what I need, I'm fine with taking.

“I’ll answer her,” I say, lamely.

By luck, we’re already at the front of the line. “That pie was out of this world,” I tell Dez, who beams at me. “But I had to share with the whole table, so I need to actually eat something. Can I have a croissant with cheese?”

“You bet. I’ll heat it up and bring it out to you in a sec. Anything else?”

I hesitate. “Markus said you wouldn’t mind if I could look at how you make them? I’ve honestly never tasted anything this good, and I like to bake. If you truly don’t mind…”

“Oh, please, come any time. It gets boring in the Wyvern House; I’m not the only girl, but let’s just say the others don’t really have time to hang out in the kitchen. I plan on trying a mille feuille tomorrow, if you’re game?”

“Please. What time?”

“It doesn’t take that long. Eight? When’s your first class?”

“Eleven. I’ll be there.” I beam.

Dez lifts the card reader up, but before she can announce the total, Keller has seamlessly tapped his phone, paying for my food.

I attempt to glare at him, but then his eyes do their thing, where the depth of the many blues pulls me in, and I forget I’m supposed to be annoyed. Instead, I make myself lower my gaze.

Keller is a problem and a half.

Welp.

“I’d better take this one to go.”

I’m not going to say I flee, but I definitely walk out of there real fast, after a wave towards Lily, Liv, Jack, and an ever-amused Markus. He’s the only one who waves back.

21

CLAIRE

It’s a short walk from the building housing the library to the dorm—less than fifteen minutes—and I choose to spend it stuffing my face with one hand, and catching up with the world on the others.

As expected, I received several texts, and more than a few missed calls. Eating my croissant with one hand, I type an answer with the other, and copy-paste it on my chat with Noah and grandma.

Me: Sorry, I lost my charger! I’ll call tonight.

The little white lie won’t hurt anyone.

To my grandmother, I add a line.

Me: I’m so glad to hear about the anonymous donor. Amazing. I’ll see if I can come back for the operation.

I don’t find anything else to say to Noah.

I can’t really afford another trip back home so soon after coming here, but the more I think about it, the more it seems logical. I need to chat with Noah, face to face. After this weekend, I know it’s a necessity. And if my grandmother’s getting surgery on a Friday, it makes sense to go, then stay with her for a couple of days. If Keller’s sister wants me to start babysitting right away, and I manage to find some cheap tickets, maybe I can afford it.

I then move on to the more intriguing text, from an unknown number I rename as Lisa.

Lisa: Hi, Claire. We haven’t met, but I’m Lisa, Keller’s sister and Octavia’s mom. Vivi is officially smitten with you, and I happen to be looking for a babysitter. I understand you study at Rothford. Naturally, I’ll take your schedule into consideration. If you’re interested, please message me, and we can meet up at the house to chat about the details.

Me: Hi, Lisa! Thank you so much for considering me. I have a little experience as a babysitter, and would be thrilled to take care of Vivi. She’s the cutest. I received my schedule today; most of my classes are between nine and three. I’d love to meet up, let me know when.

I’m already back at the dorm, my delicious croissant obliterated. I scan my card to get in, and frown when the door buzzes instead of sliding open. I scan it a second time, still frowning.

I see the security guy at the front desk start to walk towards me, and smile. The dorms are a lot fancier than what I would have expected of a student housing building, but Rothford is definitely that kind of school.

He opens the door and stands in the middle, blocking the entrance. “Ms. Fairmont?”

I frown. “That’s me.”

“Your dorm key has been cancelled. You will need to speak to the administration.”

“Oh.” It makes sense, when I think about it. “I had an enrollment issue, but it’s all been fixed this morning.”

“Great. Speak to the front desk at Rose Hall. They’ll be able to reissue your dorm card,” he tells me.

Sighing, I head back towards the other side of the road. Well, it’s a good thing classes start tomorrow. I suppose today’s meant to be all about figuring out the admin side of things.

I can’t lie: being back in this building isn’t fun. Even this morning, when I came to grab my schedule, I was a little stressed out, but now, the quieter atmosphere brings back all my fear and desperation from yesterday. I swallow it down.

There are a few students waiting ahead of me, asking for random things, from lunch schedule to swimming club information. When it’s my turn, I smile at the welcoming receptionist—not the same one I saw yesterday, thank fuck.

“Hi. My enrollment got a bit messed up over the weekend, and reinstated this morning. My dorm card’s not working though.” I place it on the counter, between the two of us.

The pretty brunette adjusts her glasses and smile. “Let me look for you.”

She takes my card, scans it, and starts typing away, then scrolling, and scrolling, and reading.

“Oh, I see.”

It’s taking long, long seconds—or minutes—that don’t help me feel any better. Isn’t it supposed to be an easy fix? Shouldn’t she tell me it’s going to be sorted in a second?

But she says nothing. She types and reads and scroll, for what seems like forever. Then, she leans in, pressing on a button. “Steph, would you mind coming to the front desk? I’m handling something.”

Why am I something to handle? Why does she need help?

A glance behind me shows me there’s a bit of a queue now, all of them listening in, just like I listened to the students getting helped before me.

A perky blonde—the one who handed me my schedule—arrives shortly, and my receptionist stands. “Would you mind stepping in the office for a minute?”

I follow her in silence, my hands tightening on the hem of my shirt.

Part of me is grateful she’s considerate of my privacy, but the other part wonders why it’s needed. What’s wrong?

We enter a lit-up space with a large desk, but she doesn’t make her way to it. Wasting no time in enlightening me, the woman tells me, “Ms. Fairmont, did you read your renewed agreement this morning?”

I blink. “Kinda? I mean, yes; it said my enrollment and scholarships were reinstated. I didn’t…” I flush. “…read every word, this time. I assumed it said the same thing as my first lot of paperwork.”

“Ah, well, not quite.” She moves to the chairs in front of the desk, tapping one before sitting on the one next to it.

I follow, taking the designated seat.

“It’s fairly similar, but, erm—well, while your housing grant is intact, the board does not seem to feel like you’re a good fit for the student dorms here. You see, the specific circumstances of this weekend’s expulsion were about student privacy. And while it’s my understanding that the school council has vouched for you, the board is still concerned about the privacy of its students in their own living spaces.”

I stare at her, speechless.

“In other words, the school will pay you the equivalent of the dorm fees, but you will need to find alternative accommodations.”

Fuck.

My heart sinks. I should have known it was too good to be true.

I liked the dorms. I had the best roommate. We already got along, she introduced me to her friends, and took me under her wing.

I shake myself.

Okay, okay. It’s not that bad, right? They’re still giving me money for a place; just not at the dorms.

“Right. Erm—how does it work, exactly?”

She tells me how to request the housing stipend, and pats my hands.

It’s not that bad. It could be worse.

* * *

“I’m fucked,” I say categorically.

I am back at the dorm, but as Lily’s guest, packing my bags with tears in my eyes.

I spent most of the day and some of the afternoon scouring the internet for rentals in Thorn Falls.

Campus aside, the town is divided in three: the riverside, on a hill; the west side, which is much cheaper, but also a lot farther; and southie.

Let’s put it this way: if I save the dorm stipend for ten years, maybe I can afford one month of rent on the hill.

West side, I could possibly afford a shoe box, but it’s an hour and a half walk—or endless bus trips with two changes of buses to get to campus.

Southie seems to be the better bet, out of the three, but it’s still incredibly expensive, and farther than I’d like. Regardless, it’s obvious that the dorm is designed to be affordable to the less fortunate students of Rothford—the monthly stay is only three hundred dollars for a shared two-bedroom—and I’ll need to supplement that allowance with more than a thousand per month if I want to live in town.

I can’t do it. Not with babysitting money. I’d need another job on top of that, and if I take one, when will I have time to study? My scholarship is merit-based. They made it perfectly clear it’s only valid so long as I pass my classes, and I know better than to think they were kidding about any part of the fine print.

I’m screwed.

“Maybe you could find a roommate in southie?” Lily offers.

“I looked.” In fact, I only looked at shared accommodations, because an apartment for myself is way beyond my means. “It’s still a lot of money. And from what I’ve read, southie isn’t super safe at night, either.”

Lily’s grimace tells me everything I need to know.

I am thoroughly fucked.

She fidgets. “Maybe…”

But Lily leaves it at that, changing her mind.

My heart stops in my chest, guessing what she almost said.

Maybe I should call Keller.

Ask him for help.

Everything that’s happened to me over the last two days, good and bad, can be traced back to him. He has an insane degree of control in this school. Maybe he could change the board’s mind.

He’ll have a price for that. I may not have known him for long, but I already understand that everything he does comes with a cost. But so far, I’ve been able to pay my dues.

“Yeah.” I remind myself to breathe in and out. “I don’t have his number. I’ll walk to the vesper tower, in case he’s home.”

Besides, something tells me this isn’t going to get resolved remotely. He’ll want a piece of me in return.

22

CLAIRE

My Wyvern House invitation lets me through the gates again.

I didn’t pay attention this morning, in my rush to leave, but the houses’ lane looks very different in broad daylight, like a well-to-do gated neighborhood. If it were my first time walking up here, I’d expect kids riding their bikes, happy little dogs, minivans. Instead, the street’s empty.

Call me paranoid, but I think I feel eyes following my progress.

I take forever to get to the tower at the end of the road.

Making myself cross the drive takes all of my strength. I keep my eyes downcast, because I can't bear to watch his stupidly beautiful face or that infuriating smirk, like he hasn't already destroyed my former life and spat out the pieces.

Keller opens the door before I get anywhere close, a grin curving his lips as he leans in the frame.

"The maiden returns. How unexpected," he deadpans, everything in his demeanor saying that he absolutely expected to see me again. 

Of course he did. 

He walks inside as I reach the threshold, and I follow him without a word, past the now-empty lounge, study, library, and into a vast, deep blue kitchen I haven’t seen yet.

"Coffee?"

Angry, afraid, stressed to no end, I want to snap that I want nothing from him. But that's not exactly true, is it?

I bite my tongue hard enough to bleed. "Please."

I watch him make it just how I like it; more milk than coffee, and he adds two pumps of caramel, then a pump of vanilla, pointedly displaying a fact that would have made my blood run cold if I didn't already know it. He's been watching me. Or had me watched, as the case may be.

Since when? For how long? Did he plan all this the moment I came to Thorn Falls?

But no, that's not possible. How could he have known I'd open my big mouth Saturday and make it oh so easy for him to manipulate me? 

That bit, if only that, is on me. 

"So," I begin, refusing to make small talk, "I'm allowed in the school, but I don't have anywhere to live?" 

Part of me wonders if he's going to play it like he doesn't know what I'm talking about.

"If I take a job to pay for an apartment in this town, I won't have time to study, so I won’t be able to maintain the grades I need to keep my scholarship," I say. 

I checked every job posting online. There seem to be plenty of bartending gigs available, but there's no denying that I wouldn't be able to pay for an apartment unless I take a minimum of thirty hours. How am I supposed to do that and do well in each of my classes? 

Keller takes a sip of the dark sludge he's drinking without even a hint of sugar. "Yeah. It truly sucks to be you."

My jaw tightens. "I need back in the dorms."

We made one deal so I'd have my scholarship back. We can make another. 

Fuck, I hate him for reducing me to this...but if that's what's necessary, what other choice do I have?

The dick who ruined me laughs, like all of this is just a big joke to him. 

Thirty-six hours ago, I thought I'd lost my scholarship, everything I worked my ass off to earn, and had to go back to Michigan with my tail between my legs and nothing to my name. This afternoon, I learned I still have it, but I no longer have a roof over my head. And he's laughing. 

I want to scream. 

"Darling, it's sweet you think I control everything around here, but actually, the order to expel you from the dorms came from above."

My heart starts to race. 

Fuck. "There must be…"

To my surprise, I see something not unlike pity in those cold, pale eyes of his. "You proved yourself untrustworthy and the board doesn't want you around their children until you've shown them you've changed. That takes time and consistency."

He's reminding me it's my fault. My consequences. Because telling the police what is going on is a crime in this part of the world. It’s not like I incriminated him or anyone else. In fact, I did my very best so the wyverns would be left out of it.

A little voice I refuse to pay attention to whispers that I didn't have to tell them everyone had been drinking, or that there was probably drugs, too. I should have held my tongue. It's common sense.

Seems I don't have any of that. 

"And in the meantime, I'm homeless." 

These people are horrible. They must know how desperate they’ve made me. They must know how much it costs to live in this town. This is another punishment.

"Don't be dramatic," he replies with an eye roll. "Look for apartments in southie. I'm sure you can find flatmates."

"Yes. For fifteen hundred, if I don’t mind bed bugs,” I snap. “And waste hours every day—hours I have to spend studying to stay here—on commuting and work."

I'm wasting my time, and losing my temper. To cut to the chase, I ask plainly, "Is there anything you can do?"

"What makes you think I'll help?"

I stare at him wordlessly, as his amusement grows. 

"You know," he teases, "when people beg for favors, they usually offer something in exchange."

And here we go. 

"You already had something from me."

"So sure it was me under the mask, huh?" Keller challenges.

I lift my chin. 

Honestly, I don't know what gives me that absolute certainty. Sure, I thought I recognized the blond hair, a little wavy, on the longer side under his hood, but he's hardly the only one with blond locks at Rothford. Maybe someone else heard him call me little ghost and repeated it.

And yet, I am positive. He just…wouldn't let anyone else do that to me. I can’t explain it. But I’d bet anything I’m right.

"Wasn't it?" I volley back at him. 

Keller holds my gaze wordlessly for a few seconds before replying—and avoiding the subject all at once. "That deal got you your scholarship back. A couple of hours of work for over fifty thousand dollars. You're saying that sweet ass of yours is worth more?"

That’s an answer in itself. I find myself blushing.

"I'm saying," I grit between my teeth, "if there's a way to help, please do it."

He seems to consider my words. 

"I can't get you your room back in the dorm."

My heart drops. It’s all I can do no to sink to the floor and just cry, after everything. I think the only reason I don’t is the numbness.

What next? 

Maybe if I take a bartending gig and limit my sleeping hours to four a night, I'll be able to juggle everything. Just maybe…

"What I can do…" Keller adds as I put the mug down, unwilling to remain here a second longer than I have to—not when I'm about to break into tears.

I lift my eyes to his, knowing they're red and wet and desperate.

"Is give you a room here, in the Vesper House."

What?

I look around at the rich, warm dark wood, the leather, and the expensive everything. 

He can't mean that.

"Provided you're happy to pay for your stay. The guys pay a thousand per week." 

Ugh. I should have known. 

"I can't afford that. That was my whole point, as you've clearly missed it." 

"I know," he retorts with that smile. 

The one that starts in one corner, before spreading, and showing his perfect teeth.

Predatory. That's what it is. I’ve finally found the right word for his smile, that never reaches his eyes, and the look he gives me all the time. Like a wolf who spots juicy prey.

"What do you want?" I force out. 

Although I know.

"You can guess."

I narrow my eyes at him, crossing my arms over my chest. "I want you to say it out loud. I want you to hear yourself say that you're happy to take advantage of a girl who doesn't have any other choice."

"All right. Claire Fairmont, I am offering you a suite in the Vesper House, and in exchange, you're going to be my cum dumpster for the rest of the year." 

He doesn't so much as hesitate, perfectly comfortable with the idea. 

"I'll cover your room and board, and throw in any expenses you might have. Your duty will be to let me come inside one of your holes twice a day, every day. When I want, where I want." 

I was so, so wrong. He wasn’t done this morning. He just didn’t have any way to bend me to his will yet.

And I thought I could shame the man into doing the right thing.

He likes this. He loves having power over me.  

"Don't worry. I'll either fuck your mouth or your asshole. We can leave that virgin pussy of yours out of the deal if you'd like. I'm not much for bloodsports."

"You're disgusting."

He shrugs indifferently. "Take it or leave it. But I doubt you'll get a better offer, even in this town."

23

KELLER

I’ll say it: I was a bit of an ass. But she annoyed me, acting all hurt and betrayed, like everything was my fault, when in actual fact, all I’ve done was clean up her messes for the last couple of days.

Sure, I invited her to the party. But sooner or later, she would have seen something at Rothford. Everyone does. It’s not my fault her instinct tells her she should snitch.

Besides, I know she saw the faculty at one. It annoys me it took her until six to come. What did she do all afternoon? Try to find ways to sort her problems that don’t involve me, that’s what.

Claire is outraged by the term “cum dumpster,” but what am I supposed to call her? She’s still seeing that guy. The single text she sent him today wasn’t “by the way, I’m dumping you.” So yes, if she’s not mine, but she lets me fuck her for gain, she’s my little whore.

And frankly, I don’t mind that.

But she does.

Too bad, so sad.

I let her pace around the kitchen, her mind desperately fighting my offer. It offends her sensibilities. Everything I know from her file suggests as much.

Her grandma made her go to Sunday school until Claire filled up her schedule with enough science clubs, chess clubs, and debate clubs to beg off it. The controlling bitch, seeing the girl weasel out of her control, pushed her toward one of her friend’s grandsons until it worked, wanting nothing more than to keep Claire under her thumb. She failed with her own daughter, and Claire was her second chance. She thought she’d managed, too. But Claire’s too bright for that. She accepted Rothford’s offer so fast, although she could have studied at MSU with the boyfriend. They offered her a scholarship, too. Not as large, but she wouldn’t have needed as much money if she’d stayed local. No, this was a bid for freedom. But the thing is, I don’t think she’s fully acknowledged that. She remains a product of her upbringing on the surface.

Underneath, it’s another story. And it’s down to me to peel away the layers.

What’s funny is if I made this very offer—take care of all her financial burdens in exchange for sex—but topped it off with a nice little diamond ring, she wouldn’t see anything wrong with it.

No ring for you, my treacherous little snitch.

“I can’t just—it’s preposterous!” She throws her arms in the air.

“Is it?” I tilt my head. “Then why are you considering it?”

She groans audibly. “Because I have no choice!”

“You have several,” I reply reasonably. “You listed a few: a job in town, roommates. Hell, you could even just say fuck it and return home. Apply for late entry at whatever mediocre school suits your fancy best. I can assure you the board won’t be so spiteful as to tarnish your reputation outside of Thorn Falls. You haven’t pissed anyone off that much.”

Though she came pretty close with Cross. I think he might have stepped in if it wasn’t for me. That would not have been fun for my innocent, prudish little ghost. She’s also lucky his attention’s currently exclusively focused on Lily. A few years ago, he would have had her hanging in a swing and half of the cocks in town taking a turn with her to atone for her threat.

“This is the best school! It’s my best option. Most of the Ivy League don’t even compare.”

“Which makes it your choice,” I insist, needing her to understand this. “You believe you deserve the best. I happen to agree.”

Frustration and shame battle for dominance as Claire shakes her head before looking down.

“Don’t you wonder what it would be like? Being taken care of,” I ask gently.

She doesn’t have much experience with it. Her basic needs were met, sure, but if she ever wanted anything past the required food and clothes and housing, she had to work for it. And some desires were not permitted.

“In exchange for sex.”

I shrug. “Nothing’s free in life. And you have nothing else that could tempt me.”

She’s not meeting my eyes, chewing on her bottom lip. I know she’s made her decision. Voicing it is another story.

“You want to see your room?” I offer, heading out of the kitchen towards the elevator.

It was renovated five years ago, but retains an antique look, with wooden panels and glass windows. I don’t look behind to see whether Claire is following me. Of course she is.

“The penthouse floor is my cousin’s,” I tell her, pointing to the top button, before pressing the one right underneath. “It’s supposed to be mine, technically, as Sebastian graduated, but he’s often around because his girlfriend’s still studying here. So our floor’s the second to last.”

“Our?” she repeats.

I smile. “Each member of the Vesper Tower gets a floor. Mine happens to include two guest suites. You’ll stay in the largest.”

Exiting the elevator, and crossing my entryway, we reach the open-plan lounge. I’ve occupied this floor for two years, so I’ve made it mine. Some of the features weren’t altered—the dark gray floor, the chimney and Oxford-style shelving in the reading corner—but my interior decorator changed the rest. The walls are dark teal, with gold accents: lights, curtains, the feet of the marble table, a few cushions on the soft velvet sofas. A large hanging light illuminates the center of the room. It’s a nice space to relax in.

I show her around. My kitchen’s smaller than the one downstairs, but it has the essentials. The smaller bedroom, I turned into my office.

“There’s space for another desk,” I note out loud. “I’ll order one.”

Next, I take her to the spare bedroom—hers. It and mine are twins, each with a small walk-in closet and an en suite. It has a shower rather than a bathtub, but I know it’s a hell of a lot nicer than her dorm room.

“And I’m across the hallway,” I say, tilting my head towards my door. “You saw it yesterday.”

Claire’s still standing in the middle of the room, speechless.

I grin. “You can decorate. I know it’s all a little gray.”

She recovers herself enough to whisper. “Thank you.”

That’s as much of an acknowledgement that we’re doing this as I’m going to get from my adorable little prude.

“I’ll get some of the guys to move your things. Rest. You’ve had a long day.” Before I leave, I ask, “Would you like anything specific for dinner? We have a cook. As it’s your first night here, he’ll take your request—even if I don’t doubt he’ll pout about the short notice.”

“Oh, erm, no. I’m not fussy.”

“I didn’t ask if you were fussy. Is there anything you’d like to eat?” I repeat patiently, knowing that it’s more about her than me.

She’s not used to having a choice.

“I don’t know. I like steak? I don’t often have it.”

I smile. “Steak, then.”

We have a long way to go. But I believe I understand her enough to know, without a single doubt, that I’m going to enjoy the end result. And every step of the way.

24

CLAIRE

It’s crazy. This entire place, and the fact that I’m here, is positively insane.

Who has a designer apartment in college? His floor looks right out of a magazine’s front page. Something entitled Modern Bachelor.

And this is my room. In exchange, he wants…no. I’m not letting myself think about what he wants.

Part of me wonders why he didn’t just bend me over the bed and have his way with me. Somehow, I think that would have been better. Instead, I’m left waiting in anticipation for what I know is coming, and freaking the hell out about it.

“Your duty will be to let me come inside one of your holes twice a day, every day. When I want, where I want.”

Twice a day. Who even does it that often? Is it normal? What’s the national average?

I’m still dumbly standing right where he left me when Keller returns, a rather large, ancient-looking brass key in hand.

“Your key. You can scan it at the front gate, the main door downstairs, and to get into the elevator. It’ll allow you onto this floor.”

“Scan?” I repeat, confused, because it looks, well, like a key.

“I mean, we like the aesthetics, and cards are annoying—easy to bend, break, or lose. But there’s a chip inside. Consider it your ID card on our side of campus. And speaking of cards.” From his back pocket, he retrieves a leather wallet, and slides a smooth black card out of it.

I’m shocked to read what it says on the front.

C. Fairmont. Keller Holdings.

“Anything you need. Furniture, clothes, all the cute notebooks in town,” he adds with a smirk.

“That’s…” I don’t even know where to start. When I finally find my voice, I ask the important question. “How did you get a card for me done so fast?”

He snorts. “My bank doesn’t exactly put me on hold when I call, little ghost. But I had it done this morning. I figured you’d need it eventually.”

I tend to struggle to look him in the eyes for long, but I make myself do it now. “You thought I’d need a credit card associated with your account?”

He shrugs, completely at ease. “Seemed like a likely scenario, and I like to be prepared.”

He makes no fucking sense. “But why?”

“Because,” he says, the corner of his mouth lifting, “I want to take care of you. There’s no limit, because I know you will be circumspect. I trust, in fact, that you’ll likely spend far less than you should. But remember what I said whenever you hesitate to use it: anything you need.”

This is point-blank crazy.

“So, if I charged a round trip to Michigan to go see my grandmother for her surgery next week…”

“I’d suggest you book first class. It’s never pleasant to travel so much in a few days.”

I hear my own intake of breath.

My brain has stopped functioning.

“I still want to work. To babysit,” I reword. I’m not going to take a second part-time job if it’s not necessary. “I need…”

My own money, to squirrel away for when his insane generosity stops. Because it will stop. I can’t get used to all my finances being sorted out for me. I need to keep a semblance of normalcy in all this madness.

“Lisa will be delighted to hear it,” he assures me. “Claudio says dinner will be ready at eight, tonight, by the way. A little later than usual—but he’d planned on doing a surf and turf Wednesday, so he had everything on hand for your steak. Come downstairs in an hour? The dining room is next door to the study. You know the way.”

* * *

I spend the next hour alternatively pacing the room and throwing myself on the bed. The duvet is so comfortable, it might as well be made of clouds and happiness. I don’t trust it, so here I am again, walking the length of the room.

Occasionally, I look at the credit card. It’s still in my hand, solid. It exists.

It takes a good thirty minutes for me to decide to try it. Except, my phone in hand, I don’t know what to buy.

He told me to decorate. This place is absolutely gorgeous, but the monochromatic dark colors aren’t me. I google pink cushions, and scan through the results.

But I don’t need fucking cushions! I don’t need anything. This room is perfect as-is.

I’m pacing again.

Eventually, I pinpoint the problem.

I was given the room. I have a credit card. I have the damn brass key-ID thing. But I haven’t done a single thing to pay for it yet, have I? Yesterday doesn’t count. That was another deal, one with the board, not Keller directly.

I’m flushing all over.

Nothing’s free in life.

…come inside one of your holes twice a day.

Why hasn’t he gotten started with that already? I’d feel less out of control if he had. I’d know what to expect.

You know. He did it yesterday.

My insides start to tense as all those memories yet again come to the forefront of my mind.

Seven fifty-five. I start to make my way downstairs.

There are only two doors on the left of the elevator, and I know the first is the study, so finding the dining room is easy enough. Feeling awkward, I knock before pushing the door.

I don’t know what I expected, but that isn’t it. The room is as fashionable as the rest of the house, and in its center, around one of those tree trunk tables, are a dozen students, anywhere from my age to Keller’s. A pretty blonde in clothes almost as formal as mine, a dark-haired guy in glasses, a bulky blond who reminds me of a younger, beardless Thor. I recognize Keller’s cousin, Sebastian, as we were briefly introduced on Saturday. The buxom girl with baby-blue hair who had been on his lap sits next to him, Keller at her right. There’s an empty seat next to him.

Everyone’s chatting, laughing, barely paying attention to my entrance.

I wave skittishly.

The blonde is the first to greet me. “You must be Claire. It’s nice to have another girl in the tower.” She grins at the blue-haired girl across the table. “I mean, officially. You don’t count, Tia.”

She stands and offers me a hand. “I’m Calla Beaufort.”

“Oh. Claire. You already knew that.” Rather than embarrass myself further, I shake her hand.

She’s being nice to me.

I guess I thought people would be giving me the cold shoulder, calling me a snitch, or even a whore. What did Keller tell them about me?

As I pass them to get to my seat, the rest of the table introduces themselves one by one, remaining in their seats. I shake hands and repeat my name dumbly.

When I’m next to Keller, he stands to hold my seat. “The cook will always prepare enough food for twelve,” he says. “That’s the seven official members of the tower, these two”—he waves towards his cousin—“and a few guests. He needs notice if there are more people—around four hours, ideally. Dinner’s usually served at seven thirty. You can request it in your room, or anywhere else in the house if you’re not feeling social. If you miss it, leftovers are in the fridge. They do disappear the next day at twelve. It goes to the cafeteria; we wouldn’t want waste.”

I nod, assimilating exactly none of the information.

The doors open again, before a man rolling in a large serving cart.

“Where is she? Where is the meat girl?”

Everyone chuckles. The meat girl being me, Keller tilts his head my way. “Right here, Claudio.”

A man in a sharp white apron without a speck of dust, let alone a stain, rushes towards me, practically skipping. “Che bellezza. I knew you would be beautiful.” He takes both of my hands. “Yes. Do you like pasta?”

I feel like my life depends on the answer. Luckily, I don’t have to lie. “Yes, I love pasta.”

“I knew.” He nods to himself. “If you ask a woman what she wants to eat, and she says steak, you marry her. That’s the secret to happiness. I made you the best steak you have ever eaten,” he vows.

He is not lying.

In fact I have to wonder if I’ve ever eaten steak, because the rich cut melting in my mouth feels like something completely different from what I’ve had before. And after, there’s a course of lobster tail and cream over an array of colorful, delicious things I cannot describe. He calls it salad. I’m too busy to eat to talk, think, or even feel out of place. This is an experience.

“He cooks every day?” I marvel.

I’m going to be the size of a house in a week.

“Yes. Believe it or not, it’s actually healthy,” Calla says. “I despise exercise, and his food keeps me in shape anyway.”

She does not look like a girl who despise exercise, that’s for sure.

Dessert is a chocolate mousse with raspberries. Maybe I should propose to Claudio. I might, if he weren’t very clearly gay.

He joins us for dessert, and openly flirts with Young Thor.

Tia and Sebastian are the first to leave, soon followed by Calla, then Young Thor—he introduced himself as Richard, I think.

Keller stands right after. “I’d better head up, too. Thank you, Claudio.”

I’m on my feet before I think it through. “Yes, thank you. It was truly wonderful.”

I feel very awkward about leaving my plate and everything, but everyone else did the same.

“Can I help tidy up?”

“Isn’t she the sweetest? No, bella, you do not help. Not even I help, here. There are two cleaners working here every day, yes? We wouldn’t want them out of a job.”

“Oh.” Blushing, I nod. “Right. It was the best meal of my life.”

“Ah, Claire, Claire. Say things like this to me, and I take it as a challenge. We’ll do better tomorrow.”

Yep. I am going to gain ten pounds this week and be happy about it.

I follow Keller out of the room, and into the elevator in silence.

25

CLAIRE

Something has shifted in the air. I can’t pinpoint what it is exactly. All I know is that I can feel Keller’s proximity. Every spot where my arm touches his is oversensitive, making my awareness of him overwhelming.

He’s going to touch me, I tell myself. But that’s not quite right. I don’t know he will for sure. The true revelation is that he should be touching me. It would be right. The fact that he isn’t yet is confusing.

I don’t like it.

Touch me.

Touch me, please.

The door opens onto his floor.

He moves to hold it. “After you.”

The apartment is dark, until I step inside and his lighting kicks in, illuminating the gorgeous space.

Touch. Me.

In front of my door, I clear my throat. “About what you said earlier. The…agreement. You said you’d do that to me twice a day,” I remind him.

Keller turns an amused grin on me. “You’re eighteen, Claire. You can say fuck. It’s allowed.”

“Right.” I swallow. “You said you’d fuck me twice a day.”

“I said you’d let me come inside you, when I want, where I want. Think of the two times as an upper guideline. I like to quantify and qualify expectations for any deal.”

Oh. That makes sense. “So, you’re not really going to do it every day?”

“Probably not, no.”

My heart sinks.

Fuck. Why am I disappointed? What the hell is wrong with me? I should be thrilled. Ecstatic. I should be throwing a fucking parade. It’s like having an eight-hour shift, only to be told, hey, you don’t need to show up, you’ll still get paid. It’s like when we get three feet of snow in a day, the school is closed and we get to stay home while the snow plows clear the road. A free pass.

Except it feels like I was denied chocolate mousse and raspberry.

Saturday, I blamed my promiscuity on vodka and champagne. Yesterday, I blamed it all on him. It was his fault. But while there was wine at dinner, I didn’t drink any. I stuck to water. And yet I am positively dejected about the fact that I’m not going to get…fucked.

I expected it. That’s why. It must be why.

“Good night, then.”

“Your things have been moved during dinner,” he tells me as I walk to my room, across the hall. “I think the staff already put them away.”

“Thank you.”

“You should text Lily. She had questions, and the house staff didn’t answer any.”

I wince.

There are a fair few people I need to speak to, and I’ve avoided it for too long. Lily’s at the bottom of that list.

I flee inside my room, my heart racing.

What the hell is wrong with me?

I take a long shower.

Keller wasn’t kidding: my clothes are hung, folded—and unless I’m mistaken, ironed—in the walk-in closet. It’s small, but even so, it’s rather empty. I find a pair of PJ shorts and a tank top, before finally making myself face my demons.

With the three-hour gap, it’s almost two in the morning in Michigan, so I don’t call, but I run through all the messages, properly reading those I just scanned from yesterday.

Grandma: Oh, darling you wouldn’t believe how blessed I am today!

Grandma: Why aren’t you answering your phone? Beatrice says that young people “lie in” in the morning, but really, it must be ten already in California. Don’t be lazy, young lady.

Grandma: I tried to call again. I am worried, Claire. Call me back.

There’s a total of twelve missed call from her, between yesterday and today. Really! We talked Saturday.

Grandma: I assume that your first day was busy. What I meant to tell you is that I was chosen by an anonymous benefactor who is paying for my surgery, and the follow-up rehabilitation appointments, in full. I told you being GOOD was rewarded by GOD. This is proof. I was BLESSED. I do hope that you take note, Claire. Be virtuous, and good things happen to you.

I laugh out loud. Yeah, right. Your surgery is getting paid because I let a stranger finger me in public, Grandma. A giddy, wild, and frankly unkind part of me wishes I could tell her just that. But she’d die on the spot.

Grandma: Well, it’s not very smart to lose your charger like that. Be more careful with your belongings.

Grandma: Why aren’t you answering?

Ugh. I need another excuse. I decide to stick to the truth, as much as possible.

Me: Sorry, Grandma! Today was a bit full. There was a housing mix-up I had to figure out. I found a place to stay in one of the private houses on campus. They’re sort of like sorority houses. I moved in, and then had dinner with my new housemates. We just finished, and it’s too late to call. I’ll speak to you tomorrow. I found a potential part-time job, so I don’t know exactly what time, but I’ll call as soon as I’m free.

And I really should call her tomorrow.

Next, it’s truly painful, but I made myself run through Noah’s messages, guilt twisting my insides. Just because I decided what we had was finished on Sunday doesn’t mean I don’t owe him a reply. It’s not over for him until we’ve discussed it.

But the thing is, everything about my childish, never physical, always present relationship with my childhood friend died when I learned what it felt like to be touched, to want, to crave, and need. I’ve never had anything close to that with Noah. The thought of letting him touch me that way is laughable, and slightly disgusting.

He doesn’t know that, though.

Noah called thirty-two times in the last two days. A good twenty are today. There are a lot of texts. I only make myself read those that are longer than two words.

Noah: Claire, your grandma can’t get hold of you? What’s going on?

Noah: Wow, first weekend and that’s how it is, huh?

Noah: Jesus Claire, what’s wrong with you? Unless you’ve lost your phone ANSWER ME.

Noah: Lost your charger? Then just go buy one, don’t make people wait for DAYS.

Noah: You’re still not answering.

Noah: Wow, Claire. Wow.

My lips pinched, I copy and paste most of my answer to my grandmother, sticking to the facts, without a promise to call.

I know I’m handling this badly, but there’s no fixing it at this time of the night on a Monday.

Lisa offered me coffee at four the next day, and I quickly accept. Next, there’s a text from Lily, just a line full of question marks.

Rather than try to text her, I call. Somehow, I don’t think she’s the kind of girl who goes to bed at ten thirty.

“Oh my god, Claire, tell me you’re staying in the Vesper House!” she practically screams, picking up on third ring.

I chuckle. “I’m staying in the Vesper House.”

“Girl, Tell me everything.”

I hesitate, because wasn’t I just punished, in a legendary, memorable fashion for saying too much?

I’m wondering what I can and can’t say, when my door slides open.

Keller walks in, like this morning, dressed in nothing but a towel. Before I can say a word, he brings his finger to his lips, gesturing me to shush, and winks.

I assume he means, don’t tell her he’s here. My eyes following his approach, I clear my throat.

“Well, I went to the Vesper House to ask Keller if he could help with my situation.”

The man in question has just reached the foot of my bed. My throat dries up on the spot as he climbs on, keeping his eyes on me. His mouth drops to my feet, lips barely touching my ankle. It’s featherlight, teasing, but I feel it rippling everywhere, to the tips of my nipples, and the nub of nerves burning between my legs.

Oh, god.

“Huuh, Keller said…” Keller’s mouth slides up my leg, to my shin. I clear my throat. “He said he couldn’t—” The back of my knee.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“That he couldn’t let me stay in the dorm. The board said no. Student privacy and all that.”

He slides my leg over his shoulder, mouth on my thigh.

“Assholes. I mean, I know they’re super strict over what can and cannot be shared about the school, but that’s a bit much. I heard what you said to the cops. It wasn’t that bad. And you didn’t go back.”

I would probably be far more invested in the conversation if Keller hadn’t reached the hem of my shorts, casually pushing them aside to bring his mouth to my folds.

“Yeah. Hm, yeah.”

“So, he’s letting you stay in the Vesper House instead,” she guesses.

Casually, leisurely, Keller’s running his tongue around my clit. I force my mouth to remain clamped shut to avoid screaming into the phone.

“What is it like? I’ve never been, but it looks even fancier than the rest of the street.”

“It’s nice,” I breathe, panting as silently as I can.

His fingers have joined the party. Two of them: the index and middle finger, curving, expanding, teasing, sliding in and out.

“Very nice. You should come.”

I’m going to come.

“Visit. Soon. I think it’s allowed?”

I’m not entirely sure.

Keller nods.

“Oh, wow. I’m so glad we were roommates, even if it was only for a few days. So. You’ll notice I have avoiding addressing the elephant in the room for as long as possible, but really. I have to ask. Are you with Keller? You said you had a boyfriend, but there was a vibe between you the other night. And then he gets you back in the school. Not to mention the strange, and strangely domestic lunch. And now, you live with him.”

I let her talk, grateful for the tirade, because I couldn’t manage anything other than a scream, or a moan, while Keller sucks on my pussy, fingering it. I’m drenching his mouth and hand, my insides tensing, heating, rushing towards an increasingly familiar rush.

I’m going to come, soon, on the phone with Lily at the end of the line. Then, she’ll have a fair few questions.

“Yeah, my boyfriend,” I repeat.

Keller’s cold blue eyes catch mine, and he doesn’t stop.

“He’s not—” Fuck! I bite my lip. “Happy with me at the moment. I’m avoiding that.”

“You’re going to break up with him,” Lily says.

It’s not really a question. I’m guessing everyone knows it at this point.

“Yes.”

“And you’re going out with fucking Keller. The Keller. Wow.”

I can’t talk about it while he’s attempting to drive me insane with his mouth. In fact, I can’t talk about anything at all, so I turn it back on her.

“How about you and Cross?”

Keller sits up, lifting my legs, and sliding both my shorts and panties down my thighs. He unties the towel at his waist, revealing his hard cock, pointing right at me.

“Keep talking,” he mouths, slowly, taking his time, to slide it, first, right at my entrance, but he only teases it, coating his tip with my wetness.

“It’s not like you and Keller,” Lily says. “It’s not serious. Basically, last year, Olivia had to tutor one of his terrible hockey player friends, and they started to make fun of her.”

Keller presses the head of his cock against my ass. It’s not like last night. He hasn’t entered it with various large objects, preparing it for the intrusion. It’s not glistening with lube to ease it. It’s hard and huge and doesn’t feel like it could possibly fit.

“—not fair. She’s so shy. I certainly wouldn’t take that, so I fired back.”

Seeing his expression as he presses in, I understand that he likes this. He likes that it’s too tight, protesting against the pressure.

“—not so bad, really. Once they’re dealing with girls who can give as much as they take, the teasing is fun. But for Liv, it was more like bullying.”

“Not cool.”

It’s uncomfortable. Until it isn’t. I can’t explain how or why, but all of a sudden, my ring of muscles just abandons the fight, letting him in. He still enters me slowly, letting me feel every inch, every curve.

“—then, they saw me come back from Comic-Con, and they just have not let up since. Apparently, there’s something about seeing a chick in a Catwoman outfit that makes guys lose brain cells.”

His thumb presses hard on my clit, and my pussy clenches with need. I was so, so close to coming when he stopped to start fucking my ass. It feels betrayed.

“—anyway, yes. He likes to tease me. But he’s never made a move on me. Not a real one, you know?”

“Mmhmm.”

My hips hike up, seeking more contact with his thumb, and Keller shifts, grinding into the space between my legs.

“—not his type.”

I very much doubt that, but I also don’t care much right this second. He’s sliding in and out of my ass, a little faster at each thrust, and two fingers return to my needy pussy. They fuck me in tandem with his cock at first, and then, he changes the rhythm, entering me with his fingers when his cock’s almost completely out of my ass, the discordance ensuring I’m always so, so full.

It’s almost too much and yet at the same time, I need more. I should be fuller. My pussy craves more than fingers. My hips move to meet his, and I’m starting to think there’s no way Lily can’t hear my breathing, the slaps of his skin against mine as his pelvis hits my ass. But she keeps chatting away.

“—that kiss, from Saturday, you know. He basically gave me a peck, and then removed the stupid fake video. He just likes riling me up.”

“Good.”

So, so, so good.

Keller leans forward, his large frame looming over me, the angle changing, as he lowers the top of my tank with his teeth and proceeds to kiss every accessible inch of my chest. The hand not holding my phone moves to lower the cup of my bra, so he can bring his lips to my nipple. Then, instinctively, I slide my fingers over his soft dark blond hair.

Oh, fuck, fuck, that’s it. I’m going to come and there’s no way I can stay silent. I can’t. Desperately, I move my thumb over the screen, reaching the mute button just in time, as I throw my head back and scream, feeling hot, thick liquid slide out of me, onto his fingers again. He doesn’t stop moving, my walls squeezing his fingers, his cock.

Keller grunts, fingers digging into my ass as he pounds it.

Lily keeps talking but I can no longer hear a word over my moans.

“You’re so perfect,” he whispers at my tits. “Such an eager cum dumpster. You’re milking my cock so hard, Claire.”

He’s insulting and derogative and I don’t care as long as he keeps going. Given the fact that I just lost it, I should be completely sated, but he kept going, and I always want more, more, more!

“Claire, Claire?” I hear, faintly. “I think the line went out. Anyway, chat tomorrow, yeah? So glad it’s all sorted for you.”

Almost. So close.

Keller’s mouth moves to my throat, my neck, and then, he’s kissing me.

It’s not the first time. He kissed me Saturday. He’s even kissed me while fingering me. But there’s something different to being kissed with a cock drilling my ass, his naked body flush against my mostly bare skin. It’s hot, lewd, and if it never stopped, I’d die happy.

“Please,” I beg him.

I know what I want. I distinctly visualize what I am dying for. His cock filling my pussy, pounding it just like this. But how could I say that? How could I want that? It makes no sense.

“Please,” I sob, begging him to understand.

If he does, he doesn’t act on it. He continues thrusting in my ass, and finally, with one last push forward, floods it with warmth.

I cry.

“You’re so very close,” he assures me. “I should have brought your toys here. You like your wand, don’t you? You want it right here.” He presses my clit.

He’s wrong. It’s not the wand I need.

He sits back on his heels, lifting my hips almost to his face level, my ass in the air.

“I think you need another finger in here. But I could damage that precious hymen you’re saving for what’s-his-face if I filled you more.”

I want to tell him I didn’t save my hymen for anyone or anything. Noah thinks sex is something that happens between a man and wife. My grandmother wholeheartedly agrees. My mother’s name is often muttered as the example of what happens to people who go against that sacred edict. And I was given no reason to want sex before him.

I want it now, though.

I don’t necessarily agree with everything my grandmother preaches. It’s like her certainty that she got that free surgery by being pious, when in actual fact, I got it for her, by being positively scandalous. I just smile and nod to what she says to keep the peace.

If I’d wanted to have sex with Noah, I would have acted differently. I’m too shy to just point-blank tell him, but I would have alluded, seduced, cajoled.

I would have said please.

“The finger. Add a finger,” I tell him.

Tear the damn barrier so we can stop talking about it already.

He tsks. “I don’t think so, darling. That cunt isn’t mine. I don’t break other people’s toys.”

I think I hate him.

“Don’t worry. I don’t mind playing with it a little. So long as I give it back intact.”

He covers me with his whole mouth, and feasts.

26

CLAIRE

Eventually, I return to my body, sweaty, disgusting, out of breath.

I’m glad Keller’s still here. I’d hate if he left. It would make me feel hollow. Alone.

“I thought—” Speaking is a struggle between heavy pants. “I thought you weren’t going to do it. Today. You said you didn’t think so.”

He snorts. “Changed my mind. It’s my prerogative.”

I think he says something else. But the next thing I know, my alarm is ringing, and it’s bright outside. Shit. I didn’t shower. My sheets—brand new—are going to need a wash.

Sitting up, I blink away the last of my sleepiness. The first thing I notice is that I’m alone. My stomach contracts in distaste at that, but I don’t let myself analyze it. Of course I’m alone. This is my room, and Keller sleeps next door. It’s stupid to think he would stay with me just because he enjoys shoving his cock in my ass.

Groaning, I drag myself to the bathroom for a quick shower. I don’t start classes until later, but I want to keep my appointment with Dez this morning. She was nice. I’m glad I already have a friend in Lily—and by extension, maybe even Liv and Jack—but I still don’t know many people here. And if I’m staying in the Vesper House for the rest of the year, it won’t hurt to have a friend right next door.

Besides, mille feuille sounds delicious.

Within fifteen minutes, I’m out of my room. Surprised to see the light on, I tentatively walk into the lounge, and find Keller sprawled over his velvet sofa, a book in hand.

“Oh. You’re not sleeping?” I ask lamely.

Blue eyes meet mine. “I don’t sleep much.”

“Reading anything interesting?” I can’t see the title of the leatherbound volume in his hand.

“Not particularly. Prepping for class. You’re up early.”

“I’m going next door, to watch Daisy bake. If that’s all right?” I check.

I’m gratified by an epic eye roll. “I’m not your keeper, Claire. Do as you please. Well, so long as you don’t go around showing your perky little ass to everyone. I’m not much into sharing.”

I’m annoyed at myself for blushing, when I’m more annoyed than embarrassed. “I’m not some slut, lifting my skirt to the closest dick available.”

That makes him chuckle. “I wonder what your boyfriend would have to say about that, if he’d seen you beg for me last night.”

I stare at him, speechless, not out of shock, but because there’s nothing I can actually say to that. If Noah knew what was going on, he would be devastated.

I’ll talk to him next week. I’ll be in Michigan in a few days. It makes sense to handle it then. But in the meantime, I really can’t offer any response that’ll show me in a good light. Because Keller’s right.

“Well,” I finally manage. “Your cock is the exception, so there’s nothing to worry about.”

He smirks, amused, before returning to his book, and I head out of the Vesper House.

This morning, passing the stairs leading down to the basement, I remember vividly the club downstairs. The vibe last night was a million miles away from what I saw on Sunday. It almost felt like a big family dinner, boisterous, full of laughter. And the day before, there were masked people fucking each other on a dance floor in the basement. I really don’t understand this place.

Next door, I pass a security guy in a suit, who nods at me before continuing his rounds. At the door, I ring, and am soon greeted by someone I don’t know.

“I’m—”

“Kitchen’s last door on the left,” the long-haired blond drawls, half yawning.

“Thanks.”

He offers me his hand. “Beaufort.”

The name rings a bell. “Like Calla?”

“Exactly like Calla. She’s my wife.”

That makes me gape. His wife? Then why is he here and she’s next door? And why are they married so young?

He walks away, heading up the stairs before I can make an ass of myself by asking too many questions which are none of my business.

I find the kitchen easily enough, and a beaming Dez greets me enthusiastically. “Hey! Come in, come in. Coffee, tea? There’s some apple pie left from yesterday.”

She’s clearly a morning person.

“I can have some more of your pie?” I marvel.

“Oh, yeah. That’s the one I made for the house. Markus is only particular about his pies. You want two pumps of caramel syrup and one of vanilla, right?” she checks, already starting a latte for me.

“You know, I really get why he wants to marry you.”

Daisy chuckles. “He only wants to marry me because his two brothers are already married. He hates to be the odd one out.”

I’m seated at a breakfast bar with a coffee and pie in no time, and Dez explains the mille feuille process to me while I eat.

“We’re starting with the puff pastry, as it needs to rest for a few minutes in the fridge, and then, we can do the creme patissiere—that’s the cream that was in yesterday’s pie. Learn to do that right, and all your desserts will be next level. Whenever a recipe tells you custard, or whatever, ignore it. Make a good creme pat. The puff pastry will need to be folded again, and while it rests, we’ll handle the icing and chocolate sauce. Ready?”

I take so many notes as I watch her move around the kitchen like a baked good goddess, in awe.

“How did you learn all this?” I ask as I help decorate the second tray of mille feuille an hour and a half later.

“The internet, mostly. And trial and error. I used to feel very awkward, where I lived before and when I first arrived in this house. Having a hobby that kept me away from everyone for a while helped. Plus, the pastries made people like me.”

I think I relate to this girl a great deal. It wouldn’t be the worst thing to have a hobby in the Vesper House, but I don’t want to trample over Claudio’s turf.

“It’s one of the guys’ birthday tomorrow, and he loves iles flottante. That’s super easy—but it needs to be refrigerated for a while, so I’ll make them in the morning, for the evening. You’re welcome to come back if you’d like. It’s pretty handy to know how to make a good creme anglaise. Don’t let the name fool you: it’s absolutely not custard.”

“I’ll be there. What time?”

Dez lets me take the entire tray home—which is about a dozen mille feuilles after I cut them up—keeping the second for her own house.

It’s already ten when I make it back, and the house is a lot busier.

“Oh, goodies!” Calla chirps, eyes fixed on the food.

I grin. “I’ll cut them up, you can help yourself.” Then, because my curiosity is killing me, I say, “I met your husband next door.”

Somehow, that makes her laugh. “Husband for another few weeks, anyway. The divorce paperwork is on the way.”

Christ. She doesn’t look older than, what, twenty-three, and she’s already getting divorced?

Catching my expression, she adds, “It was arranged by our families, darling. With my grandfather out of the way, I no longer need to be married to get my hands on my inheritance, so we’re splitting up. It’s just a formality. It wasn’t even consummated, so I could even have gotten an annulment.”

Jesus. These people truly live in another universe.

I see one other vesper: the dark-haired, reserved guy with glasses. Theo? “Looks good."

I offer him a plate, and he smiles, which completely changes his face.

Is everyone in this place hot? Like, is it an entrance requirement? He was rather handsome before he smiled, but now, it’s obvious I missed how much.

“Thanks, Claire.”

Dez had a point about making friends with pastries.

I grab one of the sticky notes on the kitchen counter and write Help Yourself—Claire, placing it next to the tray, before plating two portions and making my way to the elevator.

The doors open in front of Young Thor—Richard. His expression shifts into a wolfish grin as he looks at me. “Ah, our latest housemate.” He glances at the plate. “You’re bringing that to your master?”

Something bothers me both about the way he looks at me, and the words he chose. “What if I am?” I move to enter the elevator.

He keeps grinning. “It would be smarter to be nice to everyone here, for when Keller gets tired of you.”

I’m glad the doors shut right then, before I can tell him to go fuck himself.

I don’t like him one bit. I decide it has something to do with the fact that he openly leers at me like…well, like Keller. Except I don’t mind with him. Which is its own can of worms.

Keller’s gone from the lounge, so I leave the plate and return to my room to freshen up quickly before heading out to my first class.

27

CLAIRE

My first day flies by. It’s strange that I recognize so many faces already; people stop to greet me, and ask how I’m doing. I only arrived a week ago, but I’m not lost at all.

I don’t know anyone in my classes, but each time, wherever I sit, I find a friendly person happy to make small talk.

This is a good vibe.

I return to the cafe under the library for lunch, but Dez isn’t working today. I don’t see anyone I know, so I opt to catch up on my texts over lunch.

More excuses. Most promises to get in touch later. I do have a meeting with Lisa after school, so it’s not a lie. I’m rather frustrated by how everyone seems to be telling me I’m evil for not getting in touch for four days. We talked Saturday; it’s only Tuesday. Did they expect daily reports? I understand my grandmother is excited about her surgery and wants to talk, but her implication that I’ve somehow failed all familial duty for being out of reach for a few days annoys me.

I can’t say as much about Noah. Frankly, girlfriends do talk to their boyfriends daily, I’m pretty sure. I’m only avoiding it, because, well, I don’t feel like his girlfriend anymore. I don’t want to be.

Maybe I should just rip the Band-Aid off. Tell him. Yes, I’ll be seen as a very bad person for doing it that way, but aren’t I a bad person for keeping it to myself?

In the morning, I had a statistics class which makes my brain explode even though it’s only the first day. After lunch, it’s economics, followed by the class I’ve been looking forward to all day.

I’ve always done well with numbers, so I know I’ll keep up, but I won’t lie: after my next class—art theory, my selfish elective—I am so annoyed I have to be practical about my field of study. It’s just so much better in every way.

“Didn’t I see you in econ?” a girl behind me asks.

I don’t recognize her, but I nod. “Yeah, I had it at one.”

“Thought as much. We don’t see many people in econ and art. You’re going into advertising?”

I blink up at her. “Huh? No. Accounting. This class is just for fun, you know.”

“Cool,” she says, concluding our chat.

But I think about it all the way to the bus station.

Advertising.

Somehow, I never even thought about that as an option. It feels like a real career path, not something like maybe I’ll sell some art prints one day, who knows, which is Noah’s plan with his degree—along with a guaranteed construction job after graduation.

Advertising does include art design.

Shit, is it too late to add a few classes? I’m on my way to meet Lisa, and give her my schedule.

My mind’s still racing when I reach the stop my phone’s GPS told me to take, right at the edge of town, at the bottom of a long hill. I blink several times. I’ve seen it from afar when I was in town Saturday, but I didn’t realize how crazy-large the houses were. I can barely even see some of them at the end of their long driveways.

The ones closest to the bottom of the hill are almost human-size, but as I walk up and up, they only get more grandiose.

The house I’m heading to is gated and guarded. I buzz in, feeling about the size of an ant as I say, “Claire Fairmont to see Lisa?”

The pedestrian door unlocks.

It’s another fifteen minutes’ walk to the front door.

“Claire!” a beaming Octavia greets me, standing before her mother. “Didn’t I tell you she was as pretty as a princess, Mama! Look!”

Lisa’s a beautiful twenty-something in a suit and a severe bun. She grins. “That she is. Lovely meeting you, Claire.” She glances over my shoulder. “Don’t tell me you walked here?”

I blush. “Oh, no, I took the bus. I don’t have a car.”

Lisa grimaces, and my heart sink. Is she going to say I can’t have the job because I don’t have a vehicle? I didn’t even think of that. Would she require me to pick up Octavia?

“Don’t tell Keller I made you walk up the hill, he’ll kill me. Come in, love. You must need a nice, refreshing drink after that trek.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” I say.

I was too lost in my mind to think about the walk uphill, focusing on this potential job, and the possibility of career paths I didn’t consider.

Accounting made sense. I discussed it at the end of school with my grandmother, and she gave me all the reasons why it was a sound choice. A secure career, useful, and if Noah started in the construction business, I’d have a guaranteed income, too…

Today, those arguments feel lacking. I like to draw. I’m not awful at it. There are career paths that allow a degree of creativity while still being fairly certain, like marketing.

I walk into a sunny, warm entryway that illustrates why they think that the Vesper House is appropriate for college students. Simply put, this is a manor, not a house. There’s a curving grand staircase for Christ’s sake.

We make our way to the kitchen, and my eyes bulge in my face.

“Dada!” Octavia calls, at the life-size supermodel I’ve only ever seen in pictures before.

So this is Arlo, Keller’s dad. Of course he is. He basically looks like a clone of Keller, only age has made him somehow more relaxed, refined. Or maybe it’s because his eyes aren’t quite as calculating as his son’s, when he bends to pick up the kid.

I have to think about the family dynamic for a while. So, Octavia calls Arlo Dada, but she’s Lisa’s daughter—Keller’s half-sister. Are Arlo and Lisa together? Their interaction give me no indication.

“I’m about to give this poor girl a drink. She walked uphill. Want some iced tea?”

“Sure, thank you, Liz.” His blue eyes move to me. “You must be Claire.” His voice is smooth as chocolate and whiskey.

Welp. Words. How do they work again?

“I must be,” I say, apparently aiming for the stupidest thing I can say.

It makes everyone chuckle. “Call me Arlo.”

I shake his hand.

“Claire, I have unsweetened iced tea for this monster—with lemon slices—and sweetened for the rest of us, orange juice, and water, still or sparkling. Also wine, if you’re not going to judge me for it.”

It feels like a trap. This is a job interview. “I’m a bit of a lightweight. But zero judgement if you want the wine. I’d love some of that lemon iced tea?”

Arlo smiles. “See? I’m not that weird.”

“You absolutely are. She’s humoring you because she wants to impress Keller’s dad,” Lisa sums up.

I blush and start to say, “No, sweet tea’s just way too sweet for me.”

“I like you, Claire,” Arlo attests.

Coming back to the breakfast bar with all our drinks on a platter, Lisa rolls her eyes. “Weirdos, the lot of you. So, Claire. You’ve babysat before?”

I nod. “I can send you references; I did it often in high school.”

“Keller vouched for you, that’s good enough for me. When can you start, and how many hours can you do?”

“Oh—right away? But I’m thinking about adding a class to my schedule if I can. I’m not quite certain about the timing. Sorry.” That’s so unprofessional. “I have the rest of my schedule. I’ll try to make sure the new class is at a time that works for everyone…”

“School comes first,” Lisa firmly states. “At the moment, I’m only working in the mornings. If there are two or three days when you can manage the afternoon, that would be great for me to slowly get back to a full-time position. A transition period is a good idea in any case.”

We pore over the schedule, which currently frees up on Tuesday afternoons at three—today—and at one on Fridays. I have a few free slots in the morning, and if I can manage a marketing class then, it wouldn’t fuck with this job I really want, and need. Especially after Lisa tells me how much she’ll pay per hour.

“Fifty dollars,” I repeat, stunned.

Lisa shrugs. “That’s how much I paid the nannies from the agency we used to use.”

“Will not having a car be a problem?”

Arlo shakes his head. “Octavia has a driver. If you’re going out with her, you will take Florian with you, as he’s a security professional. But you should take one of the cars back to school with you in any case.”

I stare at Keller’s double. Mr. Keller senior. “What?”

“We keep a few cars for the staff,” he explains. “One—the blue Audi, I think?—was Octavia’s last live-in nanny’s. It’s insured and all the cars are regularly maintained. Take it.”

Oh. So, insanity is a family trait.

“That’s—”

“You can’t walk here every day, love,” Lisa intervenes. “And, yes, it’s a bit much, but Kellers don’t do half measures. Trust me, they’re not worth arguing with. Besides, if you don’t take one of the cars collecting dusts in the garage, Darius will likely just buy you one once he realizes you’re walking everywhere.”

Arlo snorts. “As he should. It must take you ages to go from the Vesper Tower to campus daily.”

So, he knows I live with his son. And he’s not saying anything against it.

My interview was more of a formality, apparently. I’m given the car, a key to this house, and we agree on a schedule, pending the extra class’s timing.

I’m still completely stunned as I park the almost brand-new car at the back of the Vesper House alongside the half-dozen shiny, expensive vehicles. The Audi is by far the most reasonable of the lot, but it’s also the most expensive car I’ve ever travelled in, let alone driven.

How has everything become so crazy in a few days?

Keller. That’s how.

28

CLAIRE

I’m in the shower when the door slides open.

“You didn’t tell me you walked,” Keller says, clearly annoyed.

I stare at him, my mind trying to understand why that’s important. “Everyone walks. Walking is no big deal. It’s even healthy,” I say.

He rolls his eyes. “A nice walk along the beach or a hike, sure. But having to walk to class every day? What the fuck, Claire.”

My jaw falls. “That’s normal!”

"That’s a complete waste of time and energy you could spend a different way. On your knees, for instance.” Then he walks into the shower stall, fully dressed.

I watch him remove his phone from his back pocket and toss it on the laundry basket outside before strolling to me, his hand on his belt, unbuckling it.

“Well?” One of his eyebrows crooks. “On your knees, little ghost.”

He lowers his zipper and frees his cock.

I lick my lower lip, slowly complying. Jesus. From this angle, the hard, engorged member is even larger than it seemed before. “I don’t really know how to do this, still,” I remind him.

He completely took over last time.

“I’ll teach you, one day. But right now, I need to fuck your mouth again.”

Frankly? That’s a relief. I part my lips as much as I can, opening wide.

I don’t know why exactly, but the moment he pushes into my mouth, my core contracts, stimulated, although he’s not really touching me in a way that should bring me any pleasure. This is about him. But I find it arousing all the same. I remember his advice to breathe through my nose, and let him shove it all the way down, although it’s tight and uncomfortable. I’m slobbering all over it.

My hands were on the wet shower floor, but it’s awkward, and I’m losing my balance, so I bring them to the back of his thighs. They slide of their own volition to his taut, muscular ass as he rams his cock in and out of my throat, fast, hard.

My pussy tightens when he hisses. “Fuck yeah.”

I…like this.

“Your mouth feels like heaven, Claire.”

I like how I make him feel. The fact that I can make him moan and make all those noises he wrenches out of me when he touches me.

It’s not me as such, I’m just the object he fucks. His cum dumpster. But I like it all the same.

I can feel his ass getting harder, tighter, and he withdraws from my throat, grasping his cock, and pumping it twice. Knowing what’s coming, I react on instinct. He was about to spray my face with his cum, but I bring my mouth to the tip, and suck.

Keller’s fist moves from his cock to my hair, and he pulls it backward, forcing me to lift my gaze to his.

There’s something savage in his eyes.

“Fuck,” he says, in a grunt.

And then there’s thick, salty, warm goo on my tongue.

Letting go of my hair, he runs his fingers over my scalp and repeats, “Fuck.”

My mouth is full, so some of his cum dribbles down my face anyway. He pushes it off with his thumb.

I stand in silence, and lather more of the fancy, designer soap in my hands. At least I was already in the shower before he made me filthy.

I’m half surprised Keller stays here. When I’m ready to walk out of the shower, he hands me a large fluffy towel—though he honestly needs it more than me at this point.

I’m drying myself when he finally speaks. “Anything you need, you ask me. Not my father, not my sister. Me.”

“I didn’t ask for anything!” I protest immediately. “Arlo just said I should take one of the cars lying around—that they were there for the staff. Lisa agreed. Besides, I didn’t need a car.”

“You’re not driving the help’s car,” he retorts unequivocally. “I’ll take you shopping for a ride tomorrow.”

I gape. “What the fuck? I like the Audi. It’s a great car. And I don’t need a brand-new one.”

“You’ll drive what I tell you to drive.”

My temper’s rising. “I’m not going to drive some crazy, unsafe thing I can’t even handle. I’m eighteen. I’ve been driving my grandma’s shitty, slow car for two years. The Audi is perfect, and I am keeping it.”

It occurs to me that it’s the first time I’m that firm about…well, anything. So far, he’s told me how this thing between us was going to work, and I’ve accepted it. But really? A brand-new car, just because he wants to be the one in charge, the one who controls and chooses what I do?

In truth, I haven’t minded so far. The room’s great. I love most of his decisions.

But I like the car. It’s a cute baby blue.

“Fine.”

I lift my eyes to his, baffled. He backed off?

“Really?”

He sighs. “If you like the car that much, whatever. But I’d really rather not hear from someone else that you have a need you haven’t fulfilled when that’s my part of our bargain. I define need not as the strict necessities for survival, but at whatever you should have to make your life pleasant, easy, and fulfilling. You needed a car. Clear?”

I slowly nod, because I think I understand him a little better. He does take that…commitment?…he made to me seriously.

“Your kitchen,” I say. “It’s pretty well equipped, but it doesn’t have a good mixer. There’s one downstairs, but I’m guessing Claudio needs it. I would…like one.” I swallow. “To bake. Try Dez’s tricks.”

I’m biting my lower lip. I don’t need a mixer, by my definition. But by his? I think I might.

He smiles at me. “If you plan on making more things like what you brought today, you definitely should get whatever you need.”

Keller takes another one of the towels from under the sink—I make a mental note that they’re kept there—and dries his hair. “You know what kind you want?”

“Dez has a Thermomix. It heats things up as well as mixing them. But it looks fancy and complicated. Maybe something like a KitchenAid?”

He nods. “You should look around the kitchen before you place the order. See if there’s anything else you’d like.”

“Will do.”

This is…strange. We had an argument. Over the fact that he wants to buy me whatever I want—although he uses the word “need.”

Half out of curiosity, half to fill the silence, I ask, “Is your dad seeing your sister?”

“No.” He’s not bothered by the question. “I’m not saying they don’t fuck occasionally. I’m sure they do. But they’re both doms, so they wouldn’t fit well together. They know that.”

“That’s crazy.” I shake my head.

“Why? They don’t have any familial link; she’s my mother’s first daughter. If anything, Lisa’s of a more logical age for dad than Laura. Our mother is fourteen years dad’s senior.”

I decide not to calculate Arlo’s age when he encountered Darius’s mother. Hopefully, he was at least eighteen. “A cougar.”

“You can say that again. Her current boyfriend’s twenty-three.”

I chuckle. “You have to admit this is weird. How do you even know what sort of kinks your family members have? I don’t know what my grandma likes, intimately. Or my mother, for that matter.”

“Not really. I haven’t watched my dad or my sister fuck, if that’s what you mean. I can just tell that their characters are like mine. Demanding, exacting, possessive.”

I mark those three words, because they seem to explain so much about this guy.

“As for your grandma—and other people as a general rule. I guess most people don’t notice anything because they’re all various shades of vanilla. Boring as fuck. I knew you were the kind of girl who’d get wet at being told what to do when you’d avoid my gaze, sneaking little looks. Like prey hiding. I knew you’d be perfect for me that very first day.”

Perfect.

I’m bright red down to my tiptoes. And yes, avoiding his gaze, which apparently makes his point.

29

CLAIRE

I have half an hour before dinner, so I finally make myself face the inevitable.

My initial instinct to remain alone in my room for it causes my stomach to churn, so instead, I walk into the lounge. Like this morning, Keller’s reading on one of the sofas. There’s plenty of room elsewhere, but when I walk in, he straightens to free up some space, so I join him. The low, soft, dark four-seater is incredibly comfortable. I imagine getting up from here could become a struggle after a while.

“Studying still?” I ask.

“They don’t let people become surgeons unless they get the grades,” Keller retorts dryly. “No matter your last name.”

Surgeon. That makes me look at his long, strong, skilled fingers.

“What made you want to do that?”

“My cousin,” he says with a shrug. “He explained all the reasons why that was a sound career path, and they made sense to me. I don’t have a vocation as such. My only goal is to not deplete the amount of money my father made.”

I won’t deny I’m surprised; I thought he’d be a typical trust fund baby. “You want to make your own way?”

“We Kellers aren’t Hunts, Archers, or Goltzes. We don’t have billions. I mean, we do well enough, but there aren’t hundreds of years of generational wealth behind it. My father’s the one who made us rich. So, if I can’t add to it, I can at the very least do my best to avoid wasting his cash, so I can give what was handed to me down to my children.”

A mature point of view.

“Your dad’s money will have doubled by the time you have kids, if you let it lie and get interest. So you can hand down the same amount to a couple of children.”

“Doubled? You’re funny. I mean, we place some of it in certain, steady income streams, but a good half is invested. It grows exponentially. I could give a dozen kids the same amount my father put in my initial trust fund and still have plenty to spare.”

That’s said casually, without a hint of arrogance. “So it doesn’t sound like you need to be a surgeon after all.”

“The market rises and falls. It’s handy to have a career.” After a second, he adds, “And I’d be bored if I just sat at home. I figured, if Magnus and I open our own private practice , I can work as much or as little as I want, have plenty of time for my family.” He bumps his feet to my knee, smirking. “I gotta help you with those dozen children, after all.”

I laugh, playing along. “Oh, hell no. I want two perfect children, thank you very much. A boy and a girl.”

“That sounds like a good starting point for negotiations. How about five? Five is less than twelve.”

“Five would turn me into a modern Mrs. Bennet, screaming about my poor nerves. I love kids. I would like to be able to say that again in twenty years.”

“Three,” he counters. “Three’s perfectly reasonable.”

“Aren’t you an only child? Why do you want a bunch of kids?”

“I had my cousins,” he says. “They’re all around my age and we spent a lot of time together. We might occasionally butt heads—we’re all rather opinionated—but growing up, it was like having brothers. Slightly unhinged brothers, but you can’t pick your family. And then, Octavia turned up. I freaking love that kid. Lisa couldn’t stop me from holding her when she was little. Enough that Vivi ended up crying every time she was put down, as she was so used to sleeping in my arms. I adore children.”

That’s…very sweet, and somehow redefines what I know about him so far. I certainly wouldn’t have pictured him holding a baby for ages.

“But did you help change her diapers?” I challenge, expecting a resounding no.

“I mean, as much as Lisa and Dad would. Not all the time—she had nannies, too. But if she needed to be changed when she was with me, of course I did it.”

Never mind. I know nothing about this guy. “Talk like that and you could sell me on four kids,” I joke.

“Deal.”

I clear my throat. “I need to call my grandmother. I haven’t spoken to her since the weekend and she’s freaking out a bit. Would I disturb you if I did it here?”

“Go ahead.” He returns to his textbook.

I only have fifteen minutes left until dinner, which is perfect. I can tell her I have to go if she keeps nagging.

I call, and she answers almost immediately. “Finally!”

I ignore the jab, refusing to let her corner me into repeating the justifications I already texted her. “Hi, Grandma, how are you?”

“I’d be better if I knew you were alive and well, young lady. This is not how I raised you. You could have been kidnapped and killed! Someone could just be texting in your place.”

Four days. We talked four days ago.

“Sorry you worried. Maybe we could have a secret word to share so you know it’s me. Like porcupine.”

“I would rather you answer your phone.”

“Well, it’s not always possible, between my classes, social engagements, and the fact that you’re three hours ahead,” I reply reasonably. “But tell me about the surgery! It’s so exciting. Your doctor recommended it like, what, two years ago?”

As I speak, I glance to the man responsible for my grandmother’s luck. I don’t think I’ve thanked him for that properly yet. Or I tried, but he didn’t let me.

No thanks necessary. You paid for that, with interest, if I recall.

He’s looking at me over the edge of his book.

My grandmother drones on about the grant, everything it entails—a private room, weekly appointments with a professional for months after—and repeats her belief: “This proves good things come to good people, my darling. God blessed me.”

I manage not to laugh to her face.

“How about you, sweetheart?” she finally asks.

I glance at the screen. “Dinner starts in like, three minutes—with my housemates. I have to go soon. But I’m good. I just got a job—babysitting a lovely girl.”

I decide not to tell her it comes with a car. It’s not normal, and she’ll question that.

“And I’ll come next Friday, grandma.”

“Oh, I will be out of it for most of the day, you know. But if you insist. Let’s talk about your boyfriend, young lady. He told me you haven’t been in touch with him either. Sweetheart, just because you’re in another state doesn’t mean you should neglect the people who love you like that. It’s not fair to him.”

“I’ll talk to him soon,” I assure her, lips pinched. “Got to go! Wouldn’t want to be late.”

As she despises tardiness, her need to lecture me is at war with her desire for propriety. “Well, enjoy your dinner with your roommates. But talk to Noah today.”

“It’s already ten your time. Noah’s likely going to be asleep by the time I finish dinner. But I will call him tomorrow,” I relent reluctantly. Before she can add anything, I say, “Bye!” and hang up.

I sigh deeply. Next to me, Keller snorts. “Let me guess. Feeling guilty about enjoying a good old cock in the ass, so you’re not dealing with the boyfriend.”

I glare at him. “Yes, actually. Isn’t it normal?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never cheated on anyone.”

That raises my hackles. “I’m not⁠—”

I pinch my lips together.

Because he’s right. Technically, I’m cheating on Noah.

“I’ll break up with him Friday,” I grumble. “It makes sense to do that kind of thing in person.”

“Sure, if you want to give him the opportunity to rage, guilt-trip, and insult you,” Keller responds lightly.

I shake my head. “He wouldn’t do that.”

“He’ll do exactly that either way, hence why you’re avoiding the issue,” he declares, closing his book, and getting to his feet. “We’d better get going. I think Claudio made pasta for you.”

The abrupt change of subject annoys me. He’s not letting me refute what he’s saying. “What makes you so sure you know my boyfriend more than I do?”

His blue eyes seek mine. “I’ve read all your messages, little ghost. His to you, yours to him, and also his to other people. He doesn’t respect you, or like you much, and he has a history of manipulating you into doing what he wants. So he’ll do all that, and you know it. Ergo, avoidance.”

“You insult me,” I counter. “You call me a cum dumpster, a slut, like I’m some sort of object you can use.”

“You’re a chick in a relationship—with someone else—letting me use you. So, I call it what it is.” He smiles. “Let me know if you’re ready to change that label. After the asshole’s no longer an issue.”

Leaving me slack-jawed and speechless, he saunters to the elevator. I have to jog to catch up with him before the doors closed.

He’s still looking amused, and I just huff in annoyance.

I hate that he has a teeny, tiny bit of a point somewhere beneath the haughty, arrogant condescension.

Asshole.

* * *

Dinner reinforces everything I’ve worked out in twenty-four hours under the Vesper roof: the food is delicious, and everyone is nice except Richard. Nobody likes Richard except for Claudio—but that doesn’t count. Claudio loves everyone.

Half of what he says seems to be veiled insults with gross, suggestive implications.

To Calla, he asks, “Saw that husband of yours with a blonde and thought, surely not. And here I thought he was into the opposite of his wife’s style.”

She rolls her eyes.

He also asks Theo if his mother’s still a MILF, and tells Keller, “Let me know when you’re tired of the cum dumpster. Wouldn’t mind giving it a go.”

It.

It’s his own insult, but Keller looks at him like he’s not planning to murder him so much as already wondering how to hide the body. “I cannot spell this out any clearer for you: you touch her, your family won’t be able to bury what’s left of you. I don’t share my things.”

His claim’s somehow diminishing me, but not nearly as much as Richard.

The jerk is fast to back off. “Just joking. Got the message.”

“Splendid. Pass the garlic bread, if you would.”

I think his parents had a bit of a premonition when they called him Richard. Dick is very much the perfect name for him. And I’m not the only one who notices. But Dick aside, I like the other vespers. Tia and Sebastian didn’t show tonight, but everyone’s here, with the addition of Charlotte, who remains pretty quiet, seated between Calla and Theo.

She doesn’t escape Dick’s attention. “So, is it true you’re done with the sharks? I wouldn’t mind keeping you around for a while if you’re looking for your next meal ticket, darling.”

Charlotte pretends her hearing is suddenly deficient, which is wise.

“Shut the hell up, Richard,” Calla snaps, twice as pissed off as she was on her own behalf.

I’m a little curious, both about Charlotte’s presence and the way the entire table—save for Dick—seems protective of her. I mean, given the events of Saturday, it’s hardly surprising. But wasn’t she with some guy from the Shark House?

I remember seeing her here Sunday night though.

I wait until we’re on our way back upstairs to ask some of my questions. “How did Richard end up here?”

Keller makes a face. “Most of us belong to a club—our parents were members and we were legacies. Almost everyone chooses to enroll. He’s a member, which gives him an in into the private houses. His aptitude tests put him in vesper. And he is smart, and rather good at manipulating people into doing what he wants. But he has no interest in our primary focus here: making good, lasting bonds with each other. All of us are going somewhere in life. If Calla wants to immediately be admitted in my medical practice in ten years, she’ll only need to give me a phone call. If I want to get a good deal on her family’s manufacturing empire, she’ll give me one. Richard doesn’t play that way.”

“Can’t you kick him out?”

He shakes his head. “Not without a true offense. He’s just annoying.”

We’ve already reached the apartment on the second-to-last floor. Walking in, I hesitate. “Are you going to come to my room tonight?”

He grins. “What would be the fun in telling you?”

30

CLAIRE

He doesn’t join me that night. I stay up for longer than I should, tossing and turning, expecting him. No, that’s not right. Waiting for him to come. Wanting it.

The bastard stays in his room.

Mmmmm.

“So very wet.”

I’m floating a million miles away, enjoying the best of dreams. A dirty dream, but that doesn’t bother me. It’s hardly the first time. I don’t seem to get any other kind of dreams this week.

My hips are grinding, wanting, needing more of the soft pressure between my legs.

“Your cunt is strangling my fingers again.”

Slowly, lazily, my eyes flutter open.

“Oh, god!”

No wonder I was having the best of dreams. Keller’s bent over my breasts, licking every available inch, while his fingers move inside me. He’s also completely naked, his cock warm and heavy against my stomach.

I don’t know how long he’s played my body like a fiddle, but the familiar, visceral need for relief is at its peak already, so I’d guess for a while.

“Good morning,” he tells me, noticing my open eyes. “I brought something fun.”

Without further warning, he’s pushing that familiar, white, microphone-like device right at my clit, and I scream, losing it instantly.

Good morning indeed.

Keller sits up, a smug smirk lightening his features. “Do you know how rare it is, for a woman to come so very easily? You truly are made to be fucked, Claire.”

I roll my eyes. “Is that why you’re doing everything except fucking me?”

“Oh?” He’s delighted. “So, this isn’t fucking you, huh?”

His guides his cock to my asshole, pressing it in.

I’m getting tired of this. I move my hips so it aims higher instead.

It only makes him laugh.

“Oh, no, darling. I wouldn’t be so presumptuous as to pop that cherry. Remember my rule,” the jerk says, replacing his cock against my asshole.

He’s lubed it up today. When his hips jerk forward in one deep thrust, my ass lets him in, used to it by now.

“I don’t break toys that don’t belong to me.”

“You can break me,” I whine, half pleading, as he continues filling my ass, fast, my hips lifting to meet his. “Please.”

“Out of the question, little ghost.” His thumb is back on my clit, circling it. “At least until you take care of that boyfriend of yours.”

It all comes down to that, doesn’t it? Keller made it clear he doesn’t intend to respect me while I have a boyfriend. And quite frankly, especially while his cock’s plowing into me, I can’t argue his point.

I’m a cum dumpster while I have a boyfriend.

I am only getting fucked in the ass while I have a boyfriend, no matter how much I want him everywhere.

That’s his line. He’s okay fucking a girl who’s technically taken, but he won’t be nice about it.

“Fine!” I croak.

“Fine, what?”

“I’ll call him. I’ll break up with me. Just please⁠—”

Taking my lower body with him, he leans in. “No.”

Fuck. The next thrust is punishing. Fast and deep and he unrelentingly keeps fucking me just like that.

“Unless you call him now,” that is. “I think you enjoyed our last phone call. Would you like to talk to dear old Noah while I fuck your ass?”

I’m too busy panting and moaning to give a coherent response. I can’t make a phone call, with the bed creaking, his balls slapping my butt, and my drenched pussy soaking his stomach, and he knows that.

Instead, I take it in the ass like a good cum dumpster. It feels good. It makes me come a second time, and the muscles of my ass gripping his cock sends Keller over the edge with me. But through it all, I can feel my pussy begging for attention. This is where I want him, where I need him. He knows it, I know it.

Screw this.

I’m still breathing hard when I bring my phone to my ear.

Keller’s rolled to his back; he glances at me with one eyebrow cocked.

“Finally! What’s a guy supposed to do to talk to his girlfriend, huh?”

“Hey, Noah.” I do my best to not sound like I just ran a marathon. “Sorry about not getting in touch earlier. I’ve done a lot of thinking over the last few days, and I wanted to tell you—it’s not working. You and I.” I say it all in one go, before he can interrupt. “I already told you at the end of last year. Keeping a relationship like ours going with states of distance just doesn’t work. I’m sorry.”

“So, that’s how it is, huh?” He sounds cold. “One week over there, and you’ve decided you’re too good for me?”

I catch Keller’s eye.

He was right. This is when the insults are going to start. And the suggestions, too.

To be fair, he’s right. But if I had been completely innocent in this, he would have said the same thing.

Rather than submit myself to all the verbal abuse he’s no doubt gearing up to give me, I reply, “That’s all I had to say. Take care,” and I hang up.

Cowardly, yes. But truly, there is nothing else I need to tell him. I ended it. He can accept it or rage, it won’t matter. Not this time.

My phone rings—the alarm to start getting ready for my baking appointment next door. Instead of paying attention to it, I climb over Keller’s naked body, aligning myself over his lap, placing the tip at my entrance.

“You need to be prepped for this. You need lube. I should make you come another time,” he says, frowning.

For once, he seems a little lost, his usual confidence and amusement entirely vanished from his expression.

“No,” I tell him, before lowering myself on his cock, my hands on his hard abs.

Fuck.

It’s huge. He wasn’t kidding when he said it would break me. I’m not even halfway down the shaft and I feel him pushing things inside me, into my belly. I grind into it, which doesn’t lessen the overwhelming fullness, but it somehow seems to shift some of my insides to allow me to sink farther.

Keller just watches me, staying very still. I get the impression it takes a certain amount of effort for him to avoid moving, but he does it. He lets me fuck myself onto his cock, until my ass sits on his lap. It’s not comfortable, it’s too full, but I fit him in.

Keller sits up, bringing a hand to my cheek. “Tell me if it’s too much. Tell me if it hurts.”

His hips start swaying, moving slowly. Frustratingly so. Something inside me, tight and demanding, wants far, far more. “It doesn’t hurt.” There’s pressure, yes, but everything in me tells me the answer is more of him, not less. “Please, Keller.”

“Anything,” he assures me easily, like I could have had this, had him all along.

And I could. All it took was facing my demons in a three-minute phone call.

Keller anchors his feet on my bed, and lifts his hips, up and down, fucking me from underneath, his rhythm increasing in an unending crescendo. I hold on for dear life, my arms wrapping around his shoulders, my body doing its best to meet his, but I only match one thrust for every two or three of his, bouncing up and down with increasing desperation.

This is nothing like what I’ve experienced before. Sure, his penetration has always felt good, and my ignited core was appeased by the growing pressure and my orgasms, but this time, he seems to be smashing right into that core, each abrupt move of his cock drilling right at the core of the tense, molten need. I sob out nonsense, sucking in as much air as I can, feeling like I could die.

And then, Keller inverts us, pinning me under him, fucking me into the mattress. Legs in the air, all my muscles on fire, sweating, begging, I’ve lost sight of who and what I am past this. Nothing else matters.

“—so good,” I hear over my whines. “You feel so fucking perfect. My beautiful Claire. Just hold it a little longer. I won’t last. Fuck!”

His cock feels bigger inside me, each thrust making my eyes roll back in my skull.

His hands are everywhere. Cupping my breasts, my face, sliding along my legs. His mouth finds mine, swallowing my nonsensical series of pleas and pants.

“Now. Come with me now,” he demands, thumb finding my clit, and pinching it with that one last thrust that undoes the coiling nerves inside me.

All my body goes limp. I can’t think. The thought of moving is laughable.

Keller collapses on top of me, keeping his weight on his arms, either side of me.

His mouth finds the side of my face. “Damn, Claire. Give a man a warning.”

I manage a chuckle. “You never warn me.”

“You really did it. Got rid of the deadweight.”

That makes me grin. “So, do I upgrade from cum dumpster? What’s the next label?”

“What label do you want? Your call.”

I look up, taken aback. “I get to pick, huh?”

“Yep. Doesn’t matter what you call yourself. I know what you are.”

“And what’s that?” I’d bristle if I wasn’t this relaxed.

“Mine,” Keller retorts, rolling on top of me again, his lips falling on my knees, shoulders parting my exhausted limps.

“Already?”

“Oh yeah.” His cock’s back at my entrance, just as hard as usual.

“My poor pussy,” I complain halfheartedly. “I’d run away if I had the energy.”

“You can’t run.” His mouth presses against one of my nipples. “You can’t hide.” The other nipple. He lingers there long enough to wrap his tongue around it. “You won’t escape me,” Keller breathes against my ear. But Claire, if you must, feel free to scream.”

Then he rams in without warning, no longer holding back.

And I do scream.

31

CLAIRE

I don’t make it to the ile flottante lesson. Keller does let me send Dez a quick apology, which she answers with a promise to show me her creme anglaise another day. Then he carries me to his bath and proceeds to thoroughly lather, wash, and explore every inch of my skin.

Eventually, we head out to our respective classes. I’m half floating on a little cloud all day, not just because of the million ways I was pleasured and worshipped this morning, but because I feel…free. Unburdened. Like a huge weight was lifted off my shoulders the moment I spoke to Noah. I shouldn’t have put it off as long as I did. In fact, I should have stood firm months ago when I tried to break up with him, knowing it was the right thing to do.

If I’m honest with myself, the distance is only part of the reason. He just didn’t make me feel…well, much of anything. It took Keller for me really understand the extent of how a person could yearn, crave, desperately want closeness with another, but I knew all along that there wasn’t much romance between Noah and me. Just familiarity and habit. We were used to each other. In the long run, I’m sure even he will see I made the right decision.

In the meantime, I’m getting so many disparaging texts, I might just block him.

And then there’s the series of phone calls and texts from my grandmother that I don’t even look at, knowing what they’ll say.

Well, I told her I’d talk to him, not that I’d say what she wanted me to.

I would have just put my phone on do not disturb if I didn’t want to stay in touch with Lisa, Lily, Dez, and Keller.

One week here and I have more people in my life than I had after eighteen years back home. I was shoved in a closet there, taken for a prude or a bore by my peers, no doubt because of my wardrobe, my family, and yes, my boyfriend. He was popular enough, but even Noah kept me apart from his friends, never correcting anyone’s assumption that I wasn’t someone worth knowing.

They gave me a second look here, and most people decided I’m someone they want in their life. Thorn Falls is good for me in so many ways. I mean, this city’s intricate inner politics are insane—they gave me a hell of a scare last weekend. But I got the memo. I understand their vibe. They want to keep what they do private—not because it’s wrong, not because it hurts anyone, but because outside judgement would disturb their inner peace.

I get it. I wouldn’t want everything I do with Keller, or to Keller known to the entire world. Even if Keller seems to take a certain pleasure in showing it off to his little circle. And I don’t seem to mind.

On Thursday, he finally has the patience to teach me to blow his cock, rather than simply fucking my mouth. He covers it with a delicious, tangy, fruity substance and lets me lap at it like it’s a lollipop, occasionally directing my mouth, my hands, my tongue. I very much like it. I think he’s about to come, his legs so tight they lift up from the floor, but instead, he abruptly pulls me to my feet, turns me around, and bends me over before plunging in my pussy.

It’s so, so fast, and easy. The folds are always drenched in his presence, only waiting for his cock. And now, he can’t get enough of it—and he certainly doesn’t neglect my ass.

It’s fair to say that his two orgasms per day guideline was in fact, not exaggerated. Most days, we exceed it. And half the time, I’m the one demanding it.

On Friday, I’m babysitting Octavia for the first time. I’m a little intimidated to find myself alone with a kid I know next to nothing about, even with a written set of guidelines.

“Hey, Vivi. What would you like to do this afternoon?”

“Can you draw a unicorn?” she asks, somehow doubtful, like she doesn’t truly believe I could manage such a feat.

“I absolutely can draw a unicorn,” I assure her confidently.

“My teacher told us to draw our favorite animal. Mine is unicorns, but I don’t know how. Can you show me?”

I hesitate a little, because, objectively, I am rather good at drawing, and I have a fair amount of practice at unicorns from my early teens, but I don’t want to draw something completely out of her reach and discourage her. I opt for a middle ground; there’s no point shading and rendering a perfect horse musculature, but I’m not going to condescend to the kid and draw stick figures. If she wants to learn, I’ll teach her.

Retrieving my favorite notebook—that one that matches hers—I take about five minutes to sketch a unicorn, while she gasps in shock.

I grin. “Want me to show you how?”

She does. By the time Lisa’s back, we’re still working on hers, and it frankly looks pretty damn good.

“Mom, Mom, look at my unicorn! I drew it myself,” she adds proudly. “It took five sketches but I know how to do it properly now! And we’re going to color it.”

“That’s amazing, darling. But Claire’s supposed to go home once I’m back; how about you color it next time?”

The biggest golden pair of puppy dog eyes known to man set on me, accompanied by a truly pathetic pout.

Damn, she knows what she's doing. 

"Sure, let's color. That's the most fun bit." To Lisa, I say, "I'm off the clock after you're here, all right?"

She rolls her eyes. "You're still working with my kid."

"Hardly. This is fun."

Lisa smiles. “Well, if you’re off the clock, would you like some wine? I have red, white, and rosé.”

I don’t ask if she knows I’m eighteen. She does. “I haven’t had much wine before. Just a glass of champagne last week, with Keller.”

“Ah, no worries. If you want to try, I prefer rosé early, because it’s light and refreshing. A good red is worth its weight in gold, especially with the right food, but they’re dangerous. Hangover for twenty-four hours guaranteed if you have a sip more than you should. White’s good, especially when you’re dealing with cheap wine. It can be great, but most places will just serve you a basic chardonnay.” She grimaces, so I take it that’s not a good thing.

“So, what white do I want to order?”

“A Pouilly-Fumé, darling,” she says, practically moaning. “Arlo keeps them well stocked. You wanna try?”

“I feel like you’re going to ruin my palate for average chardonnay.”

“You’re hanging out with Kellers, kiddo.” She winks. “You don’t need to settle for anything average.”

That makes me laugh a little, though the thought is a little bit scary. Sure, I’m hanging out with Keller today, but it’s in no way guaranteed I’ll have his attention forever. And he has made me so very fussy about a lot of things, I don’t believe I’ll ever settle for less again.

Excellent sex. The best baths. Awesome food. All of my desires considered as needs, and instantly granted. That’ll turn any girl’s head.

Lisa doesn’t have that worry; she’s Keller’s sister, they’re part of her family. She’ll never have to leave this place if she doesn’t want to.

She hands me a half-full beautiful glass, and delicately tilts it to mine. “Cheers, darling. It’s really good to have another girl around here.”

“Good evening, ladies.” Arlo walks in, dressed in a dark suit with a black shirt and tie, his hands on the knot.

Jesus, that man should come with a warning label. It shouldn’t be possible for someone to be this hot.

“Dada!”

He undoes the tie and tosses it to a side table, bending down just in time to take Octavia in his arms.

“I’m coloring the best unicorn with Claire. It looks so good! And I drew it.”

“No! You drew this? I don’t believe it. You can’t possibly have.”

This prompts Octavia to immediately restart unicorn number nine on the next page, which is good for her practice. It ends up being more anatomically correct than the first, and with a more dynamic tail.

Lisa, Arlo, and I oooh and aaah, appropriately impressed.

“Would you draw a dragon for me one day?” Arlo asks.

Octavia looks at me. “Can you show me dragons next time?”

“Absolutely. I am a dragon specialist.” I make a mental note to practice before Tuesday.

Spotting my example on the open notebook, Arlo whispers, “You’re very good. We have an artist in the house, huh?”

“Oh, no. I mean, I love to doodle, but it’s nothing serious.”

He slides my notebook forward, frowning. “It could be. I can imagine that unicorn on a collection—bedding, pillows, skirts, T-shirts, you name it. Maybe mama-daughter PJ sets. Those dreadful onesies selling crap-tons, too.”

“Language, Dada.”

Abashed, Arlo pats Octavia’s head. “Sorry, pumpkin. Dada’s thinking about work, and work makes him use bad words.” He returns his gaze to me. “Can you draw it digitally and send me a sketch? I’ll speak to Eric about designing a range.”

My jaw falls. “You’re serious?”

He shrugs. “Our brand might be well-known for the complex catwalk and Oscars gowns and the four-figure cocktail dresses, but the bulk of our money comes from the ready-to-wear retail things. Octavia models a lot of our children’s collection. The actual style of the clothing doesn’t change much, but we vary colors and prints. Good art is hard to come by—that is to say, good, unique styles that no one else can legally copy. If you’re willing to sell us the rights to some drawings, it’ll earn you a fair bit of cash. Not to mention royalties.”

“I…” I blink. “Yes. Definitely. A hundred percent.”

He smiles. “I’ll shoot you a contract next week. You can get your lawyer to look over the details.”

“Unnecessary.” Somehow, I know Arlo won’t screw me over. And even if he wanted to buy my drawing for fifty bucks, that’d be fifty bucks I didn’t have before.

“You know what I think? A family shoot. Darius, Octavia, and Claire. They’d be perfect, they’re all already so airbrushed. And, the actual artist in the shoot? Plus, Darius’s girlfriend? The fans will go crazy.” Lisa looks very self-satisfied.

“This is why you should work for me,” Arlo tells Lisa.

She laughs. “I’d murder you within a week.”

“If you’re up for it, that’s a good idea,” Arlo tells me.

I’m stuck on the word girlfriend. Did Keller tell his dad and sister I was his girlfriend?

I take a sip of the wine, just for something to do, and my eyes widen. “Oh, this is good.”

32

KELLER

“And then, he said he’d pay me!” she says in complete awe. “For my drawings. Can you believe it?”

I flip through the blue leather notebook. “Having seen them, I absolutely can.”

Damn, she’s seriously talented. And I thought I knew her so well. What else are you hiding, little ghost?

I’m picking her up from the house tonight. I’m proud of her for checking if I was available to drive, after the couple of glasses of wine. The fact that she’s starting to think of me as a solution to whatever problem she encounters is good.

That means we’ve been invited for dinner, which is a tragedy. On Friday, Lisa cooks. Or rather, she thinks she can cook.

“It makes sense. There's a full-time design team of course, but after a while, they've exhausted their skills and creativity. It gets repetitive. Hiring freelance artists to inject some freshness is a good tactic; but finding someone, talking rights and stuff with them, can be a bit of a headache. Dad commissions people he knows—people he can trust, business wise—if he can. The fact you just drew it right here on paper means you’re not going to use AI to just generate it with one click. That’s a reassurance he can’t have with just anyone." 

"He asked if I could send a sketch by Monday," she says while beating some eggs. 

Dad's in his home office, Octavia's watching a cartoon, Lisa's strangling an unfortunate chicken, and Claire offered to prepare dessert, which is good. At least there'll be one edible thing tonight.

"You're going to spend the entire weekend drawing, aren't you?" I guess with a sigh.

And here I was, looking forward to an entire full day of her intention exclusively on me. I can tell that's not going to happen.

Dammit, Dad.

"I have so many ideas!"

Dinner is strange in its normalcy. The chicken is awful, dry as fuck, and we all tease Lisa about it. Everyone except Claire; she simply winces and doesn't lie. Normally, at this point, I would have just called for pizza, but Lisa says, "All right, how about we clear up this atrocity and have Claire's cake for dinner? It smells so good."

It turns out, Claire made a three-layered chocolate cake, with custard—or creme anglaise, she tells us—and it occurs to me that I need to start shopping for rings. 

My father gives me a look when no one else's looking, one single raised eyebrow, and I get the message loud and clear. I can keep this one, or he'll take her from me. It would work, too. Arlo Keller is, sadly, hot enough to pull a girl half his age. Well, I'm not that sad about it; I got his genes.

"Can we have cake for dinner every day?" Octavia asks.

"Only on days your mom's cooking," Dad counters, earning himself a quick swat of Lisa's tea towel.

"Claire should come every Friday, to save us from my attempts at domesticity," she declares. 

"I'm not against that," I reply. "But you could also save us all, and give up on trying to cook." 

"How is Lisa going to improve if she doesn't keep trying?" Claire says. 

"She's been trying. For years. There's no improvement. Some things are just not fated to happen. World peace. An end to global hunger. Lisa managing an edible meal."  

Laughing, I look around, shaking my head a little. She fits in the madness beautifully. Sweet and nice, but not a pushover. 

Octavia insists that Claire should read her bedtime story, and while Lisa tries to get her out of it, Claire says, "Oh, that's cool. I'll know where everything is if you ever need me to watch her in the evenings, that way." 

Then they all move upstairs. 

My father leans in. "I suggest you make it official sooner rather than later."

There's a hint of a threat there. 

"Keep your eyes to yourself, old man," I counter. 

He rolls his eyes. "I'm not the only one with eyes in this town. And from what I've heard of last week, she enjoys giving a show, too. There will be plenty of wolves sniffing around." 

I nod, knowing he's right. Objectively, I know Claire might not have minded the lifetime a lot of my peers enjoyed. If I'd let every guy down in the basement have a turn with her, she might not have minded. She's greedy for cocks. I imagine she'd quite like to have one inside her ass while I pound her pussy. The only problem is, I don't want to share her. Not now, not ever. And Dad's right. That means pissing over my territory before everyone else tries to open that door. 

On our way out of the house, Dad opens his arm to give me a half hug. Everyone who knows him would be fully aware that this is a singular event, as it's not my birthday or New Year’s Day. 

The fucker just wants an excuse to hug her too, in order to piss me off. And it works.

"I love your family," she tells me on the way back.

How easy it is for her to use that word about them. My hands tighten on the steering wheel. "They love you, too," I reply. It's the truth.

There will be plenty of wolves sniffing around.

"Next week," I say. "Did you book your flights? To see your grandma."

"Oh, not yet." She sighs. "She's been rather annoying, about Noah. She loves him. More than she loves me, I think, sometimes."

I think so too, but I don't tell her that.

"So, she's disappointed. I still want to be there for her surgery, but I'm figuring out timing. Lisa let me off this Friday, so I can leave right after class. I think I just want to come back Saturday."

"I'll come with you," I tell her, earning one of those many astounded looks. 

It happens often. Every time she realizes people think she matters, in fact. 

It will be my distinct pleasure to meet the woman who made Claire believe she is only entitled to conditional affection, and deserving of swift reprisal for expressing any desire. 

"You will?"

"If you'd like me to." I shrug. "Sounds like you're worried about what she'll say. She might be less annoying in company."

"She absolutely would be less annoying in company," Claire asserts. "But she'd also totally blow my phone up about having another guy so quickly." 

She chews on her lip.

Fine, fine, that makes sense. I'll glare at the bitch some other time. "I'll stay at the hotel. Study or whatever. It'll be nice for you to have company after dealing with her, right?" 

"Thanks, Keller. That's…so thoughtful." 

And absolutely not something she would have expected. "I'll book the tickets."

33

CLAIRE

“What do you think about this one?” I ask, sharing my fifth—or is it sixth?—unicorn.

Keller glances over the complex anatomy graphic he’s using, spelling the complex names of body parts, ailments or cures. Ever so patient, he looks at it in detail. “I like it more than the first, but the second is still my fav.”

I wrinkle my nose, returning to my second draft. The unicorn looks fierce and smug. “Yeah, it was pretty good.”

I don’t know what’s stopping me.

“Do you want my opinion?” Keller asks while I work on the eighth version, determined to capture the majesty of the second, with a bit more humor.

Arlo did pitch a children’s range after all.

“Send the lot. Or maybe just the best four or five. Most prints rarely feature only one drawing. Add some ornaments, some fun doodles. Maybe a dragon. Arlo is crazy about The Hobbit. And a dire wolf. He likes Game of Thrones, too.”

“He does?” Somehow, I can’t picture Arlo, Mr. Model himself, into nerdy stuff. “What’s your favorite creature?”

Keller grins at me. “Pegasi.”

I gasp, suddenly knowing just what was missing in the second drawing. I liked it, but he truly was too fierce for a unicorn.

Returning to my drawing, I execute the necessary modifications, removing the horn, reworking the coloring to a palomino and white tail, rather than the pink with rainbow braids. A folded pair of wings, and voila.

“Ta-da!” I announce, turning it to him, with a big grin.

I’m not disappointed.

Keller puts his book down. “Bloody amazing. You just did that in the time it took me to read a page? Why the hell are you studying accounting?”

“Because accountants get paid.”

“Sure, but your art is going to make you rich. A lot richer than any accountant will end up. Review your schedule, seriously. Do what you love.”

I chew on my lip. I mean, if we’d had this conversation three days ago, it would be another story. Back then, my art had no prospects. Today someone—someone important—might be willing to do something with it. Maybe I could end up being an illustrator. If I worked hard. If I kept making what people like Arlo might want to publish. Maybe he’d want me full-time, in house.

“It’s not that easy for me,” I say after a second. “I don’t have something to fall back on or a security blanket, you know. If I study art, and then the market keeps collapsing and no one is hiring, I’ll be flipping burgers for a paycheck despite years of work on a fancy degree.”

Keller’s staring at me in a way that makes me want to look down, fidget, do something. So I keep talking. “Take my grandmother. She was a housewife most of her life. No job. Then, when her husband died, she suddenly had to work, and it wasn’t enough. She’s always struggled. She’s old, and she had to wait for your generosity to afford the basic care she needed. My actual mother got an education. She has a nice job. She can afford pretty clothes, sends me lovely presents and the occasional cash transfer, because she can. I know which future I want.”

The unblinking staring only gets darker, but he finally breaks his silence. “Your mother shouldn’t send you the occasional cash transfer. She should have supported you, your whole life, so you never struggled.”

I start to disagree, but he speaks before I can find the words. “As for a security blanket, you have one, Claire. Me.”

My mouth opens, and then closes.

“If the market is suddenly disastrous, and you can’t get a job after graduation, you’ll be fine, because you’ll live with me, with my credit card in your wallet. Just like you do now.”

“That’s…we’re talking years in the future.”

“We are,” he agrees easily.

“You don’t know if you’ll like me in a month, let alone four years.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Well, I don’t,” I snap. “I’m not relying on any man for my entire future. Even you.”

My voice rose of its own volition. This almost feels like it could devolve into an argument, but I am right, dammit. We’ve known each other a week. We’ve been together for half that. He doesn’t know me. I don’t know him. I enjoy what I’ve seen so far, no matter how crazy that sounds.

He stalked me. He coerced me. He basically offered me a deal that can be defined as prostitution. And despite all that, I like him. Who he is. How he’s treating me. God, I like him more than I should if I was entirely sane. But we don’t know if this isn’t a phase, if we’ll burn away our chemistry by Christmas.

The very thought causes anxiety because I am currently relying on him for everything, including the roof over my head.

“Let’s table this conversation for a while, all right?” Keller says. “You’re a freshman. You can change direction in a year, or two, or three. You can get your bachelor’s, and then start all over again with something else entirely. It’s unimportant. I just wanted to say, I believe you’re talented enough to succeed. I believe that you don’t need a safety net. I said you had one in me, and I meant it, but I get that you’re not there yet. It’s unimportant.”

He returns to his book, writing more Latin-ish words.

I stare at him for a full minute, confused without even knowing why, until it hits me.

We had an argument, of sorts. It’s not the first time we don’t agree, but I started practically shouting, and opposed him. And not only did he keep his cool, not getting angry or defensive, but he defused the conversation, peeling away at the issues until there were none.

And he praised me.

I believe that you don’t need a safety net. You’re talented enough to succeed.

I’m shaken because this is not how people behave. Not in my experience.

I put down the tablet I borrowed from him to draw, and cross the sofa until I’m right against him. When he drops his book again, I climb onto his lap, bringing my arms around his shoulders. “Thank you.”

“What for?”

I don’t know how to say it. I’m not sure saying another word won’t end up making me cry. So I just put my head against his chest and breathe, taking in the regular heartbeats.

He lets me hug him forever. Or at least, until his phone rings.

He sighs, accepting the call. “What?”

I never really noticed the difference between how he speaks to me and other people before.

The single word is cold. He’s not snapping per se, but his voice feels like it’s covered in needles, like a cactus. He comes with a tread carefully warning label to the outside world.

Not to his close family. Not downstairs at dinner—unless he’s addressing Rick the Dick. And not to me.

“Are you coming tonight? I wanna see if it’s worth staying home. Otherwise, I might take Dez to the movies.”

“I’ll ask Claire. I’ll text.”

He ends the call without another word. And here I thought he liked Markus.

“Ask me what?”

“The wyverns are throwing a party. Markus wanted to know if we’d attend.”

That gets me to laugh. “I don’t know, is it safe? My last party did not go well, if you recall.”

He snorts. “I disagree. Everything worked out just fine, as far as I’m concerned. But I don’t mean the public show we threw last week. Their parties upstairs on Saturdays are like ours, down in the basement on Sundays,” Keller tells me, raising one eyebrow suggestively.

“Oh.” My mouth suddenly feels very dry.

Last Sunday was…something.

“I did wonder. If you were hosting orgies every night down there,” I explain.

Keller doesn’t seem to find my question off color. “Only Sundays and special occasions. The lions, serpents and webs tend to handle Thursdays. Who even wants to party Thursdays?” He makes a face. “The sharks often set up their parties on Fridays—although sometimes we’re invited up to Raventhorn. Saturdays tends to be wyverns, and we vespers do Sundays. Our audience is more specific. Fewer guests, even in other rooms. I prefer it. But Markus wants us there, or he wouldn’t have called. I’m guessing Dez wants to party with her new friend.”

“I do like Dez.”

“Mm. Do you like her enough to watch her fuck my cousin?” he asks.

My insides immediately clench. “What?”

“She’ll ride him right in front of us. She’ll watch you fuck me, too. Markus and Dez don’t share, but they do like shows. Watching them, and being the star performers.” His tongue darts out, licking the tip of my ear and tracing it down to my neck. “So do I. So do you, I think.”

My mind goes back to last Sunday. I was so, so scared, but even then…I enjoyed it. I enjoyed each reminder that there was an audience. And I sure as fuck enjoyed how Keller made me feel.

“Will you wear your mask?” I find myself whispering, like I’m admitting a secret.

Maybe I am.

He lets a heartbeat pass. “Do you want me to?”

Fuck, I think I just drenched my panties. I’m going to have to change them.

Or just remove them.

I nod against his chest.

“Very well. A proper masquerade for you, little ghost.” He said he’d text, but he calls instead. I know it’s for my benefit, so I hear. “We’re in. Tell everyone to mask up.”

“Fuck, it’s been a while. Masks off at midnight?”

“On the dot.”

Jesus.

It’s only twelve. How am I going to survive until tonight in my state?

I do the only reasonable thing, really. I’m in the perfect position for it. My hands move to his belt, and start to undo it.

“Can you fuck me, pretty please? I won’t last until tonight.”

There’s something savage in the deep blue of his eyes. “Oh, yes. I believe I can. I will fuck you all day, my gorgeous little ghost. But you’re not allowed to come until midnight.”

He’s kidding. Right?

34

CLAIRE

He was not kidding.

Keller seemed addicted to my orgasms, collecting them like he’d get a prize for exceeding five a day. This afternoon? Nada.

It’s not that he’s suddenly lost his ability to make a woman scream his name and grind against his mouth, fingers, or cock, but he stops at the very moment when I can feel my core tightening, ready for release.

By four, I’ve given up entirely. I was on my hands and knees, on the sofa, on his desk, my bed, and against the dresser, and not a single time has he allowed me to ease the constant, nagging, growing need inside me. God, he’s made me addicted to sex in mere days.

“Go away,” I grumble when he dares come out of his room, looking devastating in his blue suit and crisp white shirt. “I’m not touching you anymore.”

Which is a shame because that suit just hugs his large shoulders.

“Until midnight.” He winks, expertly tying a blue tie to complete the look of a young CEO.

“Are you going to work?” I ask, confused.

He’s always dressed a bit formally—preppy, with shirts and chinos, rather than the average college guys’ attire, though I distinctly recall a hoodie last Sunday. But this look is particularly formal, even for him.

“I’m going to pick up your mask,” he tells me.

That doesn’t explain why he’s dressed like that. “In the finance district?”

Keller chuckles. “At the Heritage. My club. Your club, one day soon. I’ll also pick up the formalities to enroll you without the usual test.”

“What’s the usual test?” I ask, wondering why he doesn’t think I can do it.

“A gangbang, darling.”

My jaw drops. “What?”

“They’d strap you up and let anyone who wants have their way with you.” He shrugs. “Strangers need to be fucked in.”

“Is it…a gang?”

He snorts. “Do I look like I belong to a gang?”

Absolutely fucking not.

“It’s a private club. You and I both know the best way to keep things private is to have something on everyone there.”

He sends me a knowing look. I snort. “So I’ve learned.”

“Typically, you’d have to be engaged or married to me to be admitted; but we live together, and Dad, Markus, and Sebastian will vouch for you. It should be fine.” He kisses the top of my head.

“What time’s the party?”

The question confuses him. “Whenever we want to go.”

I guess the party starts when he gets there. “I mean, when should I be ready?”

“After dinner? Claudio doesn’t work weekends, so we could eat out if you’d like. See if Markus and Dez want to do dinner and the movies after all.”

“That’d be nice.”

“Any movie you’d like to watch?”

I give him the complete list of all the movies I haven’t watched so far this year, not sure some are still showing. I’ve been squirrelling away all the money I could spare in view of coming here, after all.

“Markus will stab you if we force him to suffer through the new Snow White. The ratings are awful.”

“But wouldn’t it be fun to watch how awful it is and laugh?”

He considers this. “Maybe at home, with alcohol. Away from Markus.”

I see the wisdom in this. “Captain America, then?”

“Wise. Book four seats. My card,” he reminds me. “And text me the time. I’ll reserve the restaurant before. Back in an hour.”

It occurs to me that I don’t normally see him leave.

His med school schedule is more packed than my freshman one, but I’ve begun spending most mornings in Dez’s kitchen, taking notes. If he’s not there when I head back home just to drop off goodies and pick up my bags, I don’t have time to notice it.

I don’t like it.

First, I check the theater, finding a showing at eight and another at eleven.

Me: 8pm or 11pm?

Keller: eight. Be ready at a quarter to six to head out to dinner.

It’s pretty soon, so I occupy myself by showering, applying makeup—I’m no Lily in that department, so I keep it light. Thinking of her, I text Keller.

Me: Can Lily come with us tonight, if she’s free? I haven’t properly seen her in forever.

Keller: To dinner and the movies, sure? To the Wyvern House? Only if you don’t mind ditching her ass downstairs. She can’t come up.

I grimace. It would be kind of weird to invite her to part of the evening and not the rest, wouldn’t it?

Me: Never mind then, another time.

Keller: She’ll join us, eventually. Whenever she and Cross stop that weird thing they have going on.

Me: I think the kids call it flirting these days. Not that you’d know. You’re more about stalking and blackmail.

Keller: *coercion. I never blackmailed you. Get your felonies right.

The simple fact he’s happy to say things like that to me via text, in writing, brings a smile to my face.

He trusts me. Everything he does proves as much—the credit card, even the fact I’m alone in his house, but the open discussion of punishable offenses takes the cake.

Next, I go to my closet, and sigh.

One thing should have dawned to me earlier: I don’t have anything to wear. Not to dinner with Keller, who looks positively edible. I mean, I knew that. I don’t particularly like most of my formal wardrobe. My entire collection of clothing is knee-length dresses and skirts, and formal tops. My favorite piece of clothing is the skirt I sort of stole from my ex-roommate.

I know what Keller would say: I need new clothes and should immediately purchase a ton of them. But it doesn’t sort things out for tonight. We’re leaving in forty-five minutes and I don’t have anything to wear.

The skirt’s too party-ish for a restaurant.

My heart beating fast at the influx of sudden stress, I remind myself to breathe.

It takes me a second to understand why I’m freaking out a little.

I’m used to being worried. About money, about time, about pissing someone off. But I spent an entire blissful week with little to no worries since Monday’s freak-out. Five days without anxiety spikes. This feels worse after a few days without panicking.

Breathe. There’s always a solution. You’re used to finding a way.

I grab my phone again.

Me: Hey, feel free to tell me to fuck off, but Keller looks really nice, and all my clothes cost under fifty bucks. Do you have anything I could borrow?

I would have asked Lily if she were invited tonight. As things stand, I asked Dez. She gets me. We might not have had a heart-to-heart but everything she’s said and done tells me she grew up without all the glitz and glamour and endless flow of cash.

Dez: Dude, really? You look about a billion bucks, all the time.

I smile.

Me: My grandma chose my clothes.

It takes her a while to answer, and she types for minutes on end.

Dez: Someone else used to pick my clothes too. Come raid my closet. Take anything.

I run outside, fast.

Everything changes on weekends in the Vesper House itself, but the entire street is taken by the same fever. There are a lot more people for one, filtering in and out of the house. Staff, bringing entire cases of booze, so much you’d think we’re the ones throwing the party tonight. I know our turn is tomorrow.

Next door is madness. Staff everywhere, vans unloading portable tables, catering preparing food for an army, and more.

Unlike our tower, the wyverns have a grand staircase. Dez waits for me in the entryway on the ground floor.

“Two floors up!” she says. “Come on in.”

We rush past the first floor, which is receiving cases of vodka and Champagne, and the quieter second floor. Upstairs is a renovated attic, divided up into two sides. We turn right, to a large open bedroom—the kind where even the bath is right in the middle of the room, despite there being several doors. One must be for toilets as those aren’t exposed, thank god.

It’s gorgeous and modern. I notice the kind of stuff I saw downstairs Sunday. I would have previously assumed Dez was a gymnast. Now I know better. The bed itself is a heavy metal canopy with no curtains hanging, displaying the complex network of iron bars forming a gorgeous pattern. I spot cuffs hanging from the ones at the foot of the bed.

Well, then.

I’m certainly not judging. She wasn’t expecting my company, so she didn’t tidy her room for guests. And even if she had, I doubt she would have hidden much of that.

Plus frankly? I know all that is a lot of fun.

Her walk-in closet is much larger than mine, and at first glance, I see it’s set up for her and Markus, his side on the left. Each closed door is covered by a floor to ceiling mirror, and there’s a large bench in the middle. The mirror on the ceiling tells me it’s not just to be able to check out outfits.

“We should be around the same size. I organize them by color. Just grab whatever suits your fancy.”

“Anything?” I repeat, my hand sliding from fabric to fabric.

She seems to have just about every color and material—taffetas, velvet, leather, and more.

“Well, maybe not the underwear. I’ve done some messed-up stuff in those. Although, I should have a few new pieces somewhere…hang on.”

While she opens one of the doors, filled with drawers and shelves, my eyes catch on a pale pink fabric. I know, I know. There’s plenty of pale pink in my own wardrobe. But not like this.

I pull the dress out. My grandma would say half of it is missing. More than half: the entire back and some of the skirt.

The lower layers are tulle, with a satin skirt underneath, and the top, a slightly shiny fabric I can’t name.

This is my own wardrobe, except adult.

“Can I borrow this?”

“Oh!” she grins, looking at the dress. “Darling, you can have it. I bought it as a joke of sorts. I don’t do the whole cute pink thing anymore.”

That much is true. Currently, she’s wearing ripped tights, a denim skirt, and a tank top with mesh sleeves underneath. I’m pretty sure she’s ready for dinner, too. What’s more, she looks sexy as hell. She wouldn’t have freaked over her wardrobe like I did.

Except this dress tells another story.

“If you don’t mind, it’s perfect.”

“Hang on, I have something else. It’ll make you feel great for tonight.”

She tosses a light bundle wrapped in paper at me.

Opening it, my jaw drops. “Is that…?”

“Yep.”

I blink. “But it’s all…”

The pink-haired emo chick grins. “The word is crotchless, darling.”

35

CLAIRE

It turns out, Dez wasn’t dressed. When she and Markus slide into the back of Keller’s car, she’s in a short, black tutu skirt with a dark green boned top, positively sinful.

“Where are we eating?” Markus drawls.

“SLAB,” Keller replies, and Dez bounces a little on her seat.

“Oh, goodie! I haven’t had been in ages.”

“Slab?” I repeat, crossing my legs and blushing.

This dress is far, far too short for what I’m wearing underneath. I catch Dez’s eyes, and she grins knowingly.

“S.L.A.B. Best place for steaks, and they’re fairly fast, as well as close to the movie theater.”

After the short drive into town, Keller drops the couple off in front of the restaurant. I opt to stay with him as he finds somewhere to park.

I expect it to be a struggle in the busy, small-town center, but he just rolls in behind one of the largest buildings in town, where a private parking lot is tucked in. He enters a code and rolls forward.

I shake my head. “Is everything easy for you guys?”

“I don’t know. I had to coerce one girl to give me a chance.” He winks.

We haven’t driven very far from the restaurant, but a pressing issue becomes apparent within a few feet.

Dez is shorter than me, with more butt, while I beat her in the breast area, but we’re the same shoe size. She convinced me to wear all her things tonight, shoes included. And while the four-inch white heels make me look amazing, I am not good at actually walking in them.

“Sorry I’m so slow,” I groan, embarrassed, holding on for dear life to the elbow he lends me.

“Don’t be. They’ll hold my table however long. Besides, Markus is already there.”

I sigh, frustrated. We’ve barely left the side street!

“But we don’t want to be late for the movies.”

“True.” He takes a step forward and crouches down, patting his shoulder. “Hop on.”

I blink. “On your back?”

He rolls his eyes. “What, you’ve never had a piggyback ride?”

I…don’t think I have, actually.

But trusting him, I tentatively lower myself to his strong back, thrusting my legs through his arms.

“Hold on tight,” he warns me.

I grip him around the shoulders, and he stands, walking the rest of the way as though my weight is of no consequence whatsoever.

We must look so funny, and there are plenty of people staring, with amused smiles.

Meanwhile, I am tomato red, feeling my pussy right against the back of his jacket. Damn those crotchless panties.

Thankfully, the ride doesn’t last too long.

* * *

They weren’t kidding about the food. It’s freaking fantastic. I devour everything in sight with gusto. Everyone lets me try their picks, even Markus. In exchange for some of his ribeye with peppercorn sauce—the second option I considered—I have to share a bit of duck.

“It’s as good as Claudio’s!” I muse.

“The greatest praise,” says Keller, chuckling. “Yet somehow unsurprising. Claudio owns this place—he set up the menu.”

That makes a hell of a lot of sense.

We have just enough time for dessert, so we order that too, although I’m so full I’m not sure where I’ll put it.

“This chocolate fondant…I’m ashamed I ever thought I could bake a chocolate cake.”

“Your cake is amazing,” Keller assures me, his hand moving to my knee, squeezing it.

He means it as a show of support, but all of a sudden, I want him to know what I’m wearing.

Taking the hand, I slide it up and up and up, and smirk as those fingers meet bare flesh.

The look in his eyes, god.

Thoroughly delighted, I swat his arm away.

Take that for the multiple orgasm denials, jerk!

Keller grins, bringing his mouth close to my ears. “I can make all your dreams come true. Nightmares included if you continue testing my patience, little ghost.”

The threat makes me flutter. There’s no other word for it. “My dream was to come earlier. Didn’t get that, did I?”

I don’t bother lowering my voice as much as he did, and Markus laughs. “Wait, he can’t make his woman come?”

Keller glares. “Won’t. There’s a difference. And if she doesn’t behave, I won’t for the rest of the night.”

I stop smirking.

“Been there,” Dez says. “Multiple times. Only stabbed him once.”

I think she’s joking, so I laugh.

Keller does not offer to let me ride his back to the movie theater. I whimper when the friendly host directs us to the farthest room, on the top floor.

“Don’t worry. There’s an elevator,” Dez assures me. “And the way your legs look are worth it.”

I’ll have to take her word for it.

Keller remains very close to me at all times, right behind me, as if blocking me from view as we order drinks and popcorn.

Amused, in the semi-privacy of the elevator we share with three strangers, I pretend to lift the hem of my skirt a little, barely moving it an inch.

His nostrils flare.

Oh, yes, he likes showing me…on his terms. I stow that information away for later.

The movie’s been out for a while, so the theater’s mostly empty—likely why we were exiled to theater seventeen. There’s just a group of boys—older high school kids or fellow college underclassmen—tossing popcorn and jokes at each other in the back, and a solo girl close to the front.

I surprise myself by remembering her name. I guess that day was traumatic enough to help it stick. “Pen!” I call.

She practically jumps on her seat. “Oh!” she squints, either trying to see properly in the darkness or place my face. “I remember you.”

“You gave me a free sundae.” It occurred to me I likely didn’t have the presence of mind to properly thank her. “Thank you so much. It was a crappy day.”

“You look much happier,” she tells me.

I smile as we walk to our seats, in the middle row, halfway towards the back.

“She’s the chick from Lost the Plot, right?” Dez asks.

“Yeah, she was really nice to me.”

“We’ll have to give her a raise,” Markus replies. “She’s good people.”

I snort. “Do you guys own the entire town?”

Dez replies yes. Markus and Keller disagree.

“The founding families still own tons of it,” Markus grunts darkly, like it’s a deep personal wound.

“The Goltzes own about half of the riverside, and thirty percent of southie,” Keller explains. “Dad invests in most of it.”

I shake my head. “So, yes,” I sum up, in full agreement with Dez.

The ads soon start, followed by the trailers, and finally, the start of the movie.

I feel like I missed one or two movies in between, but it still pulls me in, as only Disney music and flash actions scenes can. It retains my full, eager focus. Right up until Keller pulls me onto his lap.

I don’t pay much attention at first, glad to be snuggling up. But then, he shifts, and flesh presses right at my entrance.

Oh.

I glance back at him urgently.

He and I both know I’m not one to keep silent. It was a struggle over the phone with Lily the other day, and that was only his mouth and fingers, not his actual cock. When he shoved it in my ass after a while, I had to put myself on silent.

Fuck.

Keller thrusts in. I’m not as wet as usual, so he fills me so hard, I suck in a breath.

Pen’s right there. There are half a dozen boys close behind us.

Keller is brutal. He’s not moving like he cares if anyone hears the seat creaking, let alone any noises that might escape my mouth, covered by both my hands. I lean forward, folding myself to hold it all in, but all that does is deepen his angle. My feet find the floor, and he uses my semi-stability as an excuse to stand up and just…fuck me. Hard. Fast. Right in the middle of the movie theater.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. That’s what I get for playing with fire.

One glance toward Pen, and I see she knows. She’s holding herself too stiffly, and still glancing back occasionally. The joking boys behind no longer are kidding around. Fuck. What if anyone has a phone? But even losing my mind, getting fucked within an inch of my life, it occurs to me no one would actually recognize the two of us in the dark, if this was recorded. Except maybe by Pen, but she’s not filming. The guys at the back won’t see anything.

I give up. There’s no containing the moans. And after the first has escaped me, my pussy starts to soak him. I can’t deny it. This is…hot. Very, very hot. And I’m going to come right here at the theater, rather than watch this movie. I’m so, so close.

But then, Keller withdraws his cock, and sits back down.

Shocked, I stare back at him over my shoulders, my dress high on my waist, my entire ass exposed by the bits of black string Dez considers panties.

Keller’s grasping his cock, leisurely stroking it. “What? I’m a man of my word.”

Oh, he fucking didn’t.

He turns towards his sort of cousin. “See? Could have. Didn’t.”

Markus chuckles.

Half shocked, half pissed, and an extra twenty percent embarrassed, I return to my seat, muttering.

Except, Dez is no longer next to me: she’s on her knees in front of Markus, sucking him, licking him, and blowing him so thoroughly, I should honestly take notes—for when I’m back to wanting to worship Keller’s cock rather than kick it.

At first, I’m watching out of surprise, then curiosity about what she does—licking it all the way down to the balls, cupping them, that sort of thing. But then, there’s no denying that I’m getting rather worked up watching them. I think that’s what Keller meant when he said he likes showing and looking. Apparently, so do I.

Let’s just say I’ll need to rewatch the movie, because Markus has no problem making Dez come again and again, and it’s quite simply a lot more interesting that whatever’s on screen.

There’s a fire inside me begging for attention by the time the credits roll.

“Eleven,” Keller whispers. “Time to try on your mask.”

36

KELLER

She laughs, and I smile back.

“A ghost.”

The white mask, with a pink neon bow, is undeniably shaped like a cute, girly Casper. I had it made for her this week, not expecting to need it just yet.

“I love it,” she assures me, putting it on before taking my arm for support.

We walk into the wyvern den together hand in hand, their usual party in full swing, but tonight, we head directly to the first floor, Dez and Markus behind us.

They wear identical masks, black and blood red. There’s no subtlety with those guys.

I’m glad we got in in time to enjoy the masquerade. It’s not even half past eleven. Thirty minutes of driving my woman wild.

“Oh my god.”

I look around, trying to see it with fresh eyes.

If the basement of the Vesper House is set up like a night club, the first floor of the Wyvern House is an all-boys club. And no wonder; until Dez, they never had a female resident. Leather seats, wood paneling, soft lighting, a fully equipped bar at the back, this one manned by Cynthia, not Luke.

Cynthia is an excellent bartender. She’s also happy to do her job wearing a tiny, glittery string bikini, and making the tassels under the cups of her breasts jiggle with every move.

When they’re not throwing a party, there’s a billiard table at the center. It’s currently replaced by a pole, around which a male and a female dancer are slowly gyrating to the sound of slow, low beats.

Around it, a flock of guests dance, laugh, fuck, and tease, every single one of them wearing masks in every shape and color—some obvious slasher fan masks, others, Venetian, the more modern neons like ours.

To me, this is the wyvern den. I’m used to it.

I lean closer to Claire to ask her, “How do you like it?”

“Hate the room. Ours is much better. Love the masks.”

Ours.

I grin. “Yes, the wyverns are definitely an old boys’ club. You should hear what most of them do their senior year.”

Even as the words escape me, I decide it’s best Claire does in fact not hear about how they spend their senior year. I’m slowly integrating her into my world, and the details about the wyvern or the Raventhorn ways would be the equivalent of chucking her in the deep end before teaching her to swim.

Instead, I slide my hand behind her back and bring her with me to the throng of the crowd, passing a throuple fucking each other in a line—one guy behind, another in the middle, with his cock in the girl at the front. They manage to keep up with the rhythm of the music pretty well, all things considered. As we circle them, the girl reaches out to another girl, her hand in her partner’s pants, tapping her shoulder. She casually lowers her top to give her access, and the girl with a cock in her pussy bends down to lick her tits.

Once we’re in the middle, anonymous in all this, I bring my hands to Claire’s hips and turns her so she faces away from me, sliding her dress up her thighs slowly as we move.

I didn’t get a chance to see what she’s wearing; not properly, in the darkness of the theater.

“You can dance,” she notes.

I snort. She’s right, I can, but I’m not going to the effort. “You call this dancing?”

“No, but the way you’re moving, I can tell you actually know how to move your body.”

Oh, yeah. I do.

“I’ll take you dancing one day. This is something else.”

To prove my point, I take the hem of the fabric a little higher, past her waist, baring her to all eyes behind their masks. I tie it into a knot at her midsection, and next, lower her straps down her arms, exposing her top, too.

There are more than one pair of eyes watching her, given what she’s wearing. Even more so when I undo the clasp of her bra, peel it from her arms, and toss it away, cupping her breasts.

Spotting someone getting a little too close, I take the tape I slid into my pocket in the car, prepared for this, and tear off a tiny strip with my teeth.

It’s not about where I put the tape. It’s the fact that it’s red, signifying an immediate stop sign. I place it across her nipple, cutting a second strip to make a cross, and do the same to the right tit.

Look all you want. Hands off.

“What’s this?”

“A message,” I reply.

I can tell she’d ask a lot more questions if I let her, but we have only about fifteen minutes until we’re removing masks, and there are far more entertaining things to do.

“Keep your clothes exactly as they are, unless you want to be punished. Count to ten,” I whisper. “Then come find me.”

She sucks in air, turning to ask what I mean, but I’m already stepping away, watching her, cunt bared in that lace harness, tits out, her wild hair as out of control as ever.

I retreat from the crowd, eyes never leaving her for one instant as I exit the room through the east door, practically racing to the west, in order to watch her again.

It’s not a test as such, because I know what she’ll do, but I’m curious. She turns, lost, uncertain—even if I can’t see her face, it’s obvious in the way she looks here and there, desperate.

Someone approaches, likely talking to her. She takes a step back, shaking her head.

Hell no, she won’t accept help half naked. Good girl.

Claire’s hands move to the knot at her waist, but she talks herself out of it, obeying my order, as she keeps turning and turning, walking through the half-naked crowd, snapping at anyone who dares come too close.

I grin. In truth, not too many people here would hit on her. Her hair’s recognizable enough, and I marked her as unavailable. I only know a couple of dicks who’d cross that line. People are approaching her because she looks lost, and they want to help. But given that they all have their cocks or pussies out as well masks over their faces, she runs.

Literally. She’s racing to the doors, panicking. And remaining just as bare as I left her.

Very good girl.

“Nine! Eight! Seven!” Cynthia starts to count down into a microphone.

The energy changes a little, people desperate to be just where they intended to be at midnight. Couples leave their lovers to find their real partners, flirting pairs start to take it to the next level, most crotches still covered get stripped. Including mine.

At five, I race to my prey.

I grab her around the neck from behind, and she immediately starts to fight back, kicking out, arms flaying. “Let me go!”

“Three, two⁠—”

Before she can turn, I shove my cock right at her entrance and push in, though she’s as dry as I’ve ever found her, and still trying to flee.

“One! Masks off!”

I remove mine, and thrust in again. “You heard her. Mask off, little ghost.”

“What?” she snaps. “Oh my god, Keller!”

It’s a wonder how her tight vise instantly floods with warmth.

“You’re the fucking worst!” she grunts between pants as I laugh, lifting her leg up.

Her hands fly to the wall, keeping her balanced. She hasn’t had a chance to remove her mask yet, and I rather like that, so I don’t tell her off.

“How did you like playing hide and seek?” I ask, grinning.

Her pussy’s giving me all the answer I need.

“I hated it.”

“Mmhmm.”

Seriously, she’s strangling my cock, already moments away from losing it.

“You could have been anyone!” she whines.

“Would I let anyone else fuck this delicious cunt of yours?”

Between the fact that I teased her all day and most of the night, and the fact that her blood is singing with both fear and anger, I’m not surprised when she starts to shake, and clench around my cock so much she immediately triggers my own orgasms. Fuck, I used to last much longer. I know myself around Claire, however. I’ll be hard again in five minutes, tops.

As she practically collapses against the wall, I remove her mask, tucking it under my arm. “Fancy a drink, little ghost?”

“Fuck you, Keller,” she manages between deep breaths.

“You just did, love.”

37

CLAIRE

The last week has been insane.

Sunday, Keller took me shopping. I vaguely expressed the desire to extend my wardrobe to maybe a few pairs of jeans and shorter skirts, and we came back home with thirty-two bags stuffed to the brim, finally filling my walk-in closet. 

I still use my bedroom, though I never sleep alone there. We sleep in his bed or mine, but always together.  

On Tuesday morning, at nine, before class, I had a meeting at Arlo's company. Keller accompanied me. I'm still not sure what happened?. A few minutes after we were shown to a conference room, the guy from Rothford's board who sort of saved me, sort of threw me to the wolves, walked in, and sat at the opposite end of the table, staring at me. 

Then he turned to Keller. "You're seeing her, huh?"

"Yes, Uncle Eriks."

Fuck. So this is Eriks Goltz, the richest man in town. I should have known.

He shrugged. "Fine."

Arlo arrived a few moments later. "The girl of the moment!" He turns to Mr. Goltz. "Have you seen what she sent us?"

He emitted something between a snort and a grunt. 

"I want it all. The unicorn, the dragon, the pegasus, the selkie, the mermaid, the ghost, the witch. Let's make it an entire series. I want exclusive use of the collection for two fifty, plus one percent of all profits on that collection."

Two hundred and fifty bucks, I thought like a reasonable person, and I immediately said yes. But when I was brought the paperwork, it turned out that it was two hundred and fifty thousand bucks. I almost fainted on the spot.

The money was transferred mere hours after my signature was on the dotted line. I kept babysitting, despite Lisa’s insistence it would be fine if I bowed out because I didn't need the job.

"No way. I love Vivi. But you can keep your money."

Wednesday, I changed my classes, dropping statistics and economics for graphic design, marketing, and art, completely changing the direction of my degree. The faculty didn't mind, because they're flexible, or because a certain grumpy, handsome, intimidating man told them it was fine. 

I love all my classes. I adore every second I spend outside of them, too. I can't believe this is my life, but it is. 

We're flying back home, first class, and despite the fancy snacks and a few sips of Keller’s glass of bubbly when no one paid attention, I'm more stressed than I've been all week. 

Reaching for my hand across the armrest, Keller intertwines his fingers with mine and kisses the back of my palm. "It'll be just fine," he assures me.

He doesn't know my grandmother. The hundreds of texts she sent me say today will be anything but fine. I replied, sending back a couple of messages every day.

Me: It wasn't working. It's not just the distance. 

Me: I'm sorry you're disappointed, but I wasn't in love with Noah. He wasn't in love with me either.

Me: Yes, I'll be there Friday. 

Me: No, I don't want to speak to Noah anymore. We've said all that needs to be said on the subject. 

Me: It's my life, Grandma. 

If anything, my replies incensed her. 

No, today won't be fine. But Keller's here, so he'll make it all better after. 

* * *

For the tenth time, I try to dissuade Keller from escorting me. “You’re sure you don’t want to, like, stay in the awesome suite?”

“What would I do in the suite?” he asks, genuinely baffled.

“Study?” I offer. But that’s stupid; he didn’t lug all his books along with him. “Or you could go shopping.”

If I learned one thing last week it’s that Keller genuinely loves shopping. Especially shopping for stuff for me to wear. Whenever I wear the clothes he picked, I catch a look of smug appreciation. And he adores removing them from me.

“In Michigan?” he says, the same way some people might say, in hell. “Do you guys even have decent shopping places here?”

I think for a second. “I’d be offended, but I truly don’t know.”

Firstly, because I don’t know what stores he would consider decent, and secondly, because I could never have afforded them, or been allowed to shop there before, so I never looked.

“I’m not going to barge in and introduce myself to your grandmother,” he reassures me, pinpointing the reason behind my hesitancy. “You have good reasons to not want that yet. I’ll respect it. But you’re also going in knowing that this will be a fucking terrible time. So I’ll be there. At the cafe. I checked—there’s one a few doors away from her room. You deal with her, you come find me when you’re done, and we’ll go shopping. How about that?”

He truly does get me, doesn’t he? He cuts through all the bullshit, straight to my problem, and dishing out nothing but support and reassurance. It’s crazy that he’s able to understand me so well, so fast.

“In Michigan?” I echo his outraged tone. “I don’t think so.”

“Then we’ll just have to stay in our awesome suite. Try to find a way to occupy our time.” He grins.

That sounds good to me.

38

CLAIRE

“So, you’re here, hm?”

It would be inaccurate to say I don’t know this tone of my grandmother’s voice. I’ve heard it my whole life. Except typically she uses it to talk to my mother.

Bracing myself, I walk in. “I told you I’d come at five. Did they check you in all right?”

She was admitted at four, and I know the private care Keller arranged for her means that she would have been shown to her room right away.

“Yes. They’ve been pleasant this time—none of that waiting around for hours I get when my insurance is footing the bill. I’m truly blessed to have been chosen for this grant. But none of that. You, young lady, are getting yourself into some trouble, I can tell. What sort of person stops talking to her family and breaks up with her boyfriend of four years mere days after moving away? Something’s very wrong with you.”

It’s a struggle not to roll my eyes. Maybe I would have called if she were interested in speaking to me about something other than Noah. “Noah and I didn’t fit. I’m glad it’s over. But I didn’t come back to discuss him. I’m here so you have company before and after the operation. I understand they’re taking you in at six?”

“Yes. Bit late for a procedure, hm?”

It is. Likely so I could be here without missing classes. Keller is the kind of guy to think about everything. “Maybe.”

She’s not to be deterred, determined. “And well, I want to talk about Noah. His grandparents are my friends. How can I face them after what you’ve done to the poor boy?”

Jesus.

So far, I’ve enjoyed wine and cocktails and champagne because they tasted good in fun, social settings. For the first time, I understand people who drink as a copying mechanism when dealing with stupidity. I could down a glass of Pouilly-Fumé right now. Where’s Arlo’s chilled wine selection when we need it?

“You can tell them people break up all the time. Noah’s not that bothered.”

And that’s true. After a few days of insults, he gave up. I didn’t even have to block him.

“That’s not what he told me,” she snaps.

A knock interrupts us, thank god. Grateful, I turn, expecting a nurse, but it isn’t. Instead, I find myself face to face with my mother.

I don’t see her very often. When I do, it’s hard to really think of her as a parent. She’s too young, too pretty, too confident and aloof. Like a cool aunt. And that’s the role she’s had in my life in any case.

She’s holding a bouquet in one hand. “Oh, here you are! Glad I didn’t get lost!”

Striding in, Hyacinth Fairmont seems to bring in sunshine with her.

She’s my height, my body type, and my face. Her hair’s a warmer blonde. She assured me it used to be as crazy as mine, but her hairdresser tames it into well behaved curls instead of my cloudy mess.

Back home, I used to braid it. But Keller likes it, and loves to run his fingers through it. I’ve started to keep it loose, and I no longer mind it.

“Oh, Claire, you’re resplendent,” she tells me, giving me a hug, made slightly awkward by the flowers.

She uses words like that, my mother. Resplendent. It’s funny, coming from someone as magnetic as she is.

“You too!” I assure her.

“I guess you had to get it from somewhere, huh?” she says without an ounce of false modesty.

“And I guess I’m just part of the decor,” my grandmother sneers.

“If that were the case, you’d be silent.” Hyacinth snorts. “Hello, Mother. I brought you flowers. Please don’t die on the operating table, I can’t afford a funeral.”

I’ve always half admired, and half been outraged by the way she talks back. After Keller, I just laugh.

Frankly, her presence is a huge and unexpected relief. She’s the object of my grandmother’s constant criticism, so typically, I fade back to the background.

Not today.

“Did you hear what happened? Your daughter left, and not one week later, broke up with her boyfriend and cut off all contact,” my grandmother says.

I never thought I’d see the day I’d be more the focus of her ire than her own daughter.

“Oh, that boy Noah? Good for you! I didn’t like the way he talked to you.”

My grandmother breathes in sharply, and I smile at my mother.

It’s not the first time she’s said so, and before, I dismissed it. He talked to me normally. He paid attention to me, unlike anyone else. Looking back, I know she was right. The constant little jabs about my clothes, my drawing habit, my interests, my hair, putting me down slowly, weren’t how a boyfriend should act. Not how anyone should act, really.

“Noah is a good boy, from a good family—” my grandmother starts.

“You mean, from your parish, with grandparents who show up at mass. In case it’s escaped your notice, Claire, like me, doesn’t share your faith, or your ideas on what’s good for us.”

This isn’t new. Their arguments about what I believe in, what I want. Usually, my grandmother wins by pointing out that Hyacinth left me for her to raise, and my mother shuts up. But this time I actually hear her. She’s right. I didn’t want to stay close to home. I didn’t want weekly religious meetings. I’d rejected her idea of heaven for people like her and hell for everyone else years ago. I didn’t know why, exactly, but suddenly I think I understand.

Hyacinth did not raise me. But she brought me books, enrolled me in classes, expanding my horizons where she could, so I’d acquire a taste for the world outside of what her mother wanted to teach me.

“Noah was perfectly⁠—”

“Boring,” she finishes for her.

“He wanted to marry her! Right out of high school, rather than living in sin like young people nowadays.”

That’s true. I’m the one who said no. I didn’t even want to think of anything like that before I finished college. The idea of being married to a guy on the other side of the country was stupid.

I wonder whether I wasn’t just rejecting the very idea of Noah, rather than the distance, our age, and other things.

“You mean control her. Trap her with a bunch of kids, keep her home.”

“What’s wrong with that? Strong family values are important. And I went so wrong with you, God will not forgive me if I fail another girl.”

Hyacinth laughs. “Of course it’s about you. Your redemption. You’ve always seen Claire as another chance at making a little clone, huh?”

She turns to me, shaking her head. “I’m so damn sorry you had to deal with that.”

I realize something. My grandmother has been talking crap about me for the last twenty minutes, yes, but I’m no longer tense and stressed. It’s not me she’s shouting at.

I wonder why Hyacinth is here at all. She doesn’t like her mother. She doesn’t get along with her. Come to think of it, every single time she came home, wasn’t it just to do this? Reassert my rights, my freedom, my choices.

It never truly worked before. Except…I chose Rothford. I chose California. I applied there in the first place.

When she heard my grandmother was getting an operation, she probably just shrugged. If she’s here, it’s not for herself or her mother. It’s for me.

At long last, a nurse comes in, interrupting the shouting match. I’m glad she tells us my grandmother needs rest, so we have a reason to step out.

Awkward as fuck, not really knowing how to voice it, I reach out to my mother and take her hand. “Thanks. For coming.”

She seems surprised. “You’re welcome. Although, next time, you could just not show up, and save both of us the trip.”

I chuckle.

And suddenly, I clear my throat, making a definite decision. “Can you come to the cafe? There’s someone I want you to meet.”

39

KELLER

I finally get it.

I know people always compare me to my father, but I’ve always seen him as someone different, separate. He was an adult when I was learning to ride a bike. He’s simply not me.

But as my eyes bounce between Claire and her slightly older clone, I understand what other people have been saying.

I’m extremely confused and slightly horny.

There weren’t pictures of the mother in the file I read about Claire, because she wasn’t a huge part of her life. In and out a few times a year.

She’s what, thirty-five? At least I know exactly what Claire will look like in a few years.

Hot, that’s what.

“Oh god, you’re pretty,” the mother says, eyes wide. “He’s so pretty, Claire. You guys are going to make the cutest babies. You are making babies, right?” she checks. “That’s why I’m meeting him.”

Claire blushes, and I grin. “Practicing.”

“Good for you,” she tells her daughter, visibly sincere. “All right, tell me everything.”

We do not tell the mother everything. Even Claire’s edited version contains more truth that what I would have guessed.

The fact I paid for the harpy’s surgery for a kiss makes Hyacinth laugh so hard she holds her side. “She keeps saying she got it by being a fucking saint. Oh, please, please let me tell her.”

“Mom, she’d flip.”

“She’d die on spot, you mean,” Hyacinth snorts. “Let me get a life insurance policy on her, then tell her.”

I decide I like her, the absent parent thing aside. I certainly wasn’t equipped to raise a kid at sixteen. She made a shitty choice in a shitty situation. I remember something about her file; she asked for custody ten years ago and was denied, as a young, single woman without a stable income or a home she owned.

She tried.

She’s trying still, that much is clear.

“I think Claire said you’re working in New York?”

Claire, who said no such thing, doesn’t disagree.

“Yep, kiddo. In finance. It’s a bit busy, but it pays.”

“Boyfriend? Close friends? Dog?” I check.

“No, no, and god do I want a dog, but no. What’s it to you, handsome?” she teases.

I shrug. “I wonder if you might want to move out to Thorn Falls is all. We have a pretty busy financial center. Nothing like Manhattan, but it’s also less competitive and busy. I fully intend to keep your daughter there.”

“Keep her, huh?” She tilts her head. “Clever man. You know what, I’ll look into it. See if there’s something in my wheelhouse coming up.”

“I can ask my uncle to look into your resume,” I offer.

“His uncle owns the town,” Claire clarifies.

“Half the town, love,” I remind her. “But specifically, a thriving investment firm.”

“Would I have heard of it?”

“Goltz Investments.”

That gets her attention. Everyone’s heard of it. “Kiddo, my resume won’t get me into Goltz Investments.”

“Can’t guarantee it will. But he can look. He might know someone.”

“You know what? Sure. I’ll spruce it up and send it to you.”

Better not mention I already have the current version.

Hyacinth reminds me of Lisa a lot. I can imagine they’ll get along once we get her in town. We head out to dinner, and I don’t even hate having to share Claire’s attention. For the time being. I’m not going to pretend to be sorry to have Claire to myself later.

“Were you serious?” she asks the moment we’re back in the suite. “About getting Hyacinth a job with your uncle—or someone your uncle knows in town?”

“Do I ever joke?” I reply, grinning.

“Says the man who was chatting about pumping a dozen children into me.”

“A slight exaggeration, not a joke. Yes, love. It’s clear she’s a good influence. It’ll be great for you to have family around you. And an occasional babysitter for the half-dozen children I’m pumping into you.”

“There you go again. This is why I can’t take you seriously. But do you really think your uncle might hire her? Or know someone who would?”

“I don’t know enough about her aptitude for a definite answer. If she doesn’t suck, yes. It’s no different from the reason why my father wanted your drawing. In the end, we work better surrounded by a network of people we have a relationship with. Uncle Eriks will take his nephew’s mother-in-law over a random stranger any day.”

She shakes her head, yet again denying the obvious.

God, there’s really no way she’ll take me seriously until this is over with, is there?

The ring’s in my wallet, rather than a fancy, pretty box, because I didn’t plan this. I fiddle with the leather pockets until I get it out. “I was going to wait for the perfect time, and not in goddamn Michigan, but I feel like half of our conversations will be extremely frustrating on both ends until this is clarified. So, marry me.”

I pull it out.

I took a while to choose it, opting for a platinum band and a cluster of diamonds with a sapphire the exact color of her eyes in the middle, rather than the typical big diamond, guessing she wouldn’t want something too showy. It’s already her size. I measured while she slept with a bit of string. It’s hardly the most invasive bit of stalking I’ve gotten away with where she’s concerned.

She stares at it wordlessly.

It occurs to me I didn’t actually ask. “If you don’t say anything, I’ll have to assume you’ve acquiesced and proceed to booking the venue.”

“Keller, this makes no sense,” she says, eyes flying from the ring to my face. “We only met weeks ago.”

I shrug. “When you know, you know.”

“And you do?” she gasps, astonished for some reason.

“Don't you?” I countered.

“Well, yes.” She doesn't hesitate. “But you're…you. You have tons of options. Girls. Models who’d kill to be with you.”

“So do you. You had Noah. Plenty of guys are sniffing around.”

More than I’d like. Hence the ring.

“You know what I mean,” she counters, starting to pace.

“I don't.”

I understand that her response has everything to do with her lack of confidence, and nothing to do with me. She said “well, yes.” She knows she wants me. Which is why this conversation is going to end very soon, with my ring on her finger and my cock in her ass.

“Claire, I have a lot more dating experience than you do. Trust me, I know. I've always made it quite clear I see a future with you.”

“You weren't joking?” Her voice is half a whisper. “About all of that, and the kids?”

“Well, I don’t truly want an actual dozen. Six, however…”

“We said four.”

“To be debated.” And I’ll win. “Don't worry, I'm in no rush. You've just started college; I have my residency in a few years. And I intend to be fully involved when we decide it’s the right time for children. But I want the world to know who you belong to. As soon as possible.”

Today, if it were doable.

“It’s too soon,” I agree. “But Claire, our relationship isn’t balanced. You will never fully trust me until there’s a ring on your finger saying that it’s forever—or that I would owe you enough to take care of you if somehow we grew apart. This is your security blanket. And the reason I do it is to tell every asshole in and out of town that you’re mine.”

She’s stopped pacing, but still too stunned to respond.

I try to explain my need to get this written in stone. “My mother doesn’t build relationships. She actively avoids it. And my father still hasn’t found someone to hold on to, although he yearns for that. It’s just sad. I know there’s something unique, completely different from the usual level of chemistry and compatibility between us, and I choose to commit to you. So when I say marry me, I mean, choose me back.”

“I—of course, I choose you. But are you really sure? Really sure you want me? That you won’t think you made the wrong choice tomorrow?”

Oh, silly little ghost.

“I’m a Keller, love. I’m never wrong. I’ll ask again. Try a one-word answer this time.”

“Technically, you never asked,” the smartass points out.

“Whatever. Marry me.”

She doesn’t say no.

EPILOGUE

KELLER

“You’re back!” Octavia screams, bouncing to the driveway in her old, ratty unicorn T-shirt.

It’s still her favorite after ten years. She doesn’t care that it absolutely no longer fits.

"Vivi, go wear something that covers your navel,” I groan at the teen.

She sticks her tongue out at me. “You’re not my dad, Da!”

“I’m the guy who can convince your mom you’re mature enough for a car this year or not,” I remind her sneakily.

Claire bumps my shoulder more viciously than she should. “Leave her alone. You look great, Octavia. You’re at home and comfortable. Nothing wrong with that.”

I grin at her. I know she’s only siding with my niece because she’s annoyed with me.

“So, how did it go?” Octavia asks as we walk into my father’s house. “Do we have a picture this time?”

“Great. It went just great,” Claire replies, glaring at me.

I try not to look too smug. “Where are the kids?”

“Zoe’s napping, Eugenia is with Mom watching a show, and Auntie Hyacinth took Leon to buy his hockey gear. Come on, spill! Am I going to be auntie to another boy or a girl?”

I can’t help the grin taking over my entire face. “Both.”

“No!”

I nod. “Twins.”

“But—” Octavia turns to Claire. “You said it was the last one. That you only wanted four.”

“I don’t know which god, witch, or demon your uncle made a deal with,” Claire hisses, “but apparently, it’s five. I am never letting you touch me again,” she threatens, not for the first time in the last hour.

“Be serious. You literally cannot live a single day without⁠—”

“Lalalala,” Octavia sings. “Impressionable kid present! None of that.”

“Where?” I pretend to look around. “I only see a half-naked brat.”

That earns me a well-deserved kick in the shin.

Five kids next year. Some of our friends, like Lily and Cross, started having kids a year or two after us, but I don’t think anyone in town has five.

We bought a house at the bottom of the hill the year Claire graduated with her bachelor’s in art, but maybe it’s time to upgrade. Six bedrooms is starting to feel like a bit of a squeeze.

I work part-time at the Goltz clinic—less when we have a little one under a year old—and my investment portfolio is kept healthy enough to invest in a larger property. Maybe Charlotte can decorate this time. I like our current place, but it’s a bit impersonal. Claire’s friend left her corporate job last year to start up an interior decor firm. I hear she does good work.

“How did it go?” Arlo prompts, coming down from the upper floor.

“Talk to your son,” Claire snaps. “I can’t even have wine.”

“I had a case of alcohol-free Champagne imported, Claire. I hear it’s very good. One’s in the fridge already. Let me know how you like it?”

The man’s smarter than me. I whistle, impressed. “That’s good. Should have let me in on it. And we’re having twins. That’s why she’s pissed.”

“Twins.” He blinks. “Let me open actual Champagne.”

Hours later, buzzed, with our three monsters running around the house where I grew up, my niece attempting to herd them, my wife on my lap, I grin into her wild platinum curls.

Five is almost six. What’s one more?

The End

That was a hell of a lot of fun! Next in Thorn Falls, we will have Lily’s story, Team Player, which is a kinky, steamy, light-dark swinger’s tale, followed by Unnecessary Evil, the long, used-to-be-a-swinger, then-I-met-you-now-I-don’t-like-it story of Dez and Markus.

As usual: remember that I write many books, in many genres, and prioritize whatever’s getting the most reviews and shares, so if you’d like more Emm books, don’t forget to leave a few words. Reviews absolutely determine my schedule.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Thanks so much for reading Feel Free to Scream.

I want to take a moment to thank my patreons for supporting me. Being a full-time author isn’t easy, with ups and downs, and you’ve been a lifeline, particularly the last few crazy months.

All of you are amazing, but I a few of you have literally supported me at a level that pay for full book edits, or cover design. Kyrsty, Dawn, Katie, Keila and Tyller, that’s you, ladies. I’ve had a couple of months that made me fear for my career so far in 2025 (along with the rest of the indie author world! It’s been grim.)…and your constant support has been one of the things that made me breathe out, and go, okay, I got this. I have readers who are going to be there no matter what.

Cannot thank you enough.

Next, of course, Theresa, who puts up with a level of crazy you wouldn’t believe, including 5am voice notes with brilliant ideas that add ten thousand words to a schedule story.

And finally, all of you. I couldn’t write the accident reports of the silly people living in my head for a leaving if you weren’t there to read them.