Except it’s nothing like last night.
Gray is a lit fireplace without the jumpsuit stifling the heat. His skin is soft but his muscles are hard. He lets me wrap my knee over his thigh, my bare toes tucking under his far leg.
He stiffens. “Ah! You’re an ice cube, Arly-girl. Tuck in closer.”
If you insist.
My chest glues to his side and my hand rests over his heart, but doesn’t stay in place. I want to feel him, read his body like braille and discover the stories that are purely Gray. His chest hair is thick, and it ends before the bottom of his pectorals.
He doesn’t stop my hand as it traces the ridges of his washboard abs, even as his stomach goes concave while he squirms like a cutie under my feathery touch.
“Harder,” he whispers, barely audible in my ear. “You’re tickling me with those light touches.”
I take another chance with my daring and try my hand at harmless flirting. “What if I want to tickle you?”
His lips drag across my temple and brush the shell of my ear. He lets me feel the dangerous bumps of his fangs, sending a chill through me. “Devil woman.”
My chest moves with silent laughter, but I decide to comply partway. I mingle in the light, slow fingertip tickles with the gentle pressure from the pad of my thumb, tracing the lines of his abs like I’m trying to complete a maze on paper.
I love the way he squirms for me, the heavy rise and fall of his chest, and the way his free arm stretches behind him to grasp the vertical line of the bedframe, like I’ve shackled him to the post. It’s like he’s totally fine with letting me play. Letting me explore the PG parts of a man’s body that have been off-limits to me my whole life.
His hips jerk, and then start to move in a steady undulation when my fingertips travel north and graze the well of his nipple. A strangled noise purrs in his throat.
Well, that sure did something.
“You are driving me insane.” He’s so quiet, I have to lean in closer to hear. “You just about done playing, honey?”
“Honey?” I question, my cheeks pinking.
“It suits you. You’re sweet. Far too sweet, worrying about the bump on my head like that.”
Again, I reach for bravery and lean in to press my lips to side of his neck. “You’re my friend. I’m allowed to worry about you,” I remind the both of us.
I rub the flat of my hand up and down his torso to erase the tickle so he can rest.
He called me ‘honey’. It’s intimate, sweet and comfortable, as if we’ve done this sort of thing hundreds of times. I can’t brush it aside as nothing. Rafe is my pumpkin, and I’m Gray’s honey.
“You tease Prince Paxton like this?” he asks out of nowhere.
My nose scrunches. “Prince Paxton?”
“Yeah. Fae boyfriends like to own their girlfriends. I don’t fancy a fight with a royal if it gets out you were touching me like this.”
My nose scrunches at how many things he’s gotten wrong in a single breath. “Owning? You have to know that’s all gossip with nothing behind it. I haven’t seen Paxton in person since I was a little girl.”
“That’s not what the papers say.”
“And the papers have never photographed us together, because we’ve never been in the same room since I was like, six years old. People see what they want to see.”
“Your fathers are the most powerful men in the world. Both from old magic.”
I scoff good-naturedly. “All that means is they compete like children over whose stack of gold is bigger, and who can snap their fingers and make the prettier lightshow. It’s all very junior high, and not as exciting as the papers make it sound. I doubt Paxton remembers playing together when we were kids, back before our fathers hated each other. I barely remember it myself.”
It’s true. I have exactly one memory of Paxton. Yet Daddy makes the biggest deal about keeping us separate. My security detail always checks wherever I’m headed to, making sure Prince Paxton is nowhere near. Apparently, the prince’s security does the same. It’s the only thing our fathers can agree on—making sure the two of us have nothing to do with each other.
Fine by me. It’s weird, but I don’t care enough to defy Dad on that point.
“Is this what you want to do before you go to sleep? Talk about other men? Might end up giving you some weird dreams.”
Gray chuckles in the dark. “I guess that’s not my best move.” When I yawn, he lets go of the bedframe and kisses my temple, catching me by surprise. “You kissed my face today in the cafeteria. In front of everybody.”
I grimace, my toes curling. “Sorry about that. I was worried you gave yourself a concussion. I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”
“Embarrass me? I can’t believe that would even occur to you. No, I was surprised, is all. Charlotte and Cass are the only people who dare give me a high-five or a hug in here. A kiss on the cheek in public? You don’t care what people think about you, do you? Because that’s sure not going to win you any friends.”
It’s my turn to chuckle. “Oh, no!”
Gray brushes his fingers over the apple of my cheek, as if my smile is precious, and nothing bad has ever happened in my universe. “Alright, alright. Point made. Goodnight, Arly-girl.”
I kiss his temple again to show him that I am who I am—in public or in our private sanctuary. “Goodnight, Gray.”
For all the missteps my life has taken, I can’t bring myself to be anything but grateful they landed me here.
13
Boyfriend
Two weeks of Gray, Cass and Charlotte constantly by my side has been just the thing I needed. Judging by the smiles we exchange without effort throughout our day, it’s just the thing they needed, as well.
They let me practice conjuring their auras into view at night, which I can now do with only half a minute of deep breaths, without drawing from Charlotte’s meditative energy at all. I’m not sure it’s a terribly useful skill, but Charlotte’s adamant that I learn to connect with this resurrected part of my heritage.
Gray lets his wolf roam about the cell when it’s just the four of us, and I couldn’t love it more. Sometimes he’s a wolf when we snuggle at night, and other times, he’s the most attractive man I’ve ever seen, all sprawled out and inviting me into his arms.
Charlotte’s assured Cassia that her fae magic will increase as well, but it just takes time. While she waits, Cass stretches her generic fae magical muscles, conjuring up wells of water in the palm of her hand just because she can. I do a bit of that, too, though it’s not as exciting for me, because I just had access to my magic less than a month ago, before I was incarcerated.
There’ve been fewer altercations with the other prisoners, but they haven’t evaporated altogether. It’s “accidental” hard slams into my shoulder whenever Gray steps three feet away. It’s whispers of “shifter whore” murmured at me, accompanied by a curled upper lip directed at Gray.
“Let it go,” I instruct all three of them when the fifth comment like that hits me outside during brick detail. “I know who I am.”
“You’re not a whore,” Cass grumbles. “Like we’re not all despondent here. The fact that so many seem to need to go out of their way to make you more miserable is pathetic.” She raises her voice in the direction of the woman who just accosted me. “Pathetic! You hear me? Are you jealous because Arly had the lady balls to snag the hottest man-snack in this place? Gray’s been here for a whole year. You had your chance to snatch him up.”
The girl spins around and casts Cassia a withering look, paired with her middle finger. “Oh, I’m just drooling to get near a dog. Isn’t that like, bestiality? I call them like I see them.” Then her wicked gaze hardens on me, this woman whose name I don’t even know. “From fae princess to shifter whore. Can’t wait for the whirlwind when the press gets word. Break Prince Paxton’s heart, why don’t you.”
I don’t mean to pale, but I can feel the blood draining from my face. The penitentiary is so isolated fr
om the outside world; I didn’t take into consideration the press. I counted on the one silver lining from being locked away—a break from the celebrity gossip and the cameras.
I know who I am, even if the papers get it wrong.
Gray wears a hardened expression as he hauls the bricks I’m supposed to be helping to move. He’s nonreactive to the drama, which showcases an inner strength to be admired.
“I’m not your whore,” I say quietly to Gray. “I’m not anybody’s whore,” I tell the three of them, since they’re the only ones who actually care who I am.
“We know that,” Charlotte replies. “We can hear the cutesy cuddling you two do every night. Have you even kissed yet?”
No. Thanks for bringing it up.
Cass snickers as she picks up two more bricks and stacks them on the flatbed. “Bet you wish Charlotte was still in her vow of silence, eh?”
Gray stays mute, but I know he’s boiling inside. Rafe doesn’t like when I’m upset.
“I’m not Gray’s whore,” I say again, rolling my shoulders back. “But if he’s up for it, I’d like to be his girlfriend.”
Though I’m not speaking overly loud, I catch all movement in my periphery stilling.
Cass and Charlotte wear silent squeals frozen on their faces as they drop their bricks to hold hands. They are too cute.
When Gray straightens and fixes me with a heavy stare, my stomach drops. I shouldn’t have put him on the spot like this. I should have had this conversation in private. Or, semi-private in the cell.
Maybe I read too much into every tickle and touch. I’m so starved for male contact that I hallucinated a whole connection.
I’m twenty-eight, and I have no idea how to do this. I’ve never done this—asked a man to be my boyfriend.
And by the solemn look on his face, I’m doing it wrong.
I take a few deep breaths so I can bring his aura to light. It’s no secret that Charlotte’s not pleased with how slowly my magic is progressing. I’ll be getting a hang on reading auras, and then all my progress vanishes, and we have to do a group meditation all over again. I can see them, but I can’t hold on to the image for very long.
I focus on Gray, finally conjuring forth his aura. Instead of the brilliant blue and green curls, there’s a murky haze covering much of the colors that mark him and make him a pleasure to read.
I fish back in my memory, trying to match Mum’s readings with what I’m seeing now.
He’s puzzling through something that’s making him unhappy.
I’m the thing, duh. I’m what’s making him upset.
“Back to work,” the officer in the distance barks. Too many of us have stalled our brick-hauling to hear Gray’s reply, which I’m suddenly not looking forward to.
Two minutes tick by of the weightiest silence I’ve felt since I sneaked out of the house and got caught and turned in to Dad. But if I learned to wait out Daddy’s silence, I can wait out Gray’s.
He needs time to think about how to let me down gently.
Which means I’ll be sleeping in my own bed for the first time.
Gray’s voice isn’t quiet, nor is it kind. “No, Arly. I’m no one’s boyfriend. Shifters aren’t owned. I’m not your dog.”
I guess he’s going for not-so-gently.
I can’t hide my stunned expression, nor my motionlessness. It seems my arms have forgotten their use.
“I know you’re not my dog. I didn’t mean that at all. Asking you to be my boyfriend isn’t asking to own you. Is that what you think?”
Gray glowers at me for making him have this conversation in public. “It’s what I know. Fae are all about claiming people. That’s not what shifters do.”
Did I read it all wrong? Do people cuddle up like that all the time, and I’m making a big deal out of nothing, because I’ve been so sheltered from eligible men?
My cheeks heat as laughter breaks out around us. My humiliation is not only horrifying to me, because I really didn’t see this coming, but it’s also happening publicly.
I’m hollowed out, my mouth dry as I stand there stupidly, trying to collect my shattered ideals.
I cannot dwell on this. I’ll drive myself up the wall. If Gray doesn’t want to be with me, then that’s that. I can sleep in my own bunk. There’s no reason to carry a torch for him.
Except that I’ve never fallen for anyone before, and I’m not sure how quickly I’ll be able to strip away the pining and the heartbreak that come from being pushed away by someone who’s been pulling me close every night.
I can’t think about any of it now. I’ll cry in public, which wasn’t acceptable when I was a little girl, and certainly isn’t a good idea now that I’m an adult. I should know better than to bet on a horse who isn’t interested in the long run.
I swallow hard and focus on the daylight that’s beaming down on us. I force gratitude to find me because I’m not in the dark right now.
Gray doesn’t say another word to me, or to anyone. It’s not until I offer to take the wheelbarrow to the barn that I address Rafe, so he doesn’t get anxious. He can hear me when I speak to him in my mind, which is a connection I don’t take for granted. “I’m just going into the barn for a few minutes, pumpkin. You be good for Gray, now.”
“Stop it,” Gray says, his jaw stern. “Don’t talk to him like that, whatever you’re saying. He wants to go with you, and he can’t understand what’s going on right now.”
I will my lower lip not to quiver at the hard edge in his voice. It matches the distance in his eyes perfectly. “What a coincidence; neither do I.” I purse my lips, steeling my expression so the agony of being cut off from Rafe, too, hits me with devastating force.
I’m miserable without Everly Ann. My sweet dog kept me sane, isolated as I was from the world. I gravitated toward Rafe because, while I might not understand people, dogs love without politics or reason.
I need that.
I’m too much for Gray. He knows what the press will do to us. They’ll tear me up, which is nothing new, but they’ll rip him to shreds in the process.
This is the life. This is what it is to be in the family. It’s lonely and isolating, so Daddy buys me the most expensive shoes a girl could want. They’re not nearly as cuddly as a man warming your bed, but that’s the tradeoff. I’m stuck in it, and prison is the only portion of my life that I’ll get to be out from under the family’s watchful eye.
Then in five years, it’s back to family events and spending every day with Sloan.
Who hasn’t visited in two weeks.
I amble the wheelbarrow ungracefully toward the big red barn, pretending my struggle at the moment is with the wonky wheel that makes steering this thing impossible. That’s my frustration. Not Gray. Not the family. Not the cage I wear around my neck, warning anyone with a hint of quality to stay away.
This is right. This is how it should be. Gray will go back to his life, and I’ll return to the family and play my role. I’m the display of their wealth, so I’m decorated and paraded about, untouchable yet desirable. I’m the model people are allowed to look at but never get near enough to touch. I’m the forbidden fruit who’s never tasted a man’s lips.
And when I’m old and not beautiful anymore in the eyes of the world, I’ll do as Mum did before she passed—throw lavish parties where the men can make their connections and plan the demise of their multiplying enemies. I’ll be useless, and care far too much about canapes.
The truth smacks me in the face: I’m a shifter’s whore who’s never even had her first kiss.
Bet the papers would love to hear that.
I take my time dumping the bricks into the pile, so the inmates in the barn can stack them in neat rows. No idea what they need to be lined up in the barn for, but none of us care. We make the clothes, move the raw materials, shine the floors, no questions asked. We’re all just biding our time until we’re free…
… to go back to the families who sold us out.
“You’ve got a f
lea behind your ear, Princess,” someone says to my left.
I shouldn’t look up; that counts as responding. But when I lift my head, it devastates me that I recognize the face. “Good one, Ursa.”
Daddy arranged monthly lunch meetups with some of the kids of his friends or people he hoped would become useful cogs in his machine. They would get all dressed up in things their parents couldn’t afford and meet me for lunch at the best restaurants all over town. Photographed to the hilt, we talked about nothing. About shoes. About their boyfriends. About the latest fashion and how they could get their hands on it, and could I pretty please hook them up? It was pleasant enough, but entirely surface and, if I’m being honest, boring. But I got the information about their fathers that Daddy needed, so the lunches kept happening.
Ursa always wanted to know how many stilettos I had, and which pair were the most expensive.
And now they’re all in here, because their fathers did business with the family, and we finally got caught with something that stuck. Ursa’s father worked security for the illegal gambling ring.
I say that like it’s in the past, but if I was a betting woman, I’d put good money on the fact that they’re back up and running, now that Ursa’s serving time and her father is still out and about with nothing but crime to occupy his time.
Running an illegal gambling ring? I mean, honestly. There are at least five people between Daddy and all his business ventures, so nothing directly lands on him if it goes south. The fact that he got taken down by something he’s had going since before I was born is obnoxious, and pretty much the least of his crimes.
There was also the fact that he was an accessory to the murder of the undercover cop who was there. They don’t look the other way on things like that. Once that was brought to light, other charges started making their way onto the docket.
Ursa sidles up to me, all haughty because we’re finally on a level playing field, where my shoes are just as crummy as hers. “I’m here because of you.”
I shouldn’t take the bait. She can be mad all she wants. But in this low moment, I’m just dopey enough to answer back. “You’re here because your father murdered a patron he was supposed to only injure. He’s guilty of many things, but being a terrible shot is a layman’s crime not even the courts could forgive. You’re here because your father was too lazy to go to target practice and shoot the proper lackey.”
Sins of the Father: A Paranormal Prison Romance (Sinfully Sacrified Book 1) Page 10