by Becker Gray
Nicholas.
It was tucked away inside a cream envelope that was already stamped but clearly unsealed and unsent. Like Lennox had written this letter, gotten all ready to mail it, and then balked.
The letter was short, and—sigh—in German again, so I could only catch a few words here and there. There was one word I could read very clearly though, and it cropped up a few times in the letter. Vater.
Father.
And the way Lennox had signed it—Alles Liebe, which meant something like all the love to you or I wish all good things for you. A very informal way to end a letter, and even though this Nicholas had been mentioned in the emails from Lennox’s lawyer, it made me doubt that the letter was anything sinister or criminal. It sounded . . . affectionate.
My phone hovered above the letter. I should take a picture and give it to my father along with everything else. I should trust my instinct that this was an important secret.
But—I couldn’t. I couldn’t make myself take the picture.
Instead, I folded the letter back into the envelope and decided to take it with me. That way I could still have it, but I could give it a closer look before I gave it to Dad. It was a very un-Bourneish thing to do, but also it didn’t feel right to do anything else. I wasn’t ready to throw Lennox under the bus until I knew for certain he belonged there.
That was the thing about flexible morals—you couldn’t bend them too much, or they’d break altogether, and I wasn’t ready for mine to break just yet.
I quietly closed the drawer and stood up.
Which was when I heard it.
Soft. Angry. A little urgent.
“Sloane.”
There was no way to describe the panic pounding through me. Pure, uncut panic, like a fist to the kidney, like a knee to the solar plexus.
I froze and kept my breathing as slow and shallow as possible. Dad had a saying from his field agent days—you’re not made till you’re made—and maybe I still had a chance to escape. Although how had I not heard him come inside? I hadn’t been that absorbed in his emails, and surely the light from the hallway would have alerted me, even if he’d moved without a sound—
There was another soft noise, an unf, followed by something short and murmur-y. It was definitely Lennox, but he didn’t sound anything like he normally did—all sharp edges and bitterness. He didn’t sound like someone who’d just walked into his dorm and found his enemy going through his things.
Slowly—as slowly as I could manage—I turned to face the rest of the room.
It was dark enough in the far corner that I didn’t see him at first, I only heard him. The rustle of blankets as someone restlessly tossed underneath. The short, irregular breaths.
Fuck. I was a terrible damn spy, because Lennox had been in his room the entire time. In his bed, in full view of the rest of the room, and I should have checked, I should have taken the time to really look. But instead I’d relied on a split-second glimpse through Rhys’s window and the silence when I’d come in from outside, and now I was screwed.
Although . . . maybe . . .
I took a step forward. A slow, quiet one. With the laptop shut, my eyes were adjusting to the lack of light, and I could begin to make out the shape of the bed and the shape of the prince on top of it.
Another step closer, and his head tossed on the pillow, turning towards me and towards the moonlight coming in through the window. His eyes were closed, his lips parted. Even from here I could see the flush dusting his cheekbones.
He was asleep.
He was asleep.
Jesus Christ. The relief that thudded through me was so powerful that my knees practically buckled.
I hadn’t been made. I hadn’t been caught. I could still leave right now with everything I needed and with him none the wiser.
But I didn’t leave, which was more proof that I was a terrible damn spy. I was the worst damn spy, in fact, because instead of leaving, I crept closer to his sleeping form.
I knew I shouldn’t, I knew it was a terrible idea, but I couldn’t stop myself. I felt pulled toward him, like a princess in a fairy tale drawn toward something clearly sinister but beautiful for all that.
He was my enchanted rose, my cursed spinning wheel, my shiny, poisonous apple.
All I wanted was to take a bite, even though it might kill me.
He was still mostly in shadow, but the moonlight revealed enough. His sharp mouth was softer now, parted as he breathed, and his thick hair was sticking in every direction in a mess of platinum silk. His sheet and blankets had pulled down to his stomach and his top half was bare. Lean muscles moved under his skin as he tossed and turned, his eyelashes fluttering on his flushed cheeks.
He mumbled my name again, in a throaty, choked voice. “Sloane.”
I held my breath, freezing again, but his eyes didn’t open. He didn’t say anything else. His chest still rose and fell with deep but slightly fitful breaths.
He was dreaming of me.
That sent a hard, hot thrum down every nerve I had, as if someone had shot lightning down my spinal cord. My fingers tingled, my face tingled. Everything prickled and sparkled with—I didn’t know actually. Pleasure? Fear? Nervousness?
All three?
He stirred again, the blankets pulling so low on his waist that I could see his navel, and in the moonlight, the line of slightly darker gold that led from his navel down to where his hand . . .
Jesus, Mary and Joseph. He’s jerking off. In his sleep.
Those long, elegant fingers were wrapped around himself, and I could see now that every twist and turn I’d attributed to mere restless sleep was actually something much filthier. His hips rolled, his back arched. His stomach rippled and tightened, and I could see at the bottom of the bed how his bare feet flexed and then slid under the covers as he fucked his own fist in his sleep. As he dreamed of me.
My body responded precisely as it had every time Lennox’s cock—or fingers—or mouth—or mere proximity—had entered my awareness, and a hot, edgy knot began tying itself somewhere between my legs. Goosebumps erupted everywhere on my skin, and my mouth started watering. If my body called the shots, I’d already be kicking off my boots and jumping into his bed vagina-first.
But luckily I had more control than that. Enough control to realize that Lennox could never, ever know that I saw this. This was so much more private than a laptop and some emails. This was something I knew he would never forgive me for seeing. This was naked want—no walls, no weapons.
Just desire.
And I felt exactly the same. If only I could join him, skin to skin, mouth to mouth, fingers moving together . . .
“Beautiful,” he murmured sleepily, and the word felt like sparks all over my skin. “So fucking beautiful.”
Beautiful. Not hot. Not even pretty.
Oh my god. Oh my god. Was I sure he was dreaming of me still? But then he said something that obliterated all my doubts—and also reminded me that this wasn’t a fairy prince at all, but Lennox Lincoln-Ward instead. “Suck me,” he whispered as he twisted and moved his hand down his length. “Oh my god, suck me. Feels so good. So bloody good.”
The accented words disappeared into sleepy mumbles as he continued to writhe and arch, one long leg getting tangled out of the covers as he rolled to his side and pressed his cock against a pillow. That seemed to be even better for him, and his breaths came in short bursts as his hips surged against the soft material. Because of the way the covers were rucked up, I could see the hollow at the side of his ass. I could see how the lean but powerful muscles bunched and flexed as he rocked his dick forward.
And because of how big that wonderful dick was, I could see the thick, flushed crown of it surging forward every time he moved.
“Yes,” he mumbled again. “Fuck. Waited forever.”
Me too, I thought, half-miserably. Me too.
The sparks across my skin were roaring bonfires now. The heat between my legs could melt whatever they tiled space shuttles
with. I wanted to watch the rest. I wanted to see what happened when that thick erection finally throbbed and pulsed out its release. I wanted to see Lennox’s face as the pleasure of it moved through him.
I wanted it all.
And I could have nothing.
All of this was wrong as hell, and I had to leave before I did something irrevocably stupid, something that couldn’t be undone.
And so with a hard swallow and a wince as my entire core protested this new plan of action, I crept quietly to the window. And there I made my escape, climbing back out into the cold and dropping into the quiet, foggy night.
8
Sloane
I hadn’t slept. The small external drive I’d used to copy Lennox’s files and the letter I’d stolen had burned a hole in my pocket.
I tossed again and punched my pillow.
You don’t have feelings or emotions. Control this. Get over it.
The problem was, there was no way I was ever going to get over watching Lennox Lincoln-Ward wrap that big hand of his around his, let’s be honest, enormous dick and stroke. I will never forget the way my name sounded on his lips. I will never forget how he whispered, ‘You’re so beautiful.’ I will never forget the way he groaned as he begged imaginary me to suck it.
The other thing I would also never forget was how my entire body flushed like I’d been lit on fire from the inside as I was standing there holding a letter I shouldn’t have been holding, and unfortunately having a bird’s eye view of his hand on his dick.
You are so beautiful.
But that wasn’t true. Lennox didn’t think I was beautiful. And also, I was pretty sure of the fact that I just wasn’t beautiful. I was pleasant-looking enough, sure. I had interesting features. Almost too delicate, too fine. But I had a body like a boy. What the hell was beautiful about me?
Serafina was standardly gorgeous by all meters. Starting with her medium-brown skin tone with nary a blemish in sight for all the years I’d known her, add to that ridiculously high cheekbones, enormous almond-shaped eyes, to that mass of curls I would die for. And her body.. . . . Jesus. It was like the body of a runway model. She was tall and athletic, but curved in places where I could only dream about curves.
When we’d first met as freshmen, she was slightly coltish, had more gangly arms and legs than anything. But now, she had turned into this complete and total knockout. She also possessed this unwavering confidence. I was her friend, so I knew that most of that was a complete lack of interest in what other people’s opinions of her were. She knew who she was, and she didn’t care what people had to say about her. But also, it was as if she didn’t even see her own beauty. Like she somehow woke up every day and overlooked it.
She’d put on the adornments.. . . . Earrings. Makeup. And all that other shit. She didn’t even need lashes. How is that fair? But she didn’t revel in it. She could take or leave makeup. Take or leave the pretty trappings of patriarchal beauty. She didn’t need it and she didn’t care. She did it for her when she felt like it and because she liked it. And that’s why I love her.
Then, of course, there was Aurora, the princess with the golden hair and the golden eyes. Well, black hair now since last summer. She practically screamed ‘I’m a fairy princess, everyone should take care of me.’
That wasn’t fair either, because Aurora was kind and generous. But if crossed, dear God help you. Which, of course, I respected. She had that inner core strength thing going for her. Her main motto was, ‘do no harm, but take no shit’, and that’s why we were friends. But when your two best friends are complete stunners, it can get real complex.
My bedside clock said six-thirty, and I knew I didn’t have to be up for another hour. But tonight was the gala, so I assumed Serafina and Aurora were going to kidnap me and make me try on dresses. I had tried to explain to Serafina about this gorgeous Howie pantsuit that I had, but she just stared at me. She said she had just the dress. She had yet to show me this dress, so I was slightly concerned. But I knew Sera, if she had made the decision, I was going to end up complying one way or another. With a groan, I sat up slowly, mindful not to wake her. She was still snoring heavily. Careful not to make noise, I pulled open the drawer by my bedside and took out my little locked box. I put in the code and then opened it gently. I took the external hard drive out then headed over to my desk to open my computer, plugged it in, and opened up an email to my father. I typed quickly. “I’ve put on the encrypted server the files you requested.” Then I hit send, making sure all the files had, in fact, moved over to the encrypted server he’d set up for us to be able to send any sensitive documents. It was done.
No, it’s not.
There was one thing I hadn’t sent over. I could take a picture with my phone and easily send it, but something held me back. The letter, I wasn’t sure what it was yet.
Are you really going to keep this from your father?
No. Of course I was going to share it. Just not right now. I, at the very least, wanted to know more about what it was, or what I was dealing with before just blindly handing it over, because maybe it had nothing to do with any of us.
And also maybe you shouldn’t have done it.
That was at the core of it. Up until I had heard Lennox whisper how beautiful he thought I was, I’d had some reservations about what I was doing. But my father’s request had far outweighed those. However, after Lennox’s whispered words, after knowing that I wasn’t the only one who surreptitiously watched the other sometimes, after knowing that all his cruelty was directed at me because he felt something he didn't want to feel, that knowledge had changed how I felt about myself for taking that information.
I felt sick. Like there was some invisible line I had crossed, and I couldn’t go back. Which is ridiculous though, because there are many lines I would cross for my family. But there are also ones that I wouldn’t. I had my integrity. The ends had to justify the means, and I believed in justice.
Is this justice?
Lennox’s father was the worst kind of greedy asshole. He’d stolen billions from unsuspecting people. The question was, was Lennox like that? Did he know what his father had done? Was he in some way an accomplice? My father would figure it out. My part was done.
Except for the letter.
I scrubbed a hand on my face, gathered the drive and put it back in my lock box, and then back in my top drawer. I would think about this another time. I’d done enough damage for the day, hadn’t I?
I tried to climb onto the bed, hoping now that I’d handed the information over, I could at least get another hour of sleep. But suddenly, Serafina dragged the covers off and sat up. “Oh no, you don’t. You’re not going back to bed. We have a long day ahead of us.”
I groaned. “Yeah, I have a couple of projects I want to get a head start on. And then I should answer some emails, and I have some errands to run before we drive down.”
Serafina just gawked at me. “No. You’re not doing any of that.”
I frowned. “What? I do have errands to run. I have a lot of stuff I need to do before the gala tonight.”
She shook her head. “You are going to take care of those errands tomorrow. The only thing you’re doing right now is trying to get ready for the gala.”
I frowned. “Sera, you know that that’s not until seven o’clock tonight. And even with the drive, there’s no way I need that much time. I promise, I’ll get ready around two or three? Quick shower—I’ll even work on putting on some good eyeliner.”
I wasn’t bad with makeup, when I bothered to try. I wasn’t some YouTube influencer, but when I put on makeup, I liked to think I looked presentable. Well mostly, I could do some mascara and some lashes. I never had figured out contouring or any of that nonsense. But basic concealer, powder and the eyes, I could do that.
Serafina just shook her head. “My god, how can I love one person so much, and still watch her be a daft cow—as Aurora would put it. This isn’t just a ‘hey, we’re getting ready to go out with the te
am, half makeup’ kind of situation. You need to be scrubbed and exfoliated from head to toe.”
I laughed. “No, I don’t. I promise. I mean, I’m going to shower.”
Sera just rolled her eyes and went to her closet, yanking it open. When she reached in to grab a zipper bag, I frowned. “What’s that?”
“This, Sloane, is your dress.” She marched over wearing her cut-off tee that said, ‘my brain is bigger than your brain’ right across her boobs, and what looked like boys’ boxers. She laid the dress on my bed and then proceeded to unzip. The gorgeous teal fabric had me gasping. “Oh, the color is so pretty.”
“I know, right? The moment I saw it, I thought of you. It’s going to bring out the green in your eyes.”
Even I could see the dress was perfect for me. A corset-y bit to make the most of my athletic curves, a slinky skirt to flatter my long legs. But the best part was, it had a slit. Two actually. So I’d be able to walk in it, and it wouldn’t hinder my movements. I lifted my head and grinned up at her. “Oh, I love you, I think.”
She laughed. “Uh, I know I’m loveable.”
“You are loveable, but really, do we have to do the whole beautifying thing?”
She nodded. “Aurora is going to be here any minute. We’re going to start the basics here and then we’re headed to the spa.”
I blinked once. Then again. “A what?”
She laughed. “Honey, I love you. You’re a complete and total badass, but the fact that these girly places freak you the fuck out, we have to get that fixed. The manis and pedis are in order. A facial, an all-over body scrub. We’re getting the works, babe.”
“I don’t need it. I don’t need a scrub.”
She ignored my protests and continued rattling off the treatments I was going to get.
“But I don’t want treatments. I just—honestly, I don’t really need that. Plus, I can’t really afford any of that. I’m sure it’s very expensive.”
Serafina whirled on me and lifted a brow, then crossed her arms over her shirt. “Are you serious right now?”