Like me.
Abigail reappeared, sitting next to Gray, tea in her hand. He glanced at Abigail before going back to his video game. Theo stared daggers at us.
“I knew we couldn’t be together,” Theo said.
Abigail looked up from her tea, surprise written across her features.
“A guy like me, with someone like you, Abigail? I was your dog. I was only good enough to sleep at the foot of your bed.”
“Yup,” Gray said, without taking his eyes off his video game.
I swallowed against the pain of another scratch on my heart.
“Theo—”
“You weren’t just my best friend, Abs,” Theo said, cutting her off. “You were the best thing that ever happened to me. I couldn’t lose you… but if I loved you, I would. Every day with you I got closer to telling you the truth and ruining everything. When you kissed me?”
My heart was pounding and pounding. Whatever was going on between them, it obviously wasn’t meant for us, but I couldn’t stop listening. It felt like I was supposed to hear it. Nothing had ever been more relevant.
Was that what Grayson Crowne had become? My friend? After years of loneliness, of hiding, I had someone to talk to, a confidant. Someone to share my soul with. Even when he ignored me, I felt like he was watching me, seeing me, the real me.
I felt sick.
No.
I barely glanced at him, but his steely blue eyes were already on mine. I didn’t hear what Theo said next, because I was lost in Grayson. Then he looked away, back to his video game.
I don’t know how many minutes passed in silence, but I watched him play a few games. When Gemma came into our part of the plane, heading toward the cockpit, the silence shattered like glass.
“Why is Story with you?” Abigail suddenly snapped.
“Who?” Gray asked, and my chest hurt, even if he was pretending.
“My servant.”
Gray barely glanced at me, but Abigail stared at me. I wasn’t used to having the attention of all the Crownes.
“You took her from me. She doesn’t belong to you.”
Gray shrugged, eyes back on his video game. “Tell me her favorite food, and you can have her back.”
My heart leaped but I forced myself to stare at my hands. Did he really remember it was Italian?
How are you going to convince her you love her when you don’t even care enough to learn her favorite food?
Abigail sputtered. “Are you kidding? Can you name any of your servants’ favorite food?”
Gray shook his head, a smile twitching his lips.
“This is so. Fucking. Ridiculous,” Abigail practically screamed. She stood up, but her eyes were on Gemma, and it felt like that was where her anger was really directed.
Don’t ask. Don’t ask. Don’t ask.
Gray didn’t remember anything about me. He didn’t care about me, and thinking any other way was foolish.
“What’s my favorite food?” I asked.
Gray rolled his eyes. “Who cares?”
Something inside me dropped and shattered, cutting the soles of my feet. At the cockpit, Gemma and Abigail were fighting, Theo was trying to break it apart.
He glanced at me. “Oh, did you think I actually remembered? That I cared?”
I ground my teeth. “No.”
The plane shook and I fell forward, but Grayson caught me, his grip on me tight.
His breath ghosted my lips. “You sure about that, Snitch?”
When he spoke, it wasn’t cruel, his question weighted with something else, something I wanted to answer, if only he would lift the barbs on his heart long enough for me to enter.
“Can we have one flight without—”
Tansy’s voice was an electric wire to my spine. In pajamas and a dark, silky green sleep mask around her neck, she was clearly on her way to the Abigail-Gemma fight, but she froze upon seeing us.
I tried to pull myself out of Gray’s grasp, and his grip tightened, almost possessively. Abigail yelled, and Tansy tore her eyes in the direction of the cockpit. She gave us one last look, then headed over there.
Gray gently dragged my face to him, rubbing my lip. It was so tender. So sweet.
I should’ve known the words that followed would be cutting.
“I don’t give a shit about your favorite food,” he said softly. “I only care about eating you. When we land, I’m going to eat your pussy until you tap out; then I’m going to keep going till you pass out.” He let me go, absently saying, “Let’s see where else you taste like lemons.”
My eyes shot up, meeting his.
Lemons?
Had he been thinking about me that night?
Another shout from the cockpit, and this time the captain yelled he would be making an emergency landing.
“Looks like we’ll be landing soon, Snitch.”
We weren’t more than a few feet past Grayson’s towering guards when he yanked my wrist, spinning me around until I faced the wall. I barely planted my hands on the wall in time to keep my cheek from slamming into it.
In the time it had taken us to land, the sun had risen high in the sky, and hazy midafternoon sun set his hallway aglow.
“What are you doing?” I asked, eyeing the guards.
His palms gripped my waist, spanning down to my ass. “I think I made that clear earlier.”
I looked over my shoulder, trying to see him. He couldn’t be serious. Not here.
“Don’t fucking look at me,” he said, and I stared at the backs of his guards. Forced to only feel. Feel as his soft, forceful touch drifted below my knees, to the hem of my skirt.
“What’s your safe word?” he demanded.
“W-What about your bedroom?” I asked.
He hiked my skirt up even higher. “Can’t wait.”
“But…”
“Hold this.” He handed me the bunched fabric of my white skirt, and I did, catching a glimpse over my shoulder of him on his knees, face to my ass.
“Spread your legs,” he said, voice rocky.
I swallowed a lump of nerves, spreading my legs. He palmed my ass over my panties, gripped it, and my head fell forward as waves of pleasure made me weak.
“I own this wing,” he said. “Someday I’ll own Crowne Hall and the town it’s in. The only people in this wing are my guards, but it wouldn’t matter if the entire town was here, because I own you, Story Hale. What’s your fucking safe word?”
“Mr. Crowne,” I said.
His grip lingered on the hem of my panties. “Are you using it?”
I hesitated but shook my head. “No.”
He ripped my panties down, my ass bare in his hallway, and then his lips were on me, hot and sure and igniting a need I wasn’t sure could be quenched.
I held on to the wall for dear life.
“Fuck,” he groaned. “You taste so fucking good.”
Teeth. Tongue.
Grayson Crowne was wicked with his mouth and teeth. He bit my thigh hard, then returned to my lips, sucking, twisting wicking spirals of heat into my gut, bleeding down into my thighs. My vision warped. My forehead fell against the carved flowers molded into the wall.
“You need bruises on your thighs,” he said. “You need them on your cunt. You need to see who fucking owns you.”
His words vibrated with possession, and I wanted that. I wanted to be owned, even though I shouldn’t. Even though I knew he didn’t want to keep me.
“Someday I’m gonna eat your little ass, but today…” He trailed off, sucking on my clit, hard enough to draw a sharp gasp. His groan vibrated against my flesh and it was too much, too much pleasure.
“Come for me, Story.”
Story.
Millions of butterflies fluttered and exploded in my gut.
He was using my name, breathing it against my pussy as he sucked and tongued and bit me into a pleasure coma. I couldn’t stand. I slipped, and he wrapped his arm around my thigh, keeping me upright.
“Grayso
n,” I breathed, impending orgasm blurring my vision.
“Yes, fuck,” he groaned, tongue diving deeper. “That’s it, that’s my girl. Come on my fucking tongue, Story.”
“Gray?” a faint voice called into the hallway.
Grayson stopped, and my dream shattered. I knew the voice but didn’t want to think about the person it belonged to. Not with her fiancé tonguing me into oblivion. With my name on his lips, breathing it hot against my pussy, as he bit me and marked me.
“Gray, I can’t get into your wing…” Lottie called out. “They won’t let me. But I need to talk to you.”
And like it meant nothing, Grayson stood up. Fixed the back of my dress. Then he wiped me off with the back of his hand and went to find his real girl, Lottie.
Thirty
GRAY
* * *
Lottie stared down the hallway of my wing, a wrinkle between her brows. “Do you want to talk in your room?”
“Here’s fine,” I said.
“You still don’t let anyone in there?” She kept fucking staring.
Had we been too loud?
Shit, I’ll never get the sound of Snitch coming out of my head.
“Shouldn’t you be in Asia?” I asked, changing subjects.
Every summer, like we traveled around Europe, Lottie went to the Maldives.
“This year I’ll be in France.”
I raised my brows. “That’s a first. Which part?”
My family always went to the Riviera, spent our time on a little island that we had to sneak off if we wanted to do anything other than fossilize on the sand.
Lottie rubbed her shoulder. “Our parents want to start taking pictures, building the narrative this has been an ongoing thing. We’re supposed to take selfies at Unknown.”
Unknown was the most exclusive club in the French Riviera, one my sister Gemma and I frequented each year. One most everyone in our circle frequented. Like everything else, Charlotte had always been the exception.
Only a few knew its location and how to get there. It was as much a tradition to party there every year as it was for Mother to force us on the island for “family time.” You needed a boat to access it and power to know its location.
I dragged my hands through my hair. What a fucking mess.
“Charlotte, I can get you out of this. You don’t have to marry me, not if you don’t want to.”
Lottie looked at the floor, working her mouth. When she finally met my gaze, there were fucking tears in her eyes.
“Lottie…” I went to her, thumbing the tears out of her eyes. “This is fucked. I’m not going to force you into this. Is there someone else?”
Her mouth dropped. “No one. There’s no one. That’s not it.” She swallowed, looking away.
“Whatever it is, we’ll fix it,” I said. “You don’t have to marry—”
Lottie seized my face between her palms. Her hands were colder than Snitch’s, I thought absently, before realizing what the fuck was happening. The way she stared at my lips with a determined look on her face.
She crushed her lips against mine.
With Snitch still on my lips, she kissed me.
Why the fuck did it feel wrong? Why couldn’t I stop thinking of Snitch. Lottie’s kiss was too light, too tender. Not the gasping, breathy, desperate thing that Snitch gave me.
I’d been waiting for this fucking moment for years, and Snitch was still between us. So I pulled away, but our foreheads were still pressed together. She blinked up at me, her eyes dark and bright.
“That was…unexpected,” I said.
“I really want to make this work,” she said quietly.
Of course she would. Charlotte du Lac was the epitome of high society. She would never not do as she was told. Never not face her impending nuptials with anything save class. Even if it was to the man of her nightmares.
She arched a brow. “But am I too late?”
Immediately Story’s face popped into my head.
“No,” I said instantly. “Fuck no.”
Charlotte smiled, a beautiful, bright Charlotte du Lac smile. The kind that had brought all the boys at Rosey to their knees.
“What about the servant?” Lottie asked, breath ghosting my lips.
Story, something in my chest yelled. Her name is Story.
“No one.”
I pressed Lottie against the wall, determined to exorcise Snitch from my thoughts and taste buds. I kissed Lottie until she gasped, until she fisted my shirt. I dragged her lip out, biting, punishing—
“Ow!” Lottie gasped, and I stepped off.
I tangled a hand in my hair. “Sorry. Shit.”
Lottie pressed fingers to her wounded, parted mouth. “It’s okay.”
It wasn’t okay. This was everything I’d always wanted, but my chest ripped and pounded.
It was wrong. The kiss. This moment.
“I guess I’m your fiancée now. Even if we can’t announce it yet,” Lottie said, obviously trying to move past it, dropping her fingers with a smile. “A dirty secret. I’ve never had one.”
Seal it with a secret.
“A Christmas wedding,” I said, clearing my throat. “At least you love Christmas.”
Her brow furrowed. “I hate Christmas, Grayson.”
I could’ve sworn I’d heard her say she loved it. Before she could see the frown forming on my lips, I shot her a smile.
“Whatever fucking wedding you want, Lottie. We’ll get married on the moon if you want.”
She grinned, but just as quickly, it fell. “As long as you really don’t have anyone. I can’t go through with this if you have someone.”
I thought of Snitch.
There was something forming between us. Not just friendship, a tether in my soul.
At night, I wait for her.
I grabbed Lottie by the waist, pulling her to me, eliciting a small squeal.
“It’s always been you,” I said against her lips.
Thirty-One
STORY
* * *
I was in France.
I was in France, on a private island, and miserable. Gray hasn’t said a word to me since Lottie visited. He was with her for hours, and when she left, he didn’t come back to the wing. He only came to get me in the morning to get back on the plane.
And that was the most he’d spoken to me.
I don’t know what they talked about. For all I know, they spent the night together. It’s not like I can ask.
After all, I’m nothing to him.
We spent all day on the beach. I sat on warm white sand, staring out at a mesmerizing aquamarine ocean, wondering how hell could look like paradise.
That’s it.
The moments before Lottie had interrupted us played in my head like a broken record, over and over again. Scratching and pausing at the worst moment, while I’d stared at Grayson’s shirtless, sun-kissed muscles, strung-out for some kind of attention.
That’s my girl.
Any kind.
Cruel.
Kind.
Come on my fucking tongue, Story.
Hopeless and pathetic and needy.
I used to think Gray’s attention was the worst thing to ever happen to me, but I was so wrong. It was like the sun had turned off.
“Your family is starting to wonder about me,” I said when we got back to his room. “What are you going to tell them?”
At the beach, Abigail had stared at me, Theo had stared at me. I felt his mother’s narrow gaze on my back. When Gray had needled Abigail, Abigail had questioned why he wasn’t having me do anything.
I was his servant, after all, right?
Gray popped the buttons on his jeans, exposing a slice of his cut lower abs, the sharp V that hinted at so much more. Again I was blasted with the memory.
That’s it. That’s my girl.
He went into the next room and slammed the door.
“Ass.” I whispered to myself.
Out the window the Mediter
ranean Sea glimmered like topaz in the sun. I wasn’t surprised we were on a private island—as if the Crownes were the kind of people to stay in hotels unless they had to. They’d once bought—as in, purchased—a five-star hotel because they’d booked a last minute trip during the Olympics, and all the rooms were full.
They’d kicked everyone out.
I still remember the press, the way they managed to spin the story and make themselves the victim.
Gray came out of the adjacent room, and it looked like he was going to leave me without another word, but then he froze at the door.
“Do you think I owe you an explanation, Snitch? Do you think I owe you anything?”
Yes.
No.
This was a trap. There was a razor edge to his words I could cut myself on.
“Well,” I swallowed. “My uncle has always taught me to live with dignity, and now I’ve basically said, fuck it, time to be an ignominious slut. So maybe I do. Maybe I feel entitled to something more than silence.”
Grayson spun, blond brows pulled high into his forehead.
Something was happening between us. Was I really the only one who felt it?
“You’re entitled to exactly what I choose to tell you.”
So choose to tell me something! I wanted to yell it.
Scream it.
Make him bleed it.
But I wasn’t going to say that. I wasn’t going to be the only one offering my heart up for sacrifice.
So I steeled my eyes. “Of course not, Mr. Grayson.”
Something flickered in his stony blue eyes, but he said nothing. He left, shutting the door, leaving me alone in his wing of the palatial French villa.
GRAY
* * *
Hours after I left Snitch, I was once again back on our island.
Fucking shit, the island was way too small.
But Snitch’s glare followed me everywhere. So brazen, like everything else about her. I knew every thought, every curse she wasn’t hurling at me, just by her hardened hazel eyes.
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