by Angel Lawson
Ducking my head, I run my hands nervously down my sides. “Thank you.”
“Actually, I was talking to Ms. Crane.” He gives her a wink and the old woman sneers back.
“Don’t you get fresh with me, you failed abortion.”
I stiffen, certain that I can’t stomach watching this woman get punished. My panic is short-lived, though.
Rath just shrugs. “Your loss, old hag.”
“I’ve lost dirty socks I wanted more than you,” she replies, hobbling out of the room.
“Sit,” Tristian tells me, pointing to the seat at his side. “We have some things to go over.”
Hesitantly, I do as I’m told, sliding my chair in as I survey the setting in front of me. There’s whatever Tristian is eating, just a smaller bowl of it, and an egg with two sausages.
“It’s oatmeal,” Tristian says of the bowl, “with fresh fruit and granola. You’re a woman, though. You need iron.” I guess that explains the sausages. Leaning closer, he whispers in my ear, “And you don’t just look sexy, Sweet Cherry. You look downright fuckable.”
Butterflies whirl in my stomach. “A-are you going to be following me today?”
He shrugs. “You never know when one of us is watching.”
“You’re here,” Killian starts, voice firm, “because we need to discuss appearances.”
Rath says, “Tristian told us about your little incident yesterday.” The way his lip turns up on the word tells me exactly what he thinks of fainting spells.
As if it were a ball for me.
Before I can do something as idiotic as apologizing for them not feeding me, Tristian adds, “We talked about it and decided that you’ve had enough time to acclimate. People need to know our Lady serves us, respects us, wants us.”
“Especially after yesterday,” Rath agrees.
Tristian explains, “We can’t have people thinking we mistreat you. So we’ll need to start incorporating some PDA into our daily appearances on campus.”
Frowning, I ask, “PDA? Like…holding hands? Didn’t we kind of do that yesterday?”
Killian rolls his eyes. “Holding hands is only PDA if you’re in fifth fucking grade.”
Tristian’s voice is gentler, but I can still see the gleam of amusement in his eyes. “Sweetheart, when a girl serves, respects, and wants a man, what does she do?”
I stare back at him, confused. “Well, she….uh…” God, what do these guys want. More than I want to give.
“She embraces him,” Tristian finishes for me, looking slightly annoyed at needing to. “She kisses him.”
I freeze, staring at them with wide eyes. “Kissing?”
“In case it needs to be said,” Rath adds, dark eyes boring into mine, “we’re looking for something in the ‘tongues and necking’ department. Not little gradeschool cheek-pecks.”
I feel my face pale. “Like…French kissing?”
Killian gives me a disgusted look. “Are you really this stunted? No one over the age of twelve calls it that. It’s just kissing.”
I touch my cheeks, beginning to feel the heat pool into them. “No.”
That word gets a reaction. Three reactions. Pissed, amused, and curious.
“'No' isn’t part of a Lady’s vocabulary,” Tristian clarifies. “But why the strong reaction? It’s a kiss, Cherry. The easiest way to show affection.”
For him, it’s easy. But for me...
I swallow. “I’m just not comfortable kissing you guys.”
“What’s the big deal?” Rath asks, between bites.
The big deal is that it’s too personal. Too affectionate. Too intimate.
The big deal is that it’s not something they’re doing to me or I’m forced to do to them. It’s something, I assume, we do together.
The biggest deal is that after all the abuse and manipulation, I’ve never actually been kissed. My virginity is something I’m willing to barter with—I already expect it to be terrible. First times always are, right? But a kiss, it’s the thing you wait for. Girls dream about it. It’s a rite of passage and I want it to be right, not taken by an abusive asshole.
I say none of this. Just swallowing the whole rant back, but one glance at Rath and he says, “Tell us why, Sweet Cherry.”
It’s a command, one with a punishment on the other side, and I can tell by the glint in his eye it will involve more than a strip tease.
“I don’t know how!” I blurt. It’s completely involuntary, just a lack of brain-to-mouth filter. Of course, it’s true. But I know instantly, just from the way they’re all staring at me, that I should have faked it.
Tristian lifts an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”
Face flaming, I slowly, reluctantly admit, “I’ve never done that before. Kissing.” There’s a long, tense silence around the table while I wring my hands. The guys only take their blank stares from me to share a look with one another.
It’s Rath who speaks first, voice flat, “Now I know you’re bullshitting us.”
Kllian adds, “I told you she was full of shit. Probably something she tells to those old geezers she’s bleeding dry.”
“It’s true!” I insist, indignation rising in my chest. “Why would I lie about that?” It’s even more embarrassing than being a virgin, because on some level, Killian is right. I am stunted.
“I’ll bite,” Tristian jumps in, wiping his mouth on a napkin before turning to me. “Tell me how it is that you’ve had a dick in your mouth, but you’ve never kissed a guy before.”
I glare into my bowl of oatmeal, feeling a thread of anger surging beneath my skin. How dare they. “I don’t know, Lord Tristian, why don’t you tell me? Because it seems like the kinds of guys who are into me would rather force me to my knees and jam their disgusting dicks down my throat.” I give him a falsely sweet smile. “It’s the only use my mouth ever seems to have for them.”
“Careful about that tone,” Tristian says, plucking my spoon from the table. He thrusts it into my hand, forcing me to take it. “That might have something to do with it.” His smile is sharp and mean, and the threat comes through loud and clear.
Nevertheless, as we eat, Rath keeps throwing me these long, calculating looks. I do my best to tune them out as I force down the oatmeal, inwardly twisting myself into knots at the thought of kissing them.
Kissing.
I never really felt like I was missing out on anything. I’m not so old. I still have time to find someone soft and sweet to teach me. Or at least, I thought I did.
Afterward, when we’re all collecting our bags for school, Rath gestures for me to follow them. “We’re driving today,” he explains, hand landing on the small of the back as he ushers me down the hall. “You can ride in the back, with me.” He punctuates this by bending down to lick a stripe up the side of my neck.
I only just barely manage to stop myself from flinching away, but it’s one more reminder that these men are anything but soft and sweet.
In the garage, there’s a huge white truck taking up most of the space—although a motorcycle is parked on the other side. Killian is already in the front seat of the cab. It isn’t a surprise this is his vehicle. He’d always wanted a massive, intimidating truck. He’d badgered his dad for one for graduation. Guess he finally got his way.
Rath is already in the back, earbuds plugged in. Tristian opens the back door for me and offers his hand to help me up the big step in my clunky shoes. I climb in next to Rath, ignoring the way my skin prickles just being near him. Tristian gets in the passenger seat, and I glance at the rearview mirror.
Killian’s staring back at me.
No, not at me.
At my mouth.
He looks away instantly, cranking the loud, rumbling engine.
Being in close quarters with the guys like this is an assault on my senses. All their scents swirl around me and my awareness of their presences reaches a fever pitch, almost like I’m carrying around an extra, tangible appendage.
Even from back here, I can fee
l the anger rolling off Killian, the smug cockiness from Tristian, the low-key indifference from Rath. Without my bidding, I start thinking about it.
About kissing them.
Will it be awful? Will they make it hurt? What if I’m bad at it? And that’s really the crux of the matter, that they’re expecting me to be this girl who can believably, effortlessly do these things. Checking in a few minutes late or speaking to Daniel is one thing. Making them look bad in front of the whole campus is something else altogether. It’s not about the rules. It’s about appearances.
I’m wholly inadequate.
I stare down at my lap, hands clasped so tightly that my knuckles have gone white, and wonder if I can just fake it. Let go of my fairytale ideals and just do it. How hard can it be? I’ve seen it done before. My heart pounds hard in my chest and sweat beads on my neck. The car feels warm—hot, stifling—and my hands pluck idly at my clingy pants. There’s a pressure in my chest, something wild and heavy, almost painful to breathe against. None of them are aware that I’m on the verge of panic, but suddenly, all I can think about is tongues and lips, the biting pressure of teeth, the sting and taste of blood.
“Stop the truck,” Rath says, yanking his earbuds out. Killian keeps driving but Rath leans forward and repeats, “Stop, Kill.”
Killian jerks the car over and idles at the side of the road.
“What the fuck?” he asks. “Did you forget something? You know I’m not a fucking shuttle.”
Tristian turns around and his eyes dart from Rath to me, curiosity flickering in the blue. I turn to Rath, and he says, “I’m not going out there and just kissing her cold. Not after what you said happened yesterday.”
“So what? You just want to go home?” Killian asks.
“You know as well as I do that the best way to get better at something is to practice.”
“Practice,” Tristian repeats. “We’re halfway to school.”
Rath snorts. “You’re telling me you’ve never made out in a car with five minutes to spare?” I notice Rath’s shifting a second too late. My head turns toward his as his fingers wind into my hair, he pulls me to him.
“Wait—” I start, but he doesn’t. His mouth finds mine too fast for me to really think about it. I stiffen, locking up against the soft feel of his lips on mine, the cool shock of his lip rings, but Rath doesn’t seem to care that I’m frozen. Even though all of this was fast—too fast—his lips pluck gently at mine in slow, coaxing movements. He’s not rough. I look at him wide-eyed, even though his closed eyes are blurring into one.
“Relax,” he says against my mouth, hand coming up to cradle my jaw. His next kiss is more of a surge than anything, like he’s putting his whole body into it. There’s something inherently and curiously sexual about the way he moves, the way his tongue just barely peeks out to greet my lips. The hard metal of his piercings are a stark contrast to the softness of our lips meeting.
I will myself to copy him, feeling my face grow hot when our noses bump awkwardly. Rath doesn’t miss a beat though, guiding the kiss, tilting my head back.
When he parts his lips, I follow suit.
The feel of his tongue against mine sends a hot, sharp spark of electricity through my veins. It’s not quite like I expected. Wetter. Warmer. Rath licks into my mouth as if he’s tasting something he likes, but is savoring it with long, quick dips between my lips, massaging my tongue with his. His thumb finds the edge of my jaw and tilts my head back, giving him the access he needs to deepen the kiss.
He swallows my gasp, tilting his head to lick deeper, longer, slower. It isn’t until he drops his hand to my thigh that I realize I’m pressing them together in pursuit of a friction that I only barely understand.
He makes a rough, guttural sound that sends a spike of something white-hot shooting right down into my core.
“Rath.”
I rear back, breaking the kiss, but Rath remains suspended there for a moment, eyes dark and heavy.
Tristian’s twisted around in his seat, staring at his friend. There’s a glimmer of annoyance in his eyes, even if his expression is artfully neutral.
Rath seems to shake out of his daze, sending Tristian a red-lipped smirk. “Just figured I’d make sure she doesn’t embarrass us all. Is that a problem?”
Tristian doesn’t react, though. Why would he? Tristian is calm and collected all the time. Even while fingerbanging me in the library. Reactions are obviously for the weak, and here I am, once again, proving exactly how weak I am.
Rath slowly moves his hand from my thigh as Tristian speaks.
“No,” he says, but it’s obvious that there is. “She needs to be ready. Not just for school but for the party at the house tonight.” His gaze flicks back to me but is settled on my lips, which feel hot and swollen. “We have one every week during football season. Kind of a pregame event. Obviously, you’re expected to be there and expected to uphold your duties. Martin can fill you in on the details.”
I nod obediently, ducking my head to hide the redness of my cheeks. Killian restarts the truck and the drive to campus isn’t long, especially when I spend most of it pressing my fingers to my mouth, trying to process what just happened with Rath. All I can hear in my head is the rush of my heartbeat and Ms. Crane’s words.
Go for the quiet boy first.
If that’s the kissing they’re looking for, then…
Well.
I guess I’ll live.
When we park, Tristian gives instructions for the day. “Same rules as yesterday. Keep your GPS on. Text on the hour—every hour. No excuses.”
“Do I need to meet you in the library again?” I ask.
“Sorry, Sweet Cherry, not today.” He pouts like he’s sad about it. “You’ll meet up with Rath in the music building.”
“I’ll be in studio A4.” I stare, transfixed as Rath’s tongue peeks out to prod at one of his lip rings. “I have an oral presentation in my Lit class that might run over, though.” It doesn’t take much searching to see that he’s unhappy about it.
I don’t need to ask why.
I nod, pretty sure I know where the music building is. “Anything else I need to know about?”
“Behave yourself,” Killian says suddenly. “You’re a representative of the Lords now. People are watching you. Do not speak to other men who aren’t your professors.” His gaze hardens. “Including my father.”
Bristling, I argue, “He came to see me, Killian. I’m just supposed to ignore him? That’s insane.”
His chiseled jaw clenches. “Fine, Story, disobey me and see what happens.”
The threat behind his words is clear. I don’t want to see what happens.
Killian’s out of the vehicle before I can respond, door slamming behind him. Tristian follows suit, his expression unreadable, and then Rath, who offers me a hand down from the cab.
Much like yesterday, they all lead me to the fountain in the middle of campus as everyone watches. It’s an uncomfortable, oppressive feeling, being watched all the time. Despite Killian’s earlier disdain of handholding, I still take the chance of slipping my hand into Rath’s.
PDA is PDA.
Rath doesn’t seem to mind, barely sparing me a glance as we approach our destination.
When we do, I’m almost knocked off my feet by the shock of strong hands whirling me around. Tristian’s mouth is on mine in an instant, more aggressive than Rath’s had been. More demanding.
It takes me a frozen moment to recover, opening my mouth to him, taking Tristian’s forceful tongue into my mouth. He makes a rough sound, hands tightening on my hips as he pulls me to him. It’s difficult to think when this is happening—when Tristian is consuming me, possessing me—but I try. I lift my arms to loop around his neck, hoping that it looks more natural than it feels.
Tristian responds by lowering his hands to my backside, taking two large handfuls of it and squeezing.
His voice is low and rough against my lips. “That’s my good girl.” His hands are s
till massaging my backside when he leans down to whisper into my ear, “Shame I couldn’t have been your first.” He pulls away, sending me a smirk. “Not for that, at least.”
Swallowing against the lingering sensations, I watch him disappear into a crowd that parts for him like the red sea.
I turn reluctantly to Killian, teeth bearing down into my lip. His gaze is fixed to the action, but his eyes are full of angry fire, face set into a stony stillness. Cautiously, I shuffle toward him, hearing the whoosh of my blood in my ears at the idea of my mouth on his. The thought of throwing my arms around his neck feels akin to touching a red-hot coal. Every particle of my body rails against it instinctively, knowing there’s only pain to be had there, but this is the deal. Slighting Killian in public would have consequences. I rise up onto my toes and tilt my face, bracing for impact.
He turns and storms away.
I stumble forward in surprise, only just managing not to fall into the empty space he’s left. A rush of mortification washes over me at the thought of everyone watching. At everyone knowing I’ve just been outright rejected.
Rath smoothly intercepts, throwing his arm over my shoulder and leading me around the fountain. “They’re just pissy I got there first.”
I pull a face, not really able to doubt him. In my experience, that’s all guys seem to care about. They’re like the living embodiment of people who comment ‘first!’ on videos. It’s useless and completely without value, but for some reason…
Eager to change the subject, I say, “Can I…ask you a question?”
“You can try,” Rath says, his vacant expression making it clear that he doesn’t feel obligated to answer.
I try anyway. “If you have so much trouble with…well, you know. Then why are you taking Lit?”
I watch as the hand hanging from my shoulder curls into a fist. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Jesus, this again. “Sure, you don’t.”
He comes to a stop, jerking me with him. “Did you just roll your eyes at me?” His gaze is full of thinly-veiled anger. “For your fucking information—not that you’re entitled to it—all degrees have required credits. This is one of mine.”