This is the person I knew I’d find underneath, the diamond in the rough, the treasure in the tyrant.
“The look on Brawny’s face was priceless,” Prince laughs after hearkening back to our jailbreak from the Convent earlier tonight.
I laugh, “You wouldn’t really ship her off to Antarctica, would you?”
“Never. Brawny is an institution at Castle Hill. Nothing would ever get cleaned if I did.” He lowers his lids over his piercing blue eyes, sharpening them to a crystal blue clarity that pierces my heart. Or that might just be the black light.
Either way, I’m smitten.
He purrs, “You on the other hand…”
“Me what?” I sigh, slightly mesmerized by the moment. “You want to ship me off to live with the penguins?”
“No,” he chuckles. “I was thinking we need to get you out of the Convent.”
“We are out.”
“I mean permanently. You deserve to live someplace better than that hovel. What do you think about living in the East Wing in your own private suite?”
I crinkle my nose, “Then I’d have to see those Fundy bitches more than I already do. No thank you.”
“How about my suite?”
“You can do that?” I’m not seriously considering his offer, but I do toy with the idea briefly. “What would Ms. Skelter say? Is something like that even allowed?”
“How many times do I have to tell you, strumpet? I can do anything I want.” He reaches up and brushes my chin. His other hand holding mine has come to lay dangerously high on my thigh.
I don’t even know how it got there. All I can do is giggle. A swirling sensation surges through me and I’m squirming in my seat. When that masculine sandalwood and cinnamon scent of his tickles my fancy, I just about melt. Thank goodness I’m wearing jeans instead of a skirt. Who knows what I might let him do.
Prince is inches away.
Part of me wants to throw myself at him. The other part refuses to move.
Not to worry.
Prince swoops in for the kiss.
My eyes are locked on his luscious lips.
When his touch mine, I melt into him and his tongue plunges in.
Oh my god.
I get lost in the kiss, swimming in it.
Prince shifts his weight onto his hand holding mine, pushing it down between my legs. The seat cushion creaks audibly as he leans into me, pressing his chest into mine. I’m trapped against the cushions as he attacks me.
This isn’t my first kiss.
But it’s the first like this.
Complete and total bliss.
Our tongues dance for quite some time. Hours, minutes, days, weeks, I don’t even know, but I never want it to end.
As unbridled as his desire is, there’s a slight and respectful restraint. I want to tell Prince to let go of the reins and see where the wild horses bucking between our legs take us, but I can’t. My tongue is too busy kissing.
Right when I’m ready to push him away or pull him into me, I can’t decide which, he breaks the kiss and sits back down, sliding off me. This time, instead of leaving a respectful several inches between us, he’s sitting against my side, pulling me gently against his heat. I mean his hip. Either way, I’m burning up.
I’ve never been so turned on in my life and we hardly did anything.
Doesn’t matter.
This is far and away the best kiss I’ve ever had.
The best anything.
Who knew it could be like this?
Not me!
“Strumpet, I…” Prince trails off and heaves a sigh that becomes a deep-throated chuckle. “That was… What the fuck was that?” He laughs.
I laugh too. There aren’t enough words in the English language to do this moment justice. If only Elizabeth or Azzie or whatever her name is wasn’t sitting in the elevated box just opposite the sash dancer from us, and watching us with her arms folded angrily across her breasts. There’s glaring daggers and there’s glaring thermonuclear missiles. Elizabeth is definitely launching the latter.
Way to ruin my moment.
And I have to room with her, aka Azzie?
Please, please, please don’t let her be in our room when I get back to the Convent.
Hmm. Would it be completely crazy to take Prince up on his offer of moving in with him?
Chapter 27
“Please tell me there’s a ladies room around here,” I say an hour later.
“I’ll lead you to it,” Prince says.
We walk down the various staircases that connect all the private boxes, then down to the maze on the main floor, where we turn about fifty corridor corners until we find a bathroom. I go in alone. Not quite what I was expecting after the dreamworld outside. There’s one toilet and one sink crammed into the rough rock walls with a dim light bulb over the bowl. While I’m hovering over it to pee, the light flickers off.
“Can’t you wait until I finish?” I growl at it.
It flickers back on.
“Thank you.”
Then it flicks off.
Ugh.
At least I know where everything is. I finish my toilet time by Braille and walk out the short tunnel to where Prince was waiting.
I say, “Somebody needs to replace the lightbulb in the bath—”
No Prince anywhere to be seen.
Where did he go?
I look both ways.
Which way did we come in?
I was so obsessed with Prince’s mesmerizing eyes, I wasn’t keeping track of direction on our way here. No worries, I can figure it out. Follow the sound.
The bass beat thuds through the stone tunnel.
I turn a few corners and slam nose first into a stone wall. Erm, stone abs. I look up into the eyes of—
“Chase!” I gasp.
“Mugshot,” he smirks. “What’re you doing all by your lonesome self down here?”
“Prince took me to the bathroom. He was here a second ago.” That’s a hint. I glance over my shoulder. “Did you see him? He must be right here.”
“All I see is you, mugshot.” Chase’s topaz eyes are smoldering, brightened by his pirate eyeshadow.
The next thing I know, he’s backed me into a stone wall. “What’re you doing, Chase?”
“Claiming my prize.” He grabs my chainmail skirt piece and pulls me toward him.
I gasp as I crash into his abs, my hands up, pressing against his chest. I look up into his eyes.
“When are we gonna have some fun, mugshot?”
“When you stop calling me that,” I smirk.
“Anything you say, Mary.” His eyes are alight with desire.
I have never kissed two boys in one night, let alone in one hour, but I’m seriously considering it. Chase’s luscious model lips are begging for it. But I can’t do that. I’m no slut.
The next thing I know, Chase is pressing his hips into mine. He plants his pirate hands on either side of my head, pinning me in place.
“Why can’t I stop thinking about you, Mary?”
“Because I haven’t given it up for you yet. You’ll forgot me as soon as I do. I know guys like you. You’re a manwhore, Chase.”
“That I am,” he says with pride. “Can you blame me? Women throw themselves at me. Who am I to stop them?”
I snort, “You are so full of yourself.”
“But you aren’t.”
“Please,” I groan, feigning disgust at his innuendo.
“What say we change that?” He leans into me for emphasis, his hips just brushing against mine.
I am going to melt. This moment is that hot because Chase is that hot. There’s a fire growing in my belly that wants desperately to be quenched.
“Say the word, Mary, and I’ll make you mine.”
“For how long?” I manage to mutter with less attitude than I’d like. It comes out more as a desperate question than an insightful indictment.
“As long as you like, Mary.” He is purring my name every time he say
s it, now whispering it in my ear, his musky scent caressing my mind with slick wet touches of lust.
I’m falling for it. Oh, boy, am I ever falling for it. But I just kissed Prince! I whisper-whine, “No-a, Chase! I can’t!”
“But you want to. It’s all over your face.”
He’s right about that. I look into his eyes and bite my lower lip.
That cocky grin of his eases onto his face. He fingers the belt below my breasts, tugging on the buckle. “How many belts do you have, Mary?”
“Enough,” I gasp, knowing it’s not enough to keep him out for long.
“How about I start with this one and you tell me when to stop?”
I can’t even speak as he undoes the first one. We haven’t even kissed. This is possibly the dirtiest thing I’ve ever done, and we haven’t done anything, but I swear I’m about to come unglued all over him.
“Say when, Mary.” He undoes the next belt, his lips tickling my ear.
I am shivering with desire right now. “Chase…”
“Do you want me to stop?”
“Please…”
“Please stop or please keep going?”
I don’t even know myself. All I can manage is a muttered, “Unh.”
Another buckle comes undone.
He leans into me.
Something hard presses into me.
I reach down and grab the first thing I find.
I gasp, thinking it’s his—
It’s the hilt of his pistol jutting from his belt. His flintlock pirate’s pistol. Or so I tell myself. I give it a tug, pulling him toward me.
“Do it,” I hiss.
He obliges me and his lips pillage mine, his tongue invading my welcoming mouth and swashbuckling with mine.
Chase sure knows how to kiss.
Oh, does he know.
Unlike Prince, who was persistent and demanding and almost overwhelming in a good way, Chase is unbridled desire and full of surprise. It doesn’t hurt he’s pressing his pistol into me with his abs. If it wasn’t for that, I’d be slumped to the floor between his legs. But I’m not. As long as I’m standing up, I could go on kissing Chase forever.
Sudden sounds echo from the end of the stone corridor and Chase pulls away.
“There you are, Mary,” Prince says as he turns the corner. “Oh, hey Chase.”
Chase tips his pirate hat, “Lancaster.”
Prince tips a quick nod and says to me, “Sorry about that, strumpet. I had an issue to deal with that couldn’t wait. Everything okay?”
I’m biting my lower lip guiltily, feeling like a very dirty girl. Very dirty. I have to wonder, can Prince see the gigantic flashing billboard over my head that shows me and Chase doing nasty things right under his nose? Or is that just me? I don’t know, but I need a distraction.
“No,” I shake my head.
Before I can correct myself and say yes, Prince frowns, “Did something bad happen?” He glances warily at Chase.
Chase looks like something really good just happened.
Not wanting to throw him under the bus, I blurt, “The bathroom light is out. It’s like pitch black in there. I almost peed on the floor and my feet.”
Prince grimaces, “That’s not good. I’ll make sure someone takes care of it. Chase? Can we talk for a minute?” He offers the nicest smile I’ve ever seen. On Prince’s face it looks wrong. Frightening and hateful and bristling with cruelty.
“Sure,” Chase says and Prince leads him around the corner.
I peer after them.
Prince glances at me, “Give us a minute, Mary.”
“Okay,” I nod and fade back behind the stone wall.
I can’t hear them talking over the music. I wait. Two minutes later, Prince hasn’t returned. Why do I feel like I’m in trouble? Because one boy asked me out, kissed me, and I kissed another boy right after? Okay, not boys. Men. Neither of them are the least bit boyish. But I feel like a bad little girl all the same.
Getting impatient, I lean around the corner.
They’re arguing. Their voices aren’t loud but their gestures are. I roll my eyes and wait.
Fifteen minutes later, they’re still going at it.
I’d step in and say something, but I don’t know what they’re arguing about. They might be arguing about me. If they’re not, it’s not like I want to announce my indiscretion. For all I know, they’re arguing about the Ivory Tower or some other piece of secret Fundy business that is none of mine.
Tired of waiting, I heave a sigh and look for an alternate escape route. Good thing the stone corridor has two directions. I go the other way and leave them to argue it out.
What a mistake that will turn out to be.
<(—)>
When I turn a corner, I see Darth Vader sitting alone on a stone bench carved into the wall, helmet off and cape draped around him. It’s Duke. He sits slumped in the stone alcove looking pathetic and forlorn.
I had assumed he was back together with Victoria after seeing them together earlier, but you never know with those two.
Hoping to avoid a confrontation, I almost go back the way I came, but it took me forever to find my way back to the party in this dungeon maze, and I can see the dazzling lights and hear the eerie music just past him around the next corner.
Forward it is.
I stay close to the side of the rough-hewn tunnel, eyes on the floor, hoping he won’t recognize me in my costume.
“Hey, peon,” Duke sighs sadly and without a hint of menace as I pass. Not what I was expecting.
“Hey, Duke,” I mutter without stopping.
“Can I ask you something?”
I don’t slow.
“Please?” On him, saying please somehow sounds like abject begging.
I stop and heave a sigh. “Sure.”
“Nice costume, by the way. Furiosa, right?”
“Yeah.” I’m thinking, Can I go now? Was that your question? Please say yes.
“I loved that movie.”
“Me too.”
“That scene where she tackled Max and knocked him flat on his ass with one hand and stole his shotgun? Or when she head-butts that dude on the rig at the end? Totally badass.”
“Right?” I grin because we’re suddenly having a normal conversation and Duke is crushing on a strong female heroine instead of bromancing on the male hero. Not at all what I’d expect from someone like him for whatever reason. Duke always struck me as someone who wanted a wilting lily for a woman, and we all know wilting isn’t my thing.
He picks his Vader helmet up off the bench and motions at the stone. “Have a seat.”
My first instinct is to say no. The last thing I want is Victoria catching me sitting on what amounts to a carved stone loveseat with her boyfriend, I mean her effing fiancé.
“Siddown, Charlize.” He curls a cocky grin that is simply irresistible.
Okay, if he had called me peon, I would’ve told him to F the F off and walked away. He didn’t so I don’t. In case you’re wondering, I look nothing like Charlize Theron, not even in bad lighting and Halloween fog. But I can’t resist the compliment and sit down on the edge of the stone bench as far from him as possible. Glance at him sidelong because I’m afraid to fall into his dark and brooding eyes if I look too close.
“Your nose job is impeccable,” he says, examining my profile.
“Nose job?” I snort. “I never had any nose jobs.”
“Really?” Duke asks sincerely.
I smirk at him, “Do I look like I have that kind of money?”
“Your nose does,” he grins the compliment.
I roll my eyes, “It’s the one I was born with, okay? What, do all the women in your world get plastic surgery when they’re teenagers?”
“Men too.”
“Why do I believe you?” I snort. “Have you?”
“Not me, but I know plenty of dudes who do, half of them at this school.”
I shrug. I don’t know if I believe he hasn’t had any look
s-maxing plastic surgery because he really is gorgeous, but I definitely believe his peers have. They’re too damn perfect looking.
Duke’s eyes are roaming over me.
I can feel them and it’s making me nervous because I like it. Not wanting to make a mistake I’ll definitely regret, I blurt, “What was your question? Oh, wait. Let me guess. It’s about us kissing, right?”
“Is that an offer?” he chuckles casually.
I giggle, “Wait, that came out wrong.”
“Did it?” His voice carries its usual low, dark menace that is surprisingly enticing, especially under the circumstances. It’s just a little bit romantic here in the stone love seat. I mean bench. Stone bench. Nothing romantic about it at all.
“I meant, is your question about Chloe or whoever lying about you and me kissing the other day?”
“I heard about that,” he smirks in disgust. “Vicious bitches and their stupid rumors. It’s amazing the lies people’ll believe.”
“Yeah,” I mutter, thinking about the lies he believes about Victoria not kissing Skill my first day here, and her doing it in front of everyone. How did the truth not get back to him? For all I know, it did, and he doesn’t want to believe it. I’m not setting him straight, that’s for sure. “What was your question?”
He leans his head back against the stone and sighs, staring at the ceiling. “Do you think I’m making a mistake marrying Victoria?”
It’s nearly impossible for me not to laugh. A snippet sneaks out, but I clamp it down before it turns into rolling on the floor belly laughs.
“Do you?” He pins me with pleading eyes.
“You guys are rather young. You said you’re seventeen, right?”
He nods. He barely looks that young. He’s one of those boys who will always look older than he is, even though his skin is flawless. The light may be low here in the stone tunnel, but it hits him at an angle, and you can see he doesn’t have a single zit. He literally glows with youthful but manly vitality.
I want to ask him what his skin care routine is, but I’m sure it costs a fortune and involves an army of skin care technicians to assist him at the day spa or whatever. I’m dying to ask but I almost don’t want to know.
He frowns to himself, clenching his hands into fists and muttering, “Our parents think it’s a good idea.”
Rich Boys vs. Poor Boys (The Cruel Kings of Castle Hill Academy, Book 1) by Devon Hartford kd103 Page 23