“Were you not satisfied with my performance in the shower? I’ve only ever had five-star reviews before,” I raise a brow. Avery twists her lips, looking at the ceiling in thought.
“Hmmm, there might be one or two things I’d like to bring up with your complaints department,” she rolls her tongue over her teeth. I bite back my grin, hoisting her up and spinning us in one smooth move to trap her against the wall.
“You weren’t complaining whilst your grip on my hair was tugging me closer, suffocating me with that beautiful pussy of yours,” I growl into her ear, “or when I was slamming into you, my balls slapping against your clit.” A shudder rolls through Avery’s spine. Although my cock is quickly growing between us, I shift my hold to cradle rather than crush her, my thumb brushing her nape.
Her fingers graze the circular scar by my collarbone, the steady beat of my heart thumping beneath her hand. Strong and dominant, powered by the protective need to keep her safe. We hold eye contact for a moment, our breaths mingling until my eyes flutter closed and I close the distance between our lips.
Avery’s mouth moves against mine slowly, a slow reprise to our feverish desire in the bathroom. She pushes my wet hair back from my face, grabbing my jaw and opening me up to her. Our tongues clash halfway, coiling around one another’s until we’re left breathless. If there’s one thing I’m sure of in this fucked-up world, it’s that I’ll never get enough of Avery’s taste. Of the way she makes me want to be the best version of myself, just to lay down at her feet and hope she deems me worthy. I can’t help but stare, tracing her features with my eyes and bathing in the feel of her soft skin and delicious curves.
“What are you thinking?” Avery tilts her head to one side. I grin now, putting aside all other trepidation to focus on what’s real and what’s right in front of me.
“How lucky I am.”
Avery snorts, wrinkling her nose up. “I don’t think you’re lucky given the harm and disaster I’ve brought into your life. You should be running as far away from me as possible.”
“Yet I’m right here, looking into your beautiful eyes and thinking, it’s totally worth it.” I can tell Avery doesn’t fully believe that, but some things just take time. She’ll see the truth in my actions and in the ways I will always protect her.
Settling Avery onto the floor, I murmur that we should probably get ready before Wyatt comes to check on us. I dress quickly, the extra-slim fit shirt barely fitting over my broad shoulders. I’m not in the finest shape, but still, the fit appears intentional. The slacks are also far too skinny, as proven by Avery’s unladylike snort when I turn to reveal my accentuated bubble butt.
“What the fuck?” I strain against the material, getting the impression I would burst through if I twisted too far. Given the tailored fit, there is only one possible reason Wyatt’s left me this suit. To dangle me in front of Sharon and fuck knows who else as man candy. “No way, nope. Not doing it.” I start yanking the material off vigorously. Buttons fly and seams rip as I sneer, naked once again, as I rummage in the drawers for some dark jeans and a white polo.
“She’s not going to be happy,” Avery singsongs. This only spurs me on as I ruffle my hair into a shaggy mess.
I turn to help her pull the dress over her head, letting the material cascade down her body. It fits like a glove, the floor-length skirt flaring outwhen she spins side to side. A pair of glittering, silver heels are waiting at the foot of the bed. I bend onto one knee, kissing each of her feet before sliding them into the six-inch heels. Avery’s eyes glimmer like aquamarine diamonds, and her smile is far more reassuring than I’m sure she feels. I leave her to sit at the vanity, pulling her hair free of its tie. Like golden, silky magic, it flows down her back in soft curls. Stunning, effortless, just like her.
One item remains on the bed, a heart-shaped sapphire necklace that will bring out her eyes perfectly. Internally, I both curse and thank Wyatt for being so overbearing. I approach Avery while she’s applying her lip balm, and I drape the piece around her neck, fastening it before pulling her hair through the loop. Her gaze catches mine in the mirror, a weak smile waiting to be reciprocated.
“Well, at least we look the part,” she half shrugs. I take her hand, leading her to the door and then beyond, refusing to talk myself out of tonight anymore than I already have. Axel thinks it could be beneficial, and he wants us to experience this for his sake. It’s the least we can do after the sacrifices he’s made.
Wyatt and Dax are waiting for us, leaning over the banister to watch the lobby underneath. Their suits, unlike mine, give the right amount of trim fit and modesty. In turn, they acknowledge Avery burrowing her way between them. Dax with a kiss on the cheek and Wyatt with a fiery glare up and down her body. He might as well strip her naked and gape at her, it would have been less intrusive. I join Dax’s side, resting my forearms on the banister too. If anyone has an opinion about my polo shirt and jeans, it goes unsaid.
The students downstairs are a far cry from the relaxed yobs we met last week. They form two lines, standing shoulder to shoulder in the finest suits and dresses, their hair either slicked back or in perfect chiffon buns. Each one has a thin, red strap and a small label around their wrist. Impeccably dressed up like little dolls. At the forefront, braced by the entrance, are Sharon and a man with his hand pressed against her lower back. Mr. Barrett is making a rare appearance, it would seem.
Alongside the chime of a grandfather clock, the doorbell chimes at exactly six. From then on, the main entrance remains open to the flocks of wealthy guests arriving, the driveway a constant hum of engines. Many arrive in limos, which promptly leave, whether to save space or thepresumption that a ride back home isn’t needed tonight; I’m guessing the latter.
Each guest is quickly swept up in the arm of a student, their movements mechanical and trained. It’s like watching a performance, but there’s no applause waiting at the end of this act, just something darker. Then, they’re ushered through the right archway to the side of the mansion that remains unused. I suppose its use just became apparent.
Top Knot is the last to take his chosen, a man with a salt-and-pepper beard and a predatory smile that makes my stomach churn. He’s a regular, it seems, holding his hand out for a waitress to rush forward with a full whiskey glass. Dax shifts beside me, his jaw tense, blue eyes glinting under the chandelier light. He doesn’t say anything, but his knuckles whiten as he grips the banister. Top Knot and the man laugh about something, striding away out of sight. Only then does Sharon turn and lift her chin to us, her polished smile all charm and cruelty.
“It’s rude to linger,” she calls. “If you’re joining us, then you’d best do so now. We don’t permit late entries.” Wyatt’s shoulders straighten, his posture tight enough to snap, but he begins to descend the stairs. Dax holds Avery’s waist, and I take up the rear, pushing my hands into my pockets to save them curling into fists. Uncomfortable doesn’t even begin to cover it.
“I thought I made the rules clear,” Sharon snips, looking over us all disapprovingly. “You’re not to be present for these events.” The man standing tall by her side steps a little closer and smoothly rubs her back.
“Now, now, dear. A few extra guests won’t hurt.” I instantly don’t like him.
I would put him in his fifties, well kept with a head of thick blond hair. A few inches shorter than me, it is clear that he keeps his body in shape through his designer blue suit. Most evident is his imposing presence, an unnerving calm that fills me with unease. In fact, after assessing Avery rather closely, he smiles. Both Wyatt and I have the good sense to step in front of Avery, blocking her from his view. A common occurrence in this house, it seems.
“I thought you didn’t attend these events,” Wyatt grits out, his jaw clenched tight. Mr. Barrett remains unfazed while his wife stares daggers.
“I thought I should be present, as there areothersin the house. We wouldn’t want anything to go wrong now, would we?” He eyes us each carefully, trying to figure us out. “Let me introduce myself, Richard Barrett.”
The pasty man puffs out his chest arrogantly, not intimidated in the least by the three guys that are all easily a foot taller and glowering at him like he’s pissed in their milk.
Holding out his hand, no one takes it, and Richard finds this all the more amusing. A tall body suddenly appears from behind us to slap away the offensive limb with a snarl. His dark, shaggy hair flicks forward into his eyes, his shoulders rising and falling with the weight of his breathing.
I catch Wyatt’s confused eye, also wondering what part of‘stay with Axel’Garrett couldn’t seem to understand. It appears he’s picked up my suit from the bedroom floor, the ripped shirt hanging open over a white vest, the suit jacket and slacks pulled on it haste and not quite straight. He doesn’t care. He’s here to prove a point.
“Didn’t feel like another millionaire on his deathbed then, Sharon?” Garrett hisses. “I heard Husband number two had only just wheezed out his vows before he croaked.”
