Not yet anyway.
Gripping the hem of my shirt, I pull the material up over my head and drop it on a barstool. Whistles erupt. Stares touch my skin. But I don’t move until I feel the only one I want.
There you are.
I hop on the counter and slowly lower onto my back. A shiver coasts through me at the feel of the cold marble, and Easton’s attention spreads the chills to my toes. Zach’s face appears above me, and I can’t ignore the relief I feel at seeing him instead of Marco.
Zach winks, noticing my muscles loosen slightly, and says, “Easton’s gonna kill me.”
Cold liquor trails down my stomach, pooling in my belly button. I pretend to relax. Try to sound calm. “Tell him I made you do it.”
“And that’ll save me, how? I swear, the things I do to be a gentleman ...”
I almost smile.
“I’m going in. Pray for me.”
He lowers his head. I release a shaky breath.It’s just Zach. I can do this.He’s an inch away from my stomach when he’s knocked aside, and a different face appears.
Carter.
I grab the edge of the counter to pull myself up, but rough hands find my hips and push me back to the marble. Fighting is pointless; I’m already frozen, my body solidifying into a block of ice. Carter’s tongue touches my stomach. His eyes lift to meet mine, flaring with triumph and sick satisfaction, as he licks and sucks the liquor from my skin.
In a shameful way, Carter knows me better than anyone. The night I followed him, he saw exactly what I am. He listened to me beg him to go harder and harder. Worthless, hopeless, legs spread, I silently screamed for him to erasehim, to erasethem, to eraseeverything. He saw my tears when I realized he couldn’t take the pain away.
No one could take it away.
My pulse ticks. My palms sweat.
A scuffle whips my eyes across the room to where Whitney’s hand is curled around Easton’s bicep, red nails digging into his white T-shirt while she holds him back.
Call me an attention whore, but his burning eyes on mine is what I wanted. Shoulders tight with tension, expression made to kill. All for me. I live to be noticed by him, to feel the heat of his gaze. But right now, I don’t feel pleasure. I feel like shit.
Whitney whispers in Easton’s ear, and he snaps something back, shrugs her hand off his arm.
Finally, Carter’s slimy tongue disappears.
It’s done. It’s over. I’mfine.
Cheers sound throughout the room, and Carter steps back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his dark gaze on mine. My stomach churns. I slide off the counter, snatch up my shirt, and make a beeline for the bathroom.
Trembling, I splash cold water on my face. I can’t stop shaking even while I tell myself I’m fine. I’m fine. I’mfine.
The door swings open, and I jolt.
Easton steps inside. I stumble back from nothing but the enraged fire in his eyes. He locks the door behind him, and I can’t move as he steps toward me, closer and closer. Fury, regret, and thedrip,drip,dripof a leaky faucet fill the bathroom. My breath shakes when he fists a hand in my hair and forces me to my knees.
“Is this what you want?” he demands, breath as quick and shallow as mine. “To be used?”
My heartbeat inflates in my throat. I’ve never experienced this side of him. The view of him from his feet. His cool anger and solid grip in my hair.
“Isit?”
No, I want to say. But the truth is trapped on my tongue, caught in my web of lies, and when I open my mouth, the “Yes” that escapes taunts us both.
Liar, liar.
The sound of our breath tangles and drowns beneath techno music and the leaky faucet.
