Still, I can’t stop from sucking in a breath as I try to tug my hands from his grip. But he doesn’t let go, and the smirk is gone from his eyes. His pink lips are pressed together and his cheekslook hollow, as if he’s sucking them in from anger or irritation. Or maybe he’s just blessed with those lines.
“Fuck you,” I snarl, my voice low. I wonder if he can feel my pulse slamming in my wrists beneath his gloves.
“But didn’t we?” he asks, tilting his head.
This motherfucker.I try to jerk away from him again, but he only yanks me closer, so my hands are involuntarily pressed to his hard chest and the soft cashmere feel of his sweater.
He leans in closer, the fresh scent of him overwhelming. “Play nice, Neve,” he says against my ear. “The people are watching.”
“They’re not my people, and if you don’t let go of me, they won’t be yours, either.”I snap my head back as I try in vain to pull away from his tight grip. “I’m not afraid to make a scene,” I hiss. “Don’t test me. You’re disgusting. I never touched you.Youstalked me to my?—”
In a heartbeat, he has both of my wrists in one of his hands, and his other is pressed over my mouth.
I turn my head away and plant my heels, attempting to use my weight to get myself free. But an arm comes around my throat, another shoots out to shove Sylvan off, and shocking the hell out of me, the brat releases me.
As I’m pulled into a hard body, one arm now wrapped around my waist, the other still over my throat—firm but not choking me—I realize it’sFaust Darlingwho has me in his grip. From this angle, I know the Dragon fan club can’t take photos, and even though I don’t give a fuck abouttheirreputation, I’m grateful if only for what’s left of mine.
Sylvan lifts both his gloved hands up, as if in surrender, but he takes several steps back, too.
Faust is calm at my back, his grip sure, and he says… nothing.
“Sorry, Captain, I just?—”
“You’re not sorry,” I snarl, straining lightly against Faust’s grip, my hands curled into fists like I might swing at his stupid, immature teammate. “You’re a fucking brat.”
Sylvan runs his hand over his mouth and shakes his head, like he’s trying to get rid of his smirk. “Maybe,” he concedes. He lifts his eyes to Faust. “But I respect people who deserve it.”
I think I might explode. I jerk against Faust’s hold on me, but he won’t let me go, so I do the only thing I can think of.
I spit.
Up into Sylvan’s face.
It lands on his chin, a few flecks along his lips, and my anger feels satisfied.
Especially at the way Sylvan freezes.
Staring at me.
Then bringing his glove to his mouth, lower, wiping my spit off.
He examines it on the black leather protecting his skin, and I see his teeth clench, his mouth closed.
He’s mad?Good.That makes two of us.
But when his eyes land on mine again, he slowly slides his finger into his mouth and without looking away from me, sucks my spit off him.
Faust’s entire body feels rigid at my back, matching my own.
When Sylvan pulls his finger out with apop,he tilts his head. “If you didn’t have such good back-up, I’d have put it inyourmouth.”
“Connor,” Faust says softly, his body still coiled tight behind me, his grip never loosening, his large hand splayed over half my torso. “Do you like being able to skate?”
My stomach drops with the coldness in Faust’s tone.
My eyes widen and I want to turn and look at him, but I don’t dare move.
Where Sylvan seems charming and chaotic, Faust could be an actual serial killer. Sylvan is just playing at one.
