I'm engaged. I'm supposed to marry Thad when I’m finished with my degree. I'm supposed to be a good Southern girl who saves herself for marriage, who honors her commitments, who does what's expected. But lying here in the darkness, my body still humming with the memory of Romeo's touch, I can't remember why any of that matters.
I can't remember why I'm supposed to want a life with Thad when Romeo makes me feel like this. I can't remember why duty and family expectations should matter more than the way my heart races when Romeo looks at me. I can't remember why I'm supposed to deny myself this—this feeling, this connection, this overwhelming sense of rightness—just because it's not what I'm supposed to want.
Why would anyone who cared for me want me to give this up, for a life that makes me feel like a prisoner?
My phone buzzes a few minutes later with a text from Romeo.Are you home safe?
I stare at it for a long moment. I should ignore it. I should tell him not to text me again unless it’s about the project, and that we’re going back to doing this over email. But instead, I type:Yes. I'm home.
His response comes immediately:I'm sorry. I shouldn't have?—
Don't.I type quickly.Don't apologize. I wanted it.
A long pause. Then:So did I.
I stare at the messages for a long moment, and then I delete them, making triple sure they’re gone from every part of my phone in case Thad decides to snoop again. I feel my stomachtwist with a sick sensation as I think of what it is that I’m doing… going behind my fiancé’s back, letting another man touch me, wishing I was there with him right now.
But that same fiancé also wants to control me. He denigrates everything I am, everything I want. He touches me without permission, treats me and all my things like property.
I don’t know if, added up, all these wrongs make some kind of right.
But I can’t quite bring myself to fully regret what happened tonight.
10
ROMEO
Idon't regret it.
I should. I know I should. I had her against a bookshelf in the dark, made her come for me, nearly took her virginity in a library during a thunderstorm. She ran from me, crying, horrified at what we'd done.
But I don't. Because now she knows. Now she understands exactly how I feel, what I want, what we could have together. She can't pretend anymore that this is just an academic partnership or an innocent friendship. She can't hide behind her engagement or her family's expectations.
She knows I want her. All of her. And she knows she wants me too.
The memory of her in my arms—gasping my name, trembling, coming apart—is burned into my brain. The way she tasted. The sounds she made. The desperate way she clutched at me, begging for more. She wanted me. She wanted everything.
And she would have let me take it if fear hadn't stopped her.
I sit there long after she stops responding to my texts, staring at my phone, so hard it fucking hurts, and yet still not wanting to take care of it myself. I don’t want my own fucking hand. I wantSavannah’s hand, her mouth, her tight, untouched pussy. The knowledge that she’s so innocent, that no one has ever touched her like that before, that I was the first… that I could be the first for fuckingeverythingmakes me feel like I’m coming unhinged.
My head hurts, and my cock throbs, and I’m coming apart at the seams. I need her like I need air, and I don’t know how much longer I can stand this.
When my phone rings, I nearly jump out of my fucking skin. I look at it and see that it’s Luca.
"Tell me you have something," I answer sharply.
"I have something." His voice is grim.
I sit up straighter. "What?"
"Whitmore. He's been embezzling from Beauregard's company. Small amounts at first, but it's been escalating. We're talking hundreds of thousands over the past eighteen months."
Fuck.This could be good. "Edgar knows?"
"No. That's the thing—Whitmore's been very careful. He's got access through his father's firm. They handle some of Beauregard's accounts. He's been moving money through shell companies, making it look like legitimate business expenses."
"How did you find it?"
