Saint grabs my hand and pulls me gently through the crowd gathered by the pool.
“Where are you taking me? And don’t think I don’t know what you did back there.”
He chuckles. “Elliot’s a pussy.”
“Saint—”
“Come with me.”
“What about Elliot?”
Saint laughs softly. “I think Elliot officially lost whatever competition I didn’t know I was in.”
And because I’m apparently incapable of making good decisions around him, I follow. The crowd parts around us. The music grows louder as we move through the house.
Then quieter. Saint guides me down a hallway hidden behind the main staircase. The noise of the party fades behind thick walls. Private rooms with closed doors line the hallway. The kind of spaces guests aren’t supposed to find.
“What are we doing?”
Saint glances at me. “I’m showing you my room.”
My stomach flips, but then I remember who he is and what he is capable of. “That sounds ominous.”
“It is.”
I narrow my eyes. “Where’s Monica?”
His expression doesn’t change, and the reaction I expected never arrives.
“Monica?” he asks, surprised.
“Yeah, I thought she was your date. The girl you invited to your party personally. The way she made it seem was like she’s been here before. She made sure to tell me at the bar last Friday.”
A flicker of amusement appears in his eyes. “Did she?” The answer comes too fast, and then Saint’s smile grows.
At the moment, I hate the way he’s making me question myself. He turns left like he’s had a change of plans and takes me down a short hallway. The air seems thicker, the same growing smaller as we stop outside one of the doors.
The music from the main living room is gone now. It’s been replaced by a low-vibe song by Zandros, a heartbeat beneath the walls.
My stomach tightens. “Saint?”
He looks at me and then opens the door. I expect a private bedroom, anything except what is inside.
The room beyond is dimly lit. A red hue blankets the bed from the dim lighting in the room. Monica is between two guys, naked as one sucks on her breasts. Her long dark hair over one shoulder as the other is fucking her from behind. Her head tilts back as he fucks her harder.
They don’t turn.
They don’t stop.
If they see us standing at the door watching, they are oblivious. Zandros’s “Obsession” plays on low, setting the pace.
For a second, I envy the way they are making her feel. Chills skate over my arms, the heat of Saint’s body making me sweat. The scent from his hoodie envelops me, wishing it were him fucking me. Quietly. Deep.
He leans close, his lips ghosting my ear. “I don’t think she’s my date.”
I fold my arms, trying to calm the wetness between my legs. “Everyone thought she was.”
“Everyone is usually wrong.”
