Chapter 34
A fter last night’s “feast,” Crue hasn’t let me get more than a foot away from him. At breakfast this morning, he practically kept me tucked against his side as we grabbed our food and left. My father didn’t try talking to me again but he doesn’t really need to. Anytime I’m in the manor, I can feel the anger rolling off him from several rooms away. I know he’s pissed. It’s sad he’s not pissed for my sake. I think that’d be the normal fatherly reaction to his daughter almost being raped. Unfortunately, my father’s not normal.
Everybody wants a billionaire father…until they realize he’ll do anything to stay that way.
I’m coming out of my last class when I see Crue holding out another matcha lemonade for me. For some reason, he has one for himself, too. He’s made his dislike for the clones’ preferred drink known, so why would he subject himself to the torture of drinking one?
I snatch it out of his hand without a word.
We walk down the hall side by side, neither of us drinking from our cups.
Paris and Brad hesitate at the stairwell, giving me lingering looks.
“Your clones are watching,” Crue points out. “Aren’t you gonna take a sip for them?”
With an internal roll of my eyes, I fit the lid to my lips, pretending to drink the green liquid.
“That’s it?”
I side-eye my bodyguard.
“You didn’t notice anything different in it?”
“Did you poison it or something?”
“Then how would I get paid?”
A garbage can in my sight, I head right for it, but Crue’s hand on my elbow stops me in my tracks.
“I’m joking. Just try it.”
“I did. It tastes the same.”
“Really? You’re gonna pull that shit again?”
“What shit?”
“Faking it.”
It’s all I ever do! The words churn inside me like an unspoken tornado.
It takes immense restraint to keep them in, so much I don’t dare move anything else, especially not my arm to lift the cup to my mouth.
Crue eyes the lemonade. “Take a drink, little bat.”
If I am a bat, I’m the vampire bat. They seek out the same prey night after night based on its breathing pattern while it’s sleeping. Both agile and lightweight, they can drink blood for up to thirty minutes without even waking up the source. I don’t sneak into Crue’s room at night to drink his blood, but I’m in there for longer than thirty minutes and I haven’t woken him up yet.
“Did you come in it?”
“And rob you of getting to drink that straight from the source? No. Drink up.”
“If you poison me, I’m so coming back to haunt you, too.”
“As long as you’re a succubus,” he mutters, reminding me he gave me his consent to sit on his face while he’s asleep.
Unable to respond with anything remotely appropriate for our current surroundings, I tap his cup with mine in cheers before swallowing a tiny—
Wait. This isn’t matcha lemonade. It’s not lemonade at all.
I study the side of the transparent cup. It looks like the same lemonade I get all the time—a milky green. But it tastes like a chai latte… Not just any chai latte but a chai latte with almond milk and three pumps of pumpkin brown sugar. That drink’s tan though. How is that even possible?
“What is this?”
“Can’t you tell? It’s your drink. The one you actually like.”
“But it…doesn’t…look…” I take another pull, this one longer. It doesn’t look like it, but it is it.
“I dyed it green.”
I blink up at Crue, then his own green drink, some of it gone already.
“Did you do the same thing to yours?”
“No, mine’s a matcha lemonade. I had to order at least one, you know, for appearance’s sake. Aesthetic first—”
“Pleasure last,” I finish.
“Not for you. Not anymore.”
He ordered something he hates and is drinking it just so I don’t have to. He chose my pleasure over his.
The smile that overtakes my face feels foreign it’s so big, so genuine.
“Thank you.”
After studying me for a minute, he asks, “Are you fucking with me right now?”
I try not to let his suspicion dim my mood. It is warranted after all. I haven’t been very grateful to him. Or nice.
“No. I appreciate this. For real.”
Despite his frown, I sip more tea.
Neither of us speaks as we regard one another, so I turn and resume walking. Crue keeps pace next to me every step of the way…until I’m suddenly yanked sideways through a doorway, the green liquid splashing up onto my face.
“What—”
“Everybody out,” Crue tells whoever’s inside, his voice bouncing off the walls because it’s a bathroom. The girls’ bathroom to be exact. “Security…purposes.”
Keeping my focus on the floor as the three girls pass me, I slowly dab the drops from my lips and nose.
The second we’re alone, I inform him, “That wasn’t the least bit believable.”
“I don’t care.” Unapologetic, my bodyguard sets his drink on the countertop before doubling back to lock the door.
Our closeness becomes palpable.
I lift the dyed drink between us. “I thought the point of this was to be able to enjoy it in public.”
“The public’s gotten enough of you today. It’s my turn.”
“You couldn’t wait until we got home?”
“You’re lucky I waited this long.”
Stepping up close to me, he cups the back of my head and pulls.
When I start turning away, his other hand grabs my chin, stopping me. Hysteria fills me just before he pushes his thumb up to cover my lips again, kissing it instead.
His nose pressed to mine, he rasps, “Why didn’t you come to my room last night?”
I did, you just didn’t know it.
“I thought you got your fill at dinner.” My body grows intolerably hot at the reminder. The same body that’s been begging for more of Crue’s touch since the moment he withdrew it.
“That’s funny.” His chuckle tickles my lips.
I lower my jaw and try to catch it in my mouth.
Crue slips his thumb in, goading my tongue into a playful dance.
Closing my lips around his second knuckle, I suck on his thumb as he slowly thrusts it in and out. I bite down.
Crue groans, then removes his thumb, allowing me to ask, “What’s funny?”
That same hand travels down the front of my throat, making a quick stop to caress my breast before continuing on to the bottom of my pinafore dress.
“That you thought I’d ever get my fill of you.”
A core-igniting need overtakes me. I need Crue inside me, and not just his tongue or his fingers.
Just as he begins lifting the fabric, I say, “No.”
Other than pulling back to look at me, Crue doesn’t dare move any other part of his body, as still as if he was petrified.
It’s exactly how anyone should act upon hearing that word. The bare minimum really. Crue doing it only makes me want him more.
“Fuck me.”
“Here? I was just gonna—”
“Here.” I can’t wait either. Last night, he reminded me I can enjoy intimacy and I don’t have to overthink it. In fact, it’s better if I don’t.
Crue’s moss-green eyes oscillate between my lips and eyes.
“Not until—”
“I can’t kiss you.”
Cocking his head to the side, he frowns. “ Can’t ?”
Why did I have to phrase it like that?
“I’ll do anything you want, except that.” Please don’t make that be the determining factor again.
“Promise you’ll look at me then.”
“I…”
I drop my gaze, my entire face following after, then I sidestep Crue and go over to stand in front of one of the sinks, placing my drink next to his.
Can I look at Crue? Most days I feel that’s all I do. The days I don’t, I wish I had. He’s a Leonardo da Vinci painting amongst heavily edited selfies. He’s The Starry Night in a world overrun by AI-generated images. He is a true original work of art—flawed, unparalleled, and utterly mesmerizing. Looking at him is a privilege I count myself lucky to have for the time being. If I could, I’d look at him until my vision stopped working.
“I promise,” comes out quiet, yet feels like it echoes.
Crue comes up behind me, gripping my stomach and bringing me into him. Automatically, my hands rise to hold him to me, too, and a moan escapes me as I root my ass against his hard cock.
“You have no idea what you just started,” he says near my ear.
I tilt my head, giving him better access.
“A secret affair with my bodyguard?”
Lips teasing the side of my neck, he corrects, “Personal protection agent.”
Now it’s my turn to chuckle. Chuckle and shiver because the smallest nibble has me shaking for more.
Someone knocks on the door, threatening to interrupt.
“Out of order!” Crue yells over his shoulder, refusing to let them.
Focusing on me again, he maintains eye contact as he scrapes his bared teeth over the thin skin at my throat, making me hiss. He doesn’t close his lips and suck though, setting himself apart from every other guy I’ve been with. I both love and hate it. I like having my neck sucked on for a reason.
Although I don’t feel the noose right now. All I feel is Crue.
Taking my hands from behind his head, he repositions them to frame the sink, then straightens to flip the back of my dress up, pulling my underwear down enough to uncover my ass.
My pussy clenches in anticipation.
It takes him a matter of seconds to undo his pants, shoving them and his nondescript boxer briefs to his knees.
I have to move my hips to the side to get a better view of the cock I’ve spent months imagining, drawing, wanting. The sketch my imagination conjured absolutely pales in comparison to the real thing. Crue’s cock is long and thick and upright.
Our eyes meet and I can’t help myself. It’s just too good to pass up.
“Where did you learn how to measure? School for giants?”
I’ve caught glimpses before, but not in its full-mast entirety yet.
Shaking his head, Crue laughs a little, a bit of pink creeping across his cheeks. Is he embarrassed? Nervous?
“There’s no way that’s four inches, Crue.”
His chuckle grows. “I told you I’ve never measured.”
“You should’ve.”
Another headshake, then, “I’ll let your cunt do the measuring.”
While one hand pumps his rigid cock, Crue uses the other at the base of my spine to push along each vertebra until I’m bent over the sink, my palms flat on the concrete countertop. This school is ancient, but the restrooms are not. They’ve been remodeled several times since Littoral first opened its ultra-exclusive doors. Housing crystal chandeliers between each vessel sink as well as touchless faucets, the university’s bathrooms are the ultimate display of vintage and contemporary working together.
With a chin-jerk at the backlit mirror less than a couple inches from my face, he warns, “Eyes on me the whole time. Don’t even think about closing them.”
I’ll try , I think, already questioning if I’ll be able to keep that promise.
He kisses the side of my neck at the same time I feel his tip at my entrance, his finger and thumb wrapped around the head, dragging it through my slickness.
“Don’t get all patient on me now, Crue. Fuck me already—”
He plunges his cock between my walls, earning groans from us both, but only making it about halfway in.
In all fairness, that’s what I get for turning down foreplay. I’m wet enough, but I’m not nearly relaxed enough.
Crue grasps my hips and works himself deeper into me, withdrawing an inch, only to regain two or more, until eventually, he’s bottomed out, his lower stomach mashed to my ass, his ball sack brushing my clit.
Fully sheathed, he pauses to look down between us.
Glancing back up at me, his smile nearly makes me come on the spot. It’s that sexy.
“You okay?”
All I say is, “Mm-hm,” even though I’m more than okay.
“I’m not too big? You’re pretty tiny. I wasn’t sure—”
“My body’s good with the impossible, remember?” I reassure him. He has no reason to be insecure about his dick. Not with me. I’m obstinately obsessed with him. Whether his dick was two inches or two feet, I’d love it so long as it was mine.
And right now, it is. Finally.
Major Danger’s cock is mine.
Now my smile matches his.
“Your pussy…” Sounding like he’s out of breath, he rocks into me, hitting my cervix and making me gasp. “Your pussy feels like it was made specifically for me, hugging my cock so tight, so warm, so fucking good… Jesus Christ!”
There’s another knock at the door and I shush Crue.
He groans. “I’m not pulling out one fucking inch. I don’t give a fuck. You’re gonna have to come on my cock just like this.”
I don’t want him to pull out either. Unless the custodian shows up with the keys, then he’ll have to.
“Just keep doing that,” I whisper breathily.
Our eyes holding each other’s the entire time, he stays deliciously deep, rolling his hips into me rather than thrusting in and out.
“Show me how to touch your clit.”
“You…don’t know how?”
“I don’t know how to touch yours . Show me what you like.”
“We don’t have a lot of time here.”
“Fuck time. You’re all that exists right now.”
It’s a travesty I’ll never get to kiss Crue again, not just because he was good at it, but because there’s never been another person I’ve wanted to kiss more. And there never will be.
I reach down to swirl my middle finger over my clit, pressing harder at the top than at the bottom.
Crue’s hand covers mine, his middle finger draped along mine, feeling exactly what I’m doing. A few rotations, then he’s nudging me out of the way to take over, using the same amount of pressure.
My jaw drops, the need for air more prudent than a moment ago. Why are we so out of breath? We’re both in better shape than this. I give Crue a hard time, but he’s been improving every time he runs with me.
“Shit, Ever. Do you have any idea how fucking beautiful you are right now? I could flood your cunt with cum just watching you like this.” His other hand grabs a handful of my hair and twists my head so he can say against the shell of my ear, “Now show me how you kiss.”
Despite the warm pleasure spreading up my body like ivy, those words have me freezing up like a block of ice. “I didn’t agree—”
“Not me. Fuck!” He drops his head on another guttural groan.
I ease my muscles a fraction…only to tighten them all over again, earning the same reaction.
His gaze returns to mine. “Unless you want me to nut before you get the chance, you better relax your fucking cunt.”
At no point does Crue pause the circles on my clit, so I want to believe him. I just don’t understand.
“How else am I supposed to show you how I kiss if I—”
“The mirror,” he grits.
I arch an eyebrow before slowly releasing my tight grip on his shaft.
“You want me to kiss a mirror?”
He immediately resumes his previous movements.
“Goddamn, that was close.”
My brow remains sky-high. “Crue?”
“I want you to kiss me, but since you won’t…for whatever fucking reason…I’ll settle for watching you kiss my reflection.”
Tentatively, I stretch my neck out toward the mirror, toward Crue’s reflection. His fist at the back of my head guides me closer, until my lips are brushing the glass.
Crue’s eyelids droop as he watches my pursed mouth press against the mirror.
“That’s it. Good girl.”
Seeing his reaction, feeling it in all the places we’re touching, gives me the courage to take it further, to really kiss his reflection as if it’s him. I sneak my tongue between my lips to lick at the cold, flat surface. It doesn’t compare to kissing Crue. Nothing can. But when Crue starts kissing the side of my face, licking and sucking as if he’s imagining my mouth, too, the pretense becomes a little more believable.
Holding the side of his head to mine, I make out with the mirror while Crue makes out with my jaw, both of us watching the other. It’s a sight to behold, one we wouldn’t get if we were kissing each other traditionally.
The warmth both deep inside me as well as just outside builds and builds and builds until I feel like I’m ablaze from head to toe. The tip of Crue’s cock hits just the right spot on my cervix, lighting a very, very short fuse, triggering sparks to explode beneath his finger before waves of intense pleasure roll through me, not once but twice, one immediately after the other.
Forgetting we’re technically in public, I unleash a moan so loud anyone walking by could hear.
Crue’s hand in my hair tightens as his teeth sink into my jaw, keeping me locked in place while he weathers his own climax, releasing a groan practically identical to mine.
Both my forehead and nose mashed to the mirror, my rapid exhales fog it up. I’m so fucked if anyone comes in right now.
I’m so fucked anyway.
Finally, Crue’s finger on my clit slows, not to a complete standstill, just a lazier pace, like maybe he doesn’t even realize he’s still doing it. The fact he hasn’t pulled his dick out though makes me think it’s intentional. It’s not enough to make me come again, at least not yet, but it does keep a constant purr in the back of my throat.
Crue suddenly pulls his face away from mine, and still staring at each other, I see something dark enter his gaze.
“Fuck you, Ever Munreaux.”
My body too fuzzy to react appropriately—with outrage and vitriol since he’s saying this while he’s clearly still inside me—I just drawl, “What’d I do now?”
The pressure on my sensitive peak disappears entirely before Crue brings his glossy middle finger up to his mouth, sucking my—our?—cum off. He groans again, and I swear I feel his buried cock twitch inside me.
“You ruined me.”
He says it so matter-of-factly, I don’t know if I should laugh or cry. Both urges overwhelm me simultaneously, and not just from the sensations still racking my body.
Instead of doing either, I make myself scoff, “You ruined me first.”
Months ago, if we want to get technical.