Chapter 17
The room falls apartaround us, the taste of mint and tobacco on my tongue. A sigh escapes me as I fall against his chest, his hand coming around my back like he’s falling too.
Blame me for wanting to fix this. Blame me for craving his touch. But I can’t stop it. He doesn’t either, a wave of warmth washing over me when as his body sinks further into mine.
His tongue parts my lips, moving over mine like we’ve done this a thousand times. One hand pulls my beanie off my head and my curls fall around us like a curtain.
“I hate you,” I spit through heavy breaths.
“I hate you too,” he growls, but that only makes him devour me more.
Spinning me around, my back hits the wooden locker door, his hands coming to each side of my head. He likes when I’m trapped.
You like it too.
“Is that why you’re hard as fuck?” I don’t know what takes over me when I let my teeth sink into his bottom lip. Can I blame it on the beer? The groan he makes is addictive, so I do it again.
Mac tugs my hair, regaining dominance as he pulls my head back. His free hand pushes in my shorts, tugging my panties to the side. “Is that why you’re wet right now, Everett?” His finger slides through my slit like fucking butter.
“You gonna do something about it?” I ask. “Or are you talking shit?” When I push against his chest, he grunts.
“Fuck,” he mutters, losing his balance. I’m quickly reminded of the incident on the ice. “I should make you pay for what you did.”
Glancing to my side, a polished wooden bench sits nearby. Reaching for it, I pull it closer. “And how might we do that?” My hand tingles when I take his, sitting him down.
Stepping back, I pull my sweater over my head, with nothing underneath I almost bare it all. My shorts, panties, socks and shoes are the only things left as the air hardens my nipples. Hannah’s comment about my size hits me again, but the way Mac’s gaze dances around my curves makes me feel powerful. It’s easy to notice the growth in his shorts, a low growl making me feel like a star. A porn star.
“Fuck,” he mutters again, but this time I know it’s different. “Kneel for me, Ember.” My knees hit the cold floor before he finishes his words. Then he crooks his finger. “Crawl.” I do, my hair falling over one shoulder as he palms the bulge in his shorts. “How badly do you want to make it up to me, Everett?”
“So bad.” Biting my lip, I sit on my knees, spreading my legs as far as they can go.
“So bad, who?”
“So bad, Mac.”
“Show me.” Pulling on his shoes, he releases the beast within a beast. His cock springs out like a Jack-in-the-Box. And my mouth fucking waters.
I can see every vein, every throb. And with that little lean it has, it looks like fucking Pisa. He reaches over, a wince, but he keeps going like he knows it’ll be worth it. Wrapping his hand around my throat, he chuckles, as if he can feel the quickened pace of my heart. His thumb comes to my bottom lip, sparks coming with it. “Open.” I do, and nothing but nirvana washes over me when he places his thick head against my tongue. “Fuck, Butterfly,” Mac growls again. “Show me how you work those pretty fucking lips.” He pushes the tip around my mouth before sitting back. “You have twenty minutes.”
Challenge accepted.
Wrapping my lips around him, I take him into my mouth as his head falls back. Mac thinks he’s in control, but the way he reacts when I swirl my tongue around his cock says different. He lets out another curse when I run my tongue down his shaft before I attempt to take him all in my mouth. And when I do? He doesn’t hold back.
Grabbing my head, he pushes me further and further. He doesn’t care that I gag. He doesn’t care that spit drips down his shaft. He doesn’t give a fuck that I’m damn near choking. It all only makes me want this more.
Do you like the way he treats you?
The way our hatred for each other comes out is electrifying. Deadly. I’m either suicidal or insane. Whatever it is, something tells me Mac won’t care.
“Keep it together, Everett.” He challenges me to take him all the way. I can feel him throb against my throat and that’s the only motivation I need. He thrusts back as I bob my head, the both of us working together. “You’re such a good fucking slut. You know just how to make it up to me.” He encourages me to go for more and I fucking do, my body heating as I make him mine with my mouth.
Humiliation. Degradation. Praise.
Hell, Beau was right. It all sets my soul ablaze.
Mac reaches over, grabbing a hand full of my ass before he smacks it. Moaning against his shaft makes him thrust harder. And every grunt and groan I hear makes me take more of him.
“Do you feel how hard you get me, Everett?” he groans. “My cock belongs in your throat.” Breathing is nonexistent but the minute I hear those words, “You’re my good fucking girl,” it’s worth it.
Mac’s eyes roll to the back of his head and nothing beats the feeling of the mighty Crown succumbing to my mouth.
“Fuck!” A river of his bittersweetness fills my mouth as he pumps into me. It”s enough to make me feel like I’m drowning. In him.
He tugs my hair harder, pulling his shaft from my lips before I finally gasp for air. The room stills again, our heavy breaths filling it as he strokes his stiff, glistening staff. Whatever remnants I didn’t swallow drip down like an ice cream on a hot day. He reaches over, wiping anything I missed from my mouth in a way that feels caring again.“Good girl.”
Glancing at the clock on the wall at the far end of the room, a smirk comes to my face. “Only took me fifteen.” He smiles, a genuine one. It’s new and startling and makes my insides spin before it all hits me. “His phone.”
Mac stares. “You mean thank you,” he says. “Mind your manners, Everett.”
“No.” When I move to slap his thigh, his hand wraps around my wrist. “Beau’s phone.”
His mouth twists. “You’re thinking about Beau? Right now? While my cock is still out?” He shoves his softening staff back into his shorts.
“Your dad,” I say, my brain firing off a million miles per second like that blowie released something in me.
“My father? You’re really fucked up aren’t you, Everett?”
“You said your dad pulls the strings.”
His shoulders relax. “I sold my soul so he can fix this mess. Our mess.”
“So, why don’t we pull some strings of our own? You threw Beau’s phone out the window. He was recording that night. We can at least clear the evidence and try to clear our names. Or do you expect Daddy to do everything for you?”
“That phone could be anywhere. It could be in the middle of the forest.”
“Did you even try to call it? Someone could have found it.”
His mouth flattens. My grin grows.
Reaching into a nearby locker, he pulls out a phone, tapping it as silence takes over the room. “This is stupid.” But he does it anyway.
You’re dodging what just happened.
I’m not. I swear. We can talk about whatever the fuck we’re doing later. Right now, we’ve got bigger shit to take care of.
“Hello?” My eyes widen when I hear a woman’s voice come through the phone. “Beau is missing, possibly dead. So, please stop calling unless you know something. Wait, do you know something?”
Mac ends the call.
“His mother…” Mac’s words trail. Then his eyes narrow.
“What’re you gonna do? Kill her too?”
“She’s going to my dad’s Benefactor’s Gala tomorrow. You’re coming.”
“First a hockey game, then a blowie, and now you’re inviting me to one of your elitist events?”
“You know what, Everett?” He leans forward, wiping my mouth with his thumb. “I like you better with my cock in your mouth.”
Knock,knock, knock!
My head whips to the door of my hotel suite, graphite pencil in hand. My sketchpad sits on the marble desk in front of me, the only thing keeping my eyes off the clock.
“Six-thirty. Be ready.”
His words repeat in my head and with no classes on my schedule today, waiting proves to be torturous. It’s like the first time Angelo asked me out. Butterflies. Sweaty pits. Nervous pacing. Except this time it feels more intense.
This isn’t a date.
I hate that I have to keep reminding myself with every passing hour.
Knock, knock, knock!
A man’s voice comes through the shiny wood of the hotel doors. “Concierge.”
Dropping my pencil, I move through the large space to answer. He greets me with a white garment bag, Valentino printed on the front. “For you, Miss Everett, from Mister McKinsley.”
“Thank you,” I say, unsure of what else to do with such high-class service. He gives me a small bow, and I give one in return before his brows furrow and he turns for the elevator.
The bag sits heavy when I drape it over my arm, carrying it to one of the sofas in the living area. Sitting beside it, my toes wiggle against the white fur carpet as I unzip the bag.
A long black velvet dress sits inside and when I remove it from the bag, it comes out like a long scroll. A smile tickles my face when I press it against my body, twirling around the room like a scene from a Disney film. I know Mac isn’t trying to charm me. He wants me to fit in with the rest of these pricks. But a girl can have a moment, can’t she?
Before I can get it on, my phone chimes.
“Get in that dress and get your ass downstairs, Everett.” Mac’s deep, rolling voice comes through the speaker.
“Are you always this uptight?” I catch the reflection in the mirror as I twirl my finger around a strand of hair. Dropping my hand, I wince. I have a lot of work to do before my face matches this dress.
“It’s six-fifteen,” he says. “Don’t keep me waiting.” The call ends.
Dick.
As I rush to the bathroom, someone knocks at the door again.
“Mac?” I ask, moving to the doors. When I open them, a couple of women stand there with a small black cart filled with makeup and hair tools.
One woman eyes me from head to toe as the other pushes past me, wheeling in the cart. She sighs, “Let’s get to work.”
They push me into the bathroom past the walk-in shower and massive soaker tub. One woman sits me on a chair from the dining area, then they get started. As one styles my hair, the other tends to my makeup. Neither of them say a word while they treat me like a model getting ready for the runway. If this is what getting pampered feels like, I can get used to this. Dad and Uncle Jake always struggled with my hair as a kid. Apart from that, I’ve always tackled it.
I’m not sure how long passes before they step back, nodding to each other. “Good.” That’s the last thing they say before they wheel the cart out and leave.
Blinking at my reflection in the mirror, I hardly recognize myself. But the smile that tugs at my face tells me I like it.
So what if my body isn’t like the girls in The Hill? The confidence that builds when I look at my red lips, big lashes and perfectly straight eyeliner makes me feel like a star. For the first time, my coils are straight. It almost hits my elbows, shining under the room’s soft lightning.
When the phone rings again, I don’t need to check to see who it is. After pulling on that dress, I’m out the door, not without grabbing my sketchpad. This world is still unfamiliar, and Mac is unpredictable. My sketchpad is my safety blanket. If all else fails, I can do what I usually do. Escape.
“Way to take your time, Everett.” Mac leans against that spaceship car in a full black suit, black cigarette hanging off his lip. His suit fits his body, accentuating that muscular stature. My stomach flips when he pushes back his dark strands, that one unruly curl bouncing back in front of his eye. His iron eyes wander my frame, their heat travelling right through me. “Your hair. It’s better curly.”
“Gee, thanks,” I reply. “You look like an off-brand James Bond.” I’m lying, he’s very much on brand.
He smirks, deadly in that outfit, his silky black shirt unbuttoned below his tight pecs. Together, we look like we’re in a movie, ready to hit the grand ball. His eyes follow the deep plunge of the velvet dress to the cutout on the sides. I didn’t know my body could look so hot in something like this. I always thought these dresses were better fit for someone Hannah’s size. Skinny. But this dress is made for me, hugging my curves in all the right places. And the small train that follows behind makes me feel like royalty.
“You look good.” He flicks his cigarette to the hotel driveway. My stomach twists when I see a slight twitch in his pants. Gripping my sketchpad, I hope he doesn’t make me leave it behind. “Stop wasting my time and get in.” Rolling my eyes, he opens the door. Stepping into his car, a black box sits at my feet. “Time for you to trade in those sad Oxfords. Where did you find them anyway? Some hobo”s closet?”
“In my missing mother’s,” I spit back. I’m usually afraid to make such comments but something tells me Mac won’t care.
“She has bad taste.” See?
Opening the box, a pair of gold strappy heels sit inside. Ones that match this dress perfectly. Ones so beautiful they belong on a runaway. Between the dress, hair, makeup, and these shoes, I finally feel like I belong in Paradise Hill. I finally feel special.
This is not a date. This is not a date. This is not a date!I remind myself the entire drive. Mac’s weird gothic music plays on blast as he smokes cigarette after cigarette. He weaves in and out of traffic, stepping hard on the gas, and when my muscles tense, his hand comes to my thigh, gripping it. It’s as if he knows how unsettling his driving is after the incident, and it’s easy to accept the wave of warmth that comes with his hold.
Then it hits me.
Mac and I have been this weird team for weeks. And tonight, that ends.
Something inside me feels like it’s sinking. Like when your favourite book gets to the last chapter. Or the last ten minutes of a film. But this is good. We need this.
“You ready?” Mac asks, the car slowing.
Looking out the window, gates the size of Humpty Dumpty’s wall open. And behind the iron gates sit a monstrosity of a home. The size of this mansion could take up ten blocks in The Valley. But here it stands. Alone. Lit up like an amusement park. An ominous one.
A gold plaque tells me where we are. ‘McKinsley Manor’ carved in gold. Moving beyond the gate, sports cars, limos and luxury SUVs sit around the expansive lot, a large stone fountain in the middle. It’s like one of those grand squares I’ve seen in pictures of Europe, except this isn’t for the public. People in over-the-top gowns make their way up red carpet steps, stopping for a photo between marble columns.
“You live here?” I ask, unable to hide my disbelief.
“Define live.” He pulls his car up to the bottom of the stairs and there’s even someone to park it for him. Mac comes around to my door as I take a deep breath. It looks like everyone in Paradise Hill is here. But if clearing my name means mingling with these folks, I’ll do it.
When the door opens, Mac holds out a hand like an actual gentleman. When I take it, sparks spiral up my arm as he pulls me towards him. Holding onto my sketchpad, I wobble to my feet. Besides sauntering around on donated heels in my family’s shop, heels are still new to me. Mac notices, steadying me with a firm grip, and with the extra inches, we’re almost the same height.
Mac leans in, his words landing in my ear. Bittersweet music. “You good, Everett?”
Looking past him, I’m reminded of what I’m about to face: the worst people on the planet. “You’re not gonna leave me behind in there, are you?”
Mac looks back at the building he calls home, then he looks at me. “I got you something.”
“Besides this expensive getup and years of stress?”
“Besides my cock in your mouth.”
I frown. He smirks, reaching into his pocket. My eyes widen at the black velvet box he pulls out.
This is not a date. This is not a date. This is not a date.
“A reminder.” He hands me the soft box. “We’re a team tonight. Thought you might have doubts.”
“Do you blame me?”
“Just open the fuckin’ box, Everett.”
When I do, a shiny gold necklace sits inside on black silk. Two ends have butterflies on them, one smaller than the other. Mac brings his wrist into view and it’s only then I notice his cufflinks. Gold butterflies.
My cheeks heat. Mac contains so many sides to him but this gesture floors me. “Mac, I?—”
“Whether we like it or not, we’re in this together.” Taking the necklace from its resting place, he moves behind me, removing my locket from my neck.
“Wait,” I reach for it as he drops it into his pocket.
“You’ll get it back.”
“I don’t… I’ve never taken it off.”
“Well, tonight’s different.” The cold of the gold does nothing to quell the heat on my skin. It doesn’t need a clasp, he just pulls the smaller butterfly through the other. “I need you to remember that tonight.” His words land against my ear, and I can feel him against my ass. “Is that clear?”
“Ye-yes,” I say, the softness in my voice surprising me.
He pulls on one butterfly. The end of the necklace gets longer as the necklace tightens on my neck, like a choker. A leash. “Come on then.”
“Mac, are you joking?” I ask as he chuckles. “I’m not your dog.”
“No,” he says, tugging harder on it. As it tightens some more, it reminds me of his hand around my throat and my tummy flips. “Tonight you belong to me.”