Chapter 20
twenty
Upon awakening from a restful sleep, I immediately sense where Vanq’s hands have been…and more. An unfamiliar dildo sits next to me, along with my open laptop, another risqué video loaded onto the screen.
A soft gasp escapes as my fingers fly to my throat. After that intoxicating kiss with Elliot…did I invite this by leaving my door open?
Because I crave those bad things he does to me…
What if I needed a sweet release of control and was scared to allow myself to become entangled with someone who would be perfect for me…on paper?
What if I needed to be unmade by someone who knows I’ve worn a mask far longer than he has?
The only man who truly sees me is the one who hides so completely.
I hit play. And instantly, I ache in all the places where he marked me.
His gloved hand grips my waist as he fucks the cum-slick toy into me, slow and brutal, until I’m writhing. I shiver, clutching the sheets. Good thing I’m on birth control. I have been since Reggie.
Heat licks up my throat, my face, down between my thighs. But it’s not the thrusting that ruins me—it’s the final shot.
Vanq, bare mouthed, licking every trace of us off the toy like a lollipop made of sin.
My fingers are already on my clit before I realize it.
I grab the toy.
And press play again.
It feels normal to hold his hand. Disturbingly normal. That instinct to retreat—to curl inward and shield myself—is replaced when he pulls me closer, guiding us toward the ticket booth.
He’s nothing like Hunter, nor the casual dates who draped power like a suffocating cloak. Elliot’s brand of dominance is subtle, protective. Positioning himself closer to the street, nudging me gently around uneven concrete, timing each doorway perfectly.
For a fleeting second, suspicion gnaws at me. Perhaps this charming, nerdy exterior is just a mask, and beneath it, he’s a predator. A cunning fox in glasses, leading me into his den where darker appetites wait.
Then he smiles, and the suspicion evaporates, replaced by warmth pooling in my chest.
He’s disarming—dangerously so.
And charming in a way that whispers secrets I want desperately to unravel.
“Only because I sense you’ve spent your share of time around the country club guys,” he says, lifting two putt-putt clubs from the booth. His open palm directs me smoothly toward the first hole, a bright windmill spinning lazily. “I should warn you.”
I arch an eyebrow, intrigued. “Warn me about what, exactly?”
“I’ve only played golf digitally,” he admits sheepishly. “And badly at that.”
I smirk, positioning myself over the tee with practiced ease, lining up my club carefully. I calculate silently, pull back, and swing with confidence. The ball glides under spinning blades, dropping into the hole.
Turning triumphantly, I tease, “Thought you said you were a rich prick, Elliot.”
Impressed, his eyebrows lift, then twist into mock offense. “Half-truth. Only half.” He positions himself in an awkward stance, eyes squinting adorably as he swings—and misses.
My chest tightens at his exaggerated sigh, the theatrics endearing. Leaning close, he taps my nose conspiratorially. “And for the record, Olivia, it’s not the rich half.”
His second attempt succeeds, and he spins with a bow. “Not yet, anyway.”
I laugh softly, the warmth tempered by a cold, sinking dread. If anyone important sees me—someone powerful, someone who knows my family’s expectations—what would happen? The other day at Westmore was dangerous enough. My father would go nuclear. Elliot could vanish without a trace. And Vanq…
What would the masked man do to this innocent bystander?
Am I selfish, then, to chase this brief illusion of freedom? This fleeting sense of control, safety, and authenticity?
“Well done,” I murmur, moving ahead, burying my unease beneath another sweet smile. The second hole—a cartoonish dog with its tongue out—feels suddenly symbolic. “Sooo,” I probe with a playful toss of my hair, masking curiosity with flirtation, “what’s your grand plan for striking it rich?”
“Find the daughter of Xavier Cardell and charm her into giving me access to the fortune,” he says easily, that damn dimple deepening. His eyes sparkle, but something behind the light glints too hard. Too knowing.
My stomach sinks another inch.
Is he playing around?
Or is he telling me exactly what I need to hear…to look away?
“Joke’s on you,” I shoot back with a casual flick of my wrist. “I don’t think my father—especially not my brothers—would let you get anywhere near me if they knew.”
I strike again, another hole in one, but it feels more like a nervous tic than a victory. He watches me, resting his club over his shoulder and pursing his lips, mock serious.
“Guess I’ll have to get a job, then,” he says. And smiles. Not the dimpled one. The other one. Something I’m not supposed to notice. It flickers for a breath, almost distant. Like he’s already mourning something he hasn’t even lost yet.
It’s as if he knows that, no matter what he does…he’ll never be enough for them.
I hate the reality that settles between us. So I grip his club and show him exactly where to put his hands to ace the hole. If all we have is putt-putt, I’m going to enjoy the fuck out of it before we can’t anymore.
“I give up. I’m at your mercy,” he says, sliding a plate of pizza toward me as we grab a booth in the restaurant section of the place.
“Because you suck so bad?”
“Well…” He tosses his arm behind me, pulling me flush against his side.
Without warning, his lips meet the side of my neck, making me lose a breath, and he sucks the skin, his teeth raking gently across it.
Heated pants tickle my ear as he whispers, “I think I suck so good.” When he sits back with a satisfied smile as I dazedly look at him, he chuckles.
“But, yeah. I’ll have to practice. Get good, then take you on again. I think I can win.”
The way my body is responding to him right now, I’d say he could.
“No one’s ever brought me here before.” I glance around at the sticky tables, the noise, and the chaos. Kids shrieking. A jukebox playing some sugary Top 40. Couples flirting, leaning close, laughing too loudly. It’s not what I’m used to.
And for that, I’m grateful.
“Not a high-class country club kind of date?” His green eyes peer at me seriously for once. “I hope it was still worth it.”
My hand slides down his thigh. “It definitely was.”
He blinks slowly, heat flickering in his stare. “If you keep touching me like that, we’re going to get kicked out.”
I smirk, but it betrays how fast my pulse is racing. “Then you better behave.”
“Yeah, no. I don’t do that.”
“Figures. You look like a detention kind of guy.”
He’s not looking at me when he licks his bottom lip and checks around us at the dining families. “Only if you promise to supervise my punishment.”
“Careful,” I murmur, dragging my nail along his zipper. “I’m starting to think you like being bossed around.”
His chest rises rapidly with a sharp inhale. With his softened breath, he whispers, “Only by girls who taste like cherry lip gloss and sound like sin.”
Fingers slip between my legs and nudge them open a little, and it’s enough to make me bite my cheek. He leans close again.
“You should see the things I want to do to you in this booth. Right now. Loud music, people everywhere, fluorescent lights—doesn’t matter. Your touch is the only thing I can focus on.”
Silence settles between us like a thin wire ready to snap. If he touches me, I’ll flood my panties beneath my skirt. And, as if he read my mind, his hand slips over my thigh, then dances slightly higher, dangerously close to where I want him to go.
“Want to get out of here?” A vision of entering a barren bachelor apartment on the north end of campus enters my mind. What kind of place does Elliot live in?
“Yeah, I do. But…I live with a bunch of dudes.”
Swallowing, I press my lips against his cheek demurely. “How about mine?”
His eyes widen. “Is the president of the sorority allowed to have boys in her room?”
“No.”
His lips curl into a nefarious grin. “Let’s go.”
I’m overcome with the giggles as we venture through the basement halls where I sneaked Elliot in. Omega house is quiet for a Friday night. Most girls are out at parties or on dates. None would say anything if they saw me, but there’s still the fear that they would know…
Elliot doesn’t belong.
Which is why I want to do this.
I’ve never had a one-night stand, a fling, or a situationship. Can’t I? Could I be free enough to do that without worrying where it will lead the next day?
He makes me feel safe enough that I could.
By the time we enter the door of my bedroom, locking it, I press his back to it and try to climb his tall figure. My thigh hitches around his waist, and he catches it, thrusting his firm erection into my core as we meet lips. It’s sloppy, not as romantic as the other night. But it’s fucking hot.
He tastes familiar now. And flashes of being on my knees in the catacombs are the only thing that breaks me away. I shake my head to get rid of Vanq.
Not now. Not like this.
I need Elliot. I need to be someone else. And be with someone else.
We’re huffing air into each other’s mouths when Elliot’s eyes narrow at my face with a fierceness that almost makes me afraid. Lust covers his heavy brow. “Olivia…I want you to use me. Do to me whatever you want. Just…fucking use my body.”
If I wasn’t turned on before, I’m a sopping mess for him now.
“Then get on my bed. Strip. I want to see everything.”
I’ve never done anything like this. Commanded someone else and taken charge. But something deep within me screams to the surface until that’s exactly what I want. I need him beneath me, writhing, begging, crying, whimpering.
All the other times, I felt fat or embarrassed. Tried to hide a roll with a perfect tilt of my side… That’s all gone, and now, all I can think about is getting more of Elliot in me.