Chapter 3 #2
"You were touching what doesn't belong to you," I said. My voice was calm. terrifyingly calm. I could feel the vein in my temple throbbing. "Touch her again, and you’ll be playing for the club team at a community college in North Dakota. Do you understand?"
Miller swallowed hard. He nodded. "Yes, sir."
"Leave."
He scrambled away, disappearing into the crowd.
I turned back to the table.
Faye was staring down at me. Her chest was heaving. Her eyes were wide, reflecting the strobe lights. She looked shocked, but there was something else there too. A spark. A recognition.
She jumped down from the table. She stumbled on the landing—those damn heels—and I caught her.
My hands clamped onto her waist. Her hands landed on my chest, gripping the fabric of my hoodie.
The contact was electric. It burned through the layers of clothing.
For a second, we just stood there in the middle of the chaos. The bass thumped in time with my heart. I looked down at her, seeing the flush on her cheeks, the sweat beading at her hairline, the slight part of her berry-stained lips.
"You followed me," she whispered. It wasn't an accusation. It sounded almost… relieved.
"I told you," I gritted out, tightening my grip on her waist, pulling her flush against me. "You have a curfew."
"I thought you hated noise."
"I hate anyone else touching my things."
Her eyes flared. "I am not a thing."
"You live in my house. You eat my food. You signed my contract." I leaned down, my mouth hovering inches from her ear. "That makes you my responsibility. And I take my responsibilities very seriously."
She shivered. I felt it ripple through her body.
"Graham," she breathed.
"We’re leaving."
"I haven't even finished my drink."
"You've had enough."
I didn't give her a chance to argue. I shifted my grip, wrapping an arm around her shoulders—heavy, protective, possessive—and steered her toward the back exit.
"Wait!" she protested, trying to dig her heels in. "My friends—"
"Are idiots who let a rookie manhandle you. Move, Faye."
We burst out of the back door into the alleyway. The cold air hit us like a physical blow, instantly vaporizing the sweat and humidity of the party.
Faye gasped, the shock of the cold cutting through her adrenaline. She wrapped her arms around herself.
"God, it’s freezing."
"Maybe wear more than a napkin next time," I snapped.
I grabbed her hand—her fingers were ice cold—and dragged her toward the car. She had to jog to keep up with my stride.
"You made a scene," she accused, breathless. "Everyone saw that."
"Good."
"Good? Miller is going to tell everyone you… you defended me."
"Miller isn't going to say a word if he wants to stay on the first line."
We reached the Rover. I unlocked it and opened the passenger door.
"Get in."
She didn't move. She stood there in the snow, shivering, looking up at me with that defiant chin tilt.
"Why are you so angry?" she asked softly.
"I'm not angry."
"You're vibrating, Graham. You look like you want to hit something."
"I want to hit you," I growled, the truth tearing out of me before I could stop it.
Her eyes widened. The air between us suddenly felt charged, heavy with unspoken things.
"What?" she whispered.
I took a step closer, crowding her against the open car door. I trapped her there, my hands gripping the frame on either side of her head.
"You defy me at every turn," I said, my voice rough. "I give you a home. I give you rules to keep you safe. And you run out here, half-naked, dangling yourself in front of wolves, just to see if I’ll come running."
"Maybe I wanted to know if you cared," she challenged, her voice shaking.
"I care about order," I lied. "And you are chaos."
"Then let me go."
"I can't."
I looked at her mouth. The dark lipstick was smudged slightly at the corner. I wanted to lick it off. I wanted to bite her lip until she cried out. I wanted to drag her into the backseat and ruin us both.
I leaned in. I saw her eyelids flutter shut. She tilted her head back, offering her throat.
God, she was so submissive it hurt. She acted like a brat, but deep down, she wanted this. She wanted me to take control.
I lowered my head. My nose brushed against her jawline. I inhaled deeply—vanilla, vodka, and cold winter air.
"Graham," she whimpered. A plea.
My lips hovered over the pulse point in her neck. It was hammering against her skin.
I wanted to mark her. I wanted to leave a bruise there that would last for days, a visible warning sign to every other man on campus: Mine.
But the contract. The rules.
If I crossed this line now, out here in a dirty alleyway behind a frat house, I was no better than Miller. I was just another guy taking advantage of the girl with no money.
She had to want it when she was sober. She had to want it when she had options.
I pulled back. It took every ounce of discipline I possessed. It was harder than any workout, harder than any game.
Faye opened her eyes, confusion and disappointment clouding her gaze.
"Get in the car, Faye," I said, stepping back and turning away so she wouldn't see the wreck I was.
"Graham—"
"Now."
She scrambled into the seat. I slammed the door shut, harder than necessary.
I walked around to the driver’s side, taking a deep breath of the freezing air, trying to cool the fire in my blood.
It didn't work.
I got in, started the engine, and drove us back up the mountain in silence. But the air in the car was different now. The line had been drawn, and we were both staring at it, waiting for the inevitable moment when one of us would trip and pull the other down into the dark.