Cross
Poor little mouse dangling at the end of my claws. She’s terrified, because she said the truth. She would do anything to stay. And a good thing too. I want her to remain right here until I’m bored enough to stop watching her.
For that simple reason, I decide to take things easy on her. I could ask for what I truly crave, but she’d run back home with her tail between her leg.
Instead, I tell her, “You’ll get on your knees for me three times. When I ask for it, you drop everything and come running to me like a good girl.”
That should be enough for me to get bored of her.
It’s rather peculiar that I haven’t stopped watching her yet.
But she’s so interesting. Nondescript in class, politely listening, barely weighing in.
She clearly isn’t passionate about marketing.
I’ve watched her long enough to know she’s the life of the party with her friends, drinking, cursing, dancing like a light in the darkness.
And then there’s her cosplays, so well stitched to offset every single one of her curves.
Despite the button down and jeans, the bloody headband and bangs, Lily Trueman’s not boring at all.
But it’s been the better part of four months since our first meeting. I know everything there is to know about the chick. If I’m still watching her, it’s because I need a taste.
She’s too busy staring to reply, so I add, “Of course, I’ll handle your little problem first, so you can be sure I’ll deliver. And I’ll trust you will fulfill your end of the bargain. Enthusiastically.”
And it is a bargain. Three blowjobs for a term in Rothford? The best hookers in the country don’t make that kind of cash. She knows it. But the thing is, Lily Trueman is as far from a hooker as a nun. I can see her warring with the notion, her green eyes full of storms.
She’s not stupid; she knows I could have asked for so much more. “That’s it? You want me to suck you three times, nothing else?”
I chuckle. She knows I gave her an easy way out. “Yep. I like that mouth of yours. You’ll have to paint it red, though,” I demand on the fly, for no other reason than I think it’d suit her.
She’s not given me an answer yet, but we both know what she’ll say.
I once again decide to make it easy on her. She doesn’t have to say yes if it’s killing her. “Shake on it, darling?”
I offer her my hand.
She looks at it like it might transform into a snake and sink its fangs into hers, but at long last, she extends her palm.
I’m having too much fun, so I bring it to my mouth and kiss the knuckles. “Nice doing business with you. It seems I have some work to do.”
I stand, letting go of her hand before she snatches her back.
“Wait—” She bites her lip.
Don’t do that, darling. Let me do it for you.
I arch an eyebrow.
“Why?” she asks me. “You can’t be desperate. I bet there are tons of girls lining up to do—all sorts of things with you.”
You aren’t.
She never tried to integrate herself with us. Maybe that’s part of the appeal: wanting something that’s not easily available. She’s the forbidden fruit.
“Because I can, darling.”
I leave her to her shock, confusion, and disbelief, making my way to the parking lot and hopping into my cliche Porsche convertible.
The car’s fine, but stinks of nouveau riche.
So much so all my friends relentlessly mocked me for it.
I’ll never tell Mom; she blew three months of pay on my eighteenth birthday present three years ago, and that makes it precious to me. Even if it’s red and stupid.
The house I slowly drive up to halfway up the Thorn Falls hill is equally gaudy, from the fake antique facade to the columns, statues, and marble—a copy of the grand Goltz mansion, except they can afford the best of everything, and ours is in every way lesser.
Smaller, less refined, too over-the-top.
It says “Dad made his money in tech thirty years ago and Mom never managed nine figure per annum before,” just like my car and my first name—fucking Hector.
For all that, I adore my home. It’s always filled with warmth and laughter.
I know my teenage sister, Selene, must have invited her friends around for a late autumn party in the enclosed heated pool from the noise, and I’d usually join her first, but I wander to the kitchen instead.
It’s a little early, but my parents usually have lunch at home unless something’s on fire.
Brittany and Vincent Cross are disgustingly in love, and unafraid to show it; I walk up to find them making out against the countertop.
“Woah, take it easy, guys. There are impressionable young people in this house.”
My mother giggles against my dad’s mouth. “Impressionable, you? And you’re twenty-one, darling, not seven.”
I roll my eyes. “I meant your sixteen-year-old daughter and her friends.”
My father’s more reasonable. He lets go of her butt and sits to hide his erection. “What can we do for you, son?”
“Can’t a guy just come home to see his family?” I joke.
We all know I wouldn’t be here in the middle of the day for no reason.
Mom sits on top of his lap and rolls her eyes.
“There’s a girl,” I say, making my way to the fridge since I ended up too busy chatting with said girl to get some food at the cafe earlier.
“I’m interested.”
My mom’s left eye twitches. “What else is new?”
I’m always interested in something, someone. For a time.
“I’ve been interested since September,” I continue, retrieving leftover lasagna from yesterday. “You remember when I missed your speech at the start of the year, right? That’s when I met her.”
Her jaw drops as her gaze seeks my father. They’re used to things catching my attention for days, a couple of weeks at most. Three and a half months? That is new.
My father’s the first to speak. “Well, are you announcing it because congratulations are in order? Are we preparing a wedding? A nursery?”
“Both?” my mother weighs in.
I shake my head. “Neither. It’s only been three months. I’m not that insane.”
Neither of them sees fit to comment.
“But, err, she fucked up her ranking and she’s on a scholarship. She can’t stay if we don’t do something. I want her to stay.” After a second, I add, “Please?”
I don’t often ask anything from my parents.
The last time I said please was when I asked to take that time off to backpack around the world after high school.
They agreed because my shrink came up with the suggestion in the first place.
My ADHD was a bit out of control, and while I’d always been able to coax my hyperfocus in order to score well at school, I was seriously depressed, chronically bored of everything and everyone around me.
I was supposed to defer enrollment in college six months; it ended up being two years, but I’m a lot happier for it. Besides, my psychologist was right: the attention deficit did improve with age.
Most of my old friends are seniors while I’m a freshman, but I can’t say I care.
My parents have another one of those silent conversations I’ve witnessed a million times, and both nod.
“All right, we’ll present the request to the board,” Dad says. “But minor motions of the sort need to be approved by two members—if there’s no vocal disagreement. Get someone else on your side.”
I smiled. “Way ahead of you.”
I stay for a chat, and eat by the pool with Selena, before returning to my classes. At six, I drive right past the Shark House and make my way down the private drive to the second to last house: the wyvern’s.
This early in the evening, there are only two servers awaiting in the entryway, one guy and one chick, naked except for the red harness, nipple clamps, and gag in their mouths. The chick wordlessly lifts a tray, the movement pulling on the chains around her wrist that are attached to her clit.
I shake my head. “No thank you, sweetheart. I’m here to see Goltz, if he’s in?”
She nods and tilts her head toward the stairs, so I climb them two by two until I get to my friend’s floor—the penthouse.
Finding the wooden door closed, I knock and wait politely—because I value my life.
It takes a long time for an answer, but I know the wyvern thrall would never have indicated his room if Markus wasn’t in.
“Come in.”
I open the door and let myself into the foyer of beautiful suite. It used to be dark and moody like the rest of the Wyvern Den, but since moving in, Markus had it completely redone.
The walls are the most perfect shade of off-white.
I’ll never understand what makes one white better than another, but this one is fucking perfect, with gold brushing along the panels.
The furnishings are dark green, just like downstairs, but with the light, the effect’s completely different, complemented by a round marble and gold coffee table. My mother should take notes.
“The plants are new.” I gesture to the huge plotted plants against the wall.
Markus nods from behind the bar, saying, “Dez.”
He leaves the explanation at that, and there’s nothing more to say. If Dez wants plants, he’ll get her plants.
“I like them.”
The youngest of the Goltz brothers walks to me and hand me a beer. “What can I do you for, Cross?”
He was never one for small talk but I like how direct he is. We’ve known each other most of our lives. I’m his brother Marius’s age, but I always gravitated towards Markus, who’s far more direct.
Plus, we both hate the fuck out of his haughty eldest brother Magnus.
“There’s this girl,” I tell him. “She’s pretty—”
“I’ll stop you right there. Not interested. Daisy’s naked in my room and every second you spend here prevents me from licking whipped cream off her cunt.” By his tone, he might as well be telling me about the weather. “Tell me what you want and how I stand to benefit.”
See? Direct. Marius would have made me recite a bloody poem and swear my undying adoration, and Magnus would have demanded I get to my knees and lick his boots—or his cock.
“I need your father to approve the reinstating of a scholarship. Lily Trueman. She scored forty-seventh.”
Markus downs half of his drink in three gulps. “Done.”
“Just like that?”
He shrugs. “In a hurry, and it’s a small favor. One I know you’ll repay.”
He doesn’t need to make it sound like a threat, but one is implied in everything he’s ever said. I nod. The simple truth is, even if I didn’t owe him, I’d never refuse a favor for him. I value my life and limbs.
“Let yourself out when you’re done with your drink. Or don’t.” On that note, he makes his way to his bedroom, on the left.
I’ve only managed a few steps towards his bar when the moaning starts. I know they like an audience, so I could join in if I wanted—if only to watch—but I find myself strangely uninterested in my friends’ sex fest today.
What I want is to hunt down Lily and let her know she owes me. Patience was never my strongest suit, but I should wait until she gets the confirmation.
Then, I can play.