Page 57 of Wreck Me

“Why are you being nice?” she asked.

“Is there a reason why I shouldn’t be?”

She stared at me for a moment, then shoved a hand through her hair. “I need to… I need my phone… my parents must be—”

“They’re not concerned. I made sure of it.”

“You… what? How?”

“I sent a text as you telling them you were involved in an overnight group study, trying to socialize and become more of a part of Luxe.”

“You broke into my phone?”

“Would you rather we would have dropped you home covered in blood and reeking of a dirty fucking?”

“That’s not—”

“Perhaps even told them that you tore into a huge motherfucker in an underground fighting ring, got stabbed, but then beat him to within an inch of his life, then went feral all over my boy’s cock in a dirty bathroom and got off on him claiming you as his filthy little whore?”

Her eyes narrowed and I could see her intent to react, to rip into me.

But then she sucked in a harsh breath and looked away.

Hmm. She was containing herself.

Back to the denial, it looked like.

We couldn’t have that.

“He didn’t claim me,” she said, running her hand over the silk sheets like they were the most interesting things in the world.

“His marks would seem to indicate otherwise.”

“It was the heat of the moment.”

“That’s not Bastian’s style.” None of it was. “Not to mention, he’s sporting many of your marks today too.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Why are you pushing this?”

“I’m just trying to determine where you stand.”

“Nowhere. I don’t stand anywhere.”

“You trusted him last night.”

“What?”

“It takes trust to allow somebody to take you while you’re in that state.”

“What do you know about it?”

“I’ve been in it myself. Many a time actually. There’s a lot of power that comes with it—the most intoxicating thing about it. But it also comes with a certain vulnerability because you lose a part of your control, your access to your rational mind, during it. If there wasn’t trust there between you and Bastian, you would’ve put him down just like you did with Vicars. You made a decision with the raw and honest part of you to let him in.”

“I hardly know him.”

“The research you’ve been conducting on us would beg to differ.” At her incredulous look that I knew about that—all about it, actually—I went on, “Besides, sometimes there’s an innate connection between people that overrides all else. Primal and undeniable, really.”

“You’re way off the mark,” she said, noticeably unable to look me in the eye as the words tumbled from her lips unsteadily.

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