Page 190 of Plaything

I’d never seen anything like it in real life, but it wasn’t an easy sight to witness. My heart ached for Dominic, especially seeing his shoulders relax once the headlights were long gone.

Aiden and Wyatt let him go after a few extra seconds as if he’d chase down the car. Dominic didn’t say anything as he stared blankly at where the car was parked. His fists were stained red, dripping blood.

Aiden said something, but Dominic just shook his head before turning and locking eyes with Niko and me. His anger was gone; instead, he seemed disappointed in himself. He turned around and began walking in the opposite direction, heading towards a red barn.

My heart sank. I wanted nothing more than to wrap my arms around his massive frame and take away any pain, anger, or sadness he felt. Niko placed a hand on my thigh when I went to stand, ready to go after him. “Let him cool down a bit, Cariño,” he suggested gently.

If I hadn’t seen the site myself, I would have thought nothing happened. The party was still in full swing, now with small lights illuminating the area from the darkness of the night.

It’d been half an hour since Dominic’s attack on his father, and he still hadn’t made an appearance. Aiden and Wyatt assured us that he was fine. I understood that he wanted to be alone, but I was worried. That was heavy, and I wanted to make sure that he wasn’t beating himself up.

Wyatt continued to have fun and joke around with his family, no longer sobered up from the adrenaline. It was amusing to watch and served as a distraction from my worried thoughts. Aiden asked me several times if I was okay or if Court had said anything I hadn’t mentioned earlier.

With Wyatt playing corn hole, Niko chatting with his parents, and Aiden finally having a beer with Walt, I took the opportunity to slip away. While walking through the empty kitchen, I saw a coffee machine in the corner and smiled.

“Where you running off to, beautiful?” Wyatt flirted as he entered the house, leaving everyone else outside. His drunken clinginess continued as he wrapped his arms around me from behind.

“I was going to bring Dominic a coffee,” I said.

“He’d like that,” he hummed in approval, gently trailing his lips down the back of my neck.

Shivers ran down my spine at his attempts at seducing me, and I giggled. “Wyatt,” I warned. “If your family sees, I’ll—”

He pulled away and moved in front of me with raised brows. “I’m not vile enough to try anything in my parents’ house with a village outside, Baby,” he defended. “I was asked to grab something from my childhood room—would you be kind enough to delay the coffee and help me out?” He plastered a dazzling grin across his mouth. It was impossible to say no.

Wanting to see Wyatt’s childhood bedroom, I eagerly nodded. I had a hunch that it was full of books. “Lead the way, Cowboy,” I rocked on my heels.

With my hand in his, he casually walked down the long hall to the closed door at the end. On the door, there was a single Shakespeare sticker lifted around every edge. “I’m not surprised,” I mused while running my finger over one of the dry corners.

He chuckled once, “Yeah, I got in lots of trouble for putting a sticker on my door,” he recalled while opening the door.

We stepped in. The blinds were closed, but the room was gently lit by the lights outside glowing through them. Wyatt made no move to turn on the light, as it was plenty lit enough to see.

The room was small. A twin bed tucked into a corner, freshly made with blue sheets. The walls were the same beige as the rest of the house. My hunch was correct; what seemed like hundreds of books were stacked on shelves, against the wall, behind the bed, and in the open closet. An old wooden desk was pushed against a wall, and even that had a stack of books. A full-length body mirror with a flannel that wouldn’t fit Wyatt anymore was propped in a corner. The room was frozen in time from Wyatt’s teenage years.

Wyatt closed the door behind us, where I broke out in laughter, seeing dozens of stickers on the back of the door. They ranged from tractors, poets, famous quotes, football, and dirt bikes. “And how much trouble did you get in for that collage?” I teased.

“I don’t think they’ve seen it yet. No one ever comes in here anymore,” he grinned mischievously.

“Strangely, this is exactly what I expected teenage Wyatt’s room to look like,” I gestured to the stacks of books. I crossed my arms over my chest and glanced around the room. “So, what are we supposed to be looking for?” I asked.

The muffled music playing outside the window was the only sound for a few seconds, raising my suspicions. Turning to look at him, I cocked a brow. “Wyatt?”

An evil, amused smirk plastered across his lips as he stalked further into the room. “Poor girl, did you really think I was above fucking you here?” he mockingly pouted as if pitying my gullibility.

My eyes rounded, and I held up a finger at him in warning to stay back. “I think vile was the word you used, actually,” I shot back in disbelief. “Are you crazy?!”

Dismissing my scolding, he easily held my protective arm, removing my buffer between us. He wrapped his big arm around my back, pulling me against him. “No one will know,” he drunkenly assured.

“There’s not even a lock on the door,” I whispered, eyeing the door that could be opened randomly.

“Does that excite you?” he teased, holding my wrist as he ran my hand down his exposed abs.

Trying to ignore how tempting he was—and had been for the past few hours—I clung to the strand of self-control I had. “No,” I fibbed. I was a sicko; of course, the risk was compelling, but I’d throw myself off a cliff if anyone caught us.

Moving my hand to the massive bulge in his jeans, he tucked his head into the nape of my neck and licked from my collarbone to my ear. “Then why is your skin burning? I think you’re a dirty little liar, Odette,” he rasped against me.

Wetness slicked between my thighs as my knees trembled. I blamed the alcohol that I’d drunk, but really, I knew I was just a slut for them.

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