Page 53 of Their Will be Done

I should be shocked. Terrified even. But I’m justfuckingangry.

How dare he?

How fuckingdarehe?

The worst part is, my body hasn’t caught up yet. I’m still aching inside, and the more I move about trying to get my wits about me, the worse it gets. I feel like I’m going to implode.

Fuck.

I glare up at the ceiling, bite down on my lip, squeeze closed my eyes, and shove a hand between my legs.

But I wrench it away before I touch myself, shame worming through every inch of me.

I deserve this frustration for being such an idiot. Priests remain celibate all the time. Nothing to it.

I dry off and dress, and as I’m about to leave the bathroom, I hear Reuben’s apartment door opening.

Thank God. At least I don’t have to face him. My hand is on the door handle when I hear voices.

“What are you doing here?” Reuben asks.

I freeze, straining to hear through the door.

“Lady Malone needed a shower. I’m her escort.”

“Your hair is wet.”

“And?”

“Why is your hair wet?”

“I had a shower too.”

My chest clenches so tight, I can barely breathe.

“Alone?”

“That would be wasting water,” Cass says through a laugh. “It was her idea.”

I bolt out of the bathroom. “He’s lying!”

Reuben turns his frown onto me. He’s wearing jeans and a tight-fitting sweater. Standing next to each other like that, it’s ridiculous to think I’d confused Cass for Reuben. They’re close in height, but Reuben’s almost twice his size.

Oh, you knew, you blasphemous little slut.

The immoral, sinful, hedonistic part of me I always suppress figured it out right away, but the bitch kept silent until it was too late. Until I was so caught up in—

“So you didn’t shower together?” Reuben asks, glancing back at Cass.

“No. I mean, we did, but—”

Reuben drops his gaze. “You should leave. I’m busy with an assignment.”

“It wasn’t my idea. He tricked me!”

But he walks into his room without a backward glance. Somehow, it’s worse that he closes the door quietly and doesn’t slam it. Disappointment always hurts so much more than anger.

“Shall we go?” he asks, quirking an eyebrow at me. He’s wearing a smug smile, arms crossed over his chest as he leans back on one foot. The epitome of someone having a rip-roaring good time.

---