Page 36 of I Was Always Yours (RCA: Royal Crown Academy)

And fuck if that newfound confidence doesn’t make my cock hard.

Instead of looking away, she’ll stare me down now, her fiery green eyes boring holes into my face. She replies heatedly and my gaze routinely catches on how furiously her mouth moves when she tells me to go to hell.

So here I am, clashing with her again.

No matter what I do or how hard I try, this toxic, festering sore of a connection keeps coming back into my life.

It’s impossible to keep a hold on my disinterest when she’s constantly thrust back in my path.

***

When she shows up at my house for our party, the alcohol and pent-up frustration singing in my veins combine to send me over the edge. I’m slamming back a beer when I see her walk in from over the edge of my glass.

She looks fucking unreal. Her hair is long and loose, just how I like it. A thought flits around my mind like a trapped fly desperately searching for a way out to walk up to her, wrap my fist around her hair and use it to yank her out of the room and away from all the prying eyes.

She’s wearing a dress designed to torture men, with expert cut outs in all the right places. I know every man in this room is conjuring up an image in their minds of what she must look like under the fabric and I’m happier than ever that I’ve enforced a ‘hands off’ policy on her.

Contrary to popular belief with my friends, it’s not because I want her for myself. It’s because I don’t want her to be happy.

If she wanted Astor so badly, she shouldn’t get to be with anyone else.

The only person to ever break the policy was never seen on campus again after I broke his arm, so I’m pretty sure I don’t have to worry about continued adherence to this policy.

When she turns to smile at her friend, her lips are blood red as they stretch around her white teeth. She looks sultry and hot, like a walking wet dream and I don’t fucking want her here.

Why can’t she stay home, in baggy pajamas far away from me and every other man here?

I end up snapping three times in quick succession. First, when I touch her. My hands roam over her body and short circuit my brain until it snaps a second time, when I ignore all the screaming voices in my head and stalk after her towards the edge of the property.

And a third time, when I discover that tattoo on her wrist.

It’s a much needed, albeit painful, reminder that she’s my brother’s and I can’t have her. That I can’t be crouching over her prone body in a dark forest with her hair spread out around her, dreaming of sinking my teeth into her red lips.

That I can’t redden her ass like I want.

She’s never been mine to have or to touch, no matter how many times I try to convince myself that she is.

So, I leave her behind me and stomp back towards the house, fighting every internal demon rearing its ugly head. The urge to fight is almost physical and I avert my gaze as I make my way through the house. In this state, if someone makes eye contact for a second too long, I’m likely to throw a punch.

I’m a first-degree black belt in judo and I dabble in all MMA sports, so I’m lethal with my hands and fists. Whoever takes that punch isn’t likely to be conscious until tomorrow.

Someone calls my name but I ignore them, heading for my suite instead. I pull my phone out and text Sven, a friend and one of my tattoo artists.

Phoenix:I need you upstairs in ten.

When he walks in exactly ten minutes later, he finds me sitting shirtless with my back to the door, facing my bedroom windows. I look over my shoulder at him.

“Do whatever you want,” I say, tipping my chin towards the tattoo gun and kit I keep in the room. “Anywhere you want on my back.”

He tips his chin, quietly acknowledging my demand, and gathers the equipment before pulling up a chair beside me.

“Tough night?”

I grunt angrily. If I wanted to talk to him, I would. I fucking hate when people ask unnecessary questions or try to get in my business. “None of your business.” I bite out before looking back out the window, “Just need the pain.”

And I do. I need it, crave it, especially when I feel myself veering off into the darkness. It helps to ground me, to subdue those dangerous urges I have to hurt and refocus me.

I sit quietly, never twitching or making a noise as he tattoos a panther on the right side of my back.

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