Page 88 of Boy of Ruin
Roman still has his drink in his hand, and he blinks down at me, but there’s a smile pulling at his lips and his eyes are a little glassy.
Perfect. He’s a little drunk.
I shift my hips, my skirt leaving little to the imagination and I can feel him growing hard beneath me as I grind on him.
“S-Sid,” Roman chokes out, “I don’t think you should…” But I lean in close to him, shifting my pelvis over his cock as I do and he groans, his hand coming under my skirt, to my ass.
“Don’t think,” I tell him, “I just need to use you for a sec—”
I hear glass shattering, then feel someone’s fingers around my arm, jerking me off of Roman, out of the booth.
“You want him to fucking die, Sid?” Jeremiah snarls in my ear as Roman slides further into the booth, holding up his hands, drink still in one. I don’t know whose glass Jeremiah threw to the ground, but I hear glass crunching beneath my boots. I spin around to face him, gripping his shirt in my fist.
I can smell Cindy on him, her strong perfume, sweet like candy. “Fuck off,” I tell him. “You started this fucking game—”
He yanks me closer, nearly lifting me off my feet. “You think this is a fucking game to me?”
My eyes widen as I ball both fists in his shirt. “You were going to fuck her right in front of me!” I scream the words, and I know people can hear us, even past the music—Bitter by FLETCHER—but I don’t care.
Knowing what Lucifer did, seeing what Jeremiah did, being caught up in the middle of this war and trying to protect my husband while I fall in love with the man who was supposed to be my brother, it’s making me feel insane.
“You mad?” Jeremiah asks me, his jaw clenched. He takes a breath, glances up at the ceiling. Then turns his gaze back to me, releasing his grip on my shirt. “Fucking do something about it, baby. Take what’s yours.” Then he grabs my arm and drags me to the door of the club without another word, me fighting him the whole way.
“You’re fucking insane.” She snarls those words to me as the door closes behind us and I click the lock into place, darting my eyes around the lit, open plan living room. A habit.
Nicolas and Ria are still at the club, and I told him not to come back tonight.
I want Sid alone.
If Nicolas knew what I did in that private room, he wouldn’t let me be alone with her right now. But I had to get some kind of sign that she actually cares about me.
That she doesn’t just see me as her fucking brother.
“Watch how you talk to me, baby,” I tell her quietly, tossing the keys to the Mercedes in the clay bowl on a decorative table by the door.
She storms through the living room, coming into the kitchen, running her fingers through her fucking hair without looking at me. I watch her ass move in that mini skirt, marvel at how big it’s getting. Her ass, and her tits.
Fuck.
She yanks open the steel fridge, grabs a water bottle and slams the door closed, twisting off the cap and turning to glare at me.
“Fuck you, Jeremiah.” Her voice sounds hoarse. She takes a drink of water, the plastic crinkling beneath her fingers. She screws the cap back on, and as I take a few steps toward her, she suddenly hurls the fucking water bottle at me with a loud scream.
I catch it out of midair with one hand, right before it hits me in the head.
For a moment, silence steels through the airy cabin. The staircase is to my right, and I think about dragging her ass up it, pinning her down in my fucking bed.
But I’m not so sure I can wait that long to get my fucking hands on her.
I squeeze the bottle so hard in my hand I’m worried it’s going to burst, just like my heart is trying to claw its way out of my chest. Seeing her on Roman…I could’ve fucking killed him.
I wonder what it did to her, seeing Cindy dry fucking me.
“You’re just…” She runs her hands through her hair again and pulls. “You’re fucking crazy,” she snarls, dropping her hands, planting them against the island that separates the kitchen from the entranceway and the living room. Her silver eyes are narrow slits as I step closer, see her face flush pink. “You fucking…you fucking take me to Lucifer last night, for what? To show me he’s…” She presses her knuckles to her mouth, closing her eyes a second. “To show me he’s fucking cheating?” she finally asks, her voice quieter as her eyes fly open, lined with tears. She slaps her palm against the island. “Then you do the same fucking shit—”
“Except I wasn’t cheating,” I correct her, closing the distance between us, the water bottle still in my hand as I place the other on top of hers on the island between us.
She snatches her hand away, her lip curling with disgust. It guts me, a knife in my fucking heart. Is she really disgusted by me?
