Page 71 of So Wild

She bucked against him and warmth flooded Scott’s tongue. He continued working against her, reveling in the taste and sound, in the knowledge that he’d gotten her where she needed to go. Eventually, she stopped bucking and squealing. Wriggling up the pillows, she released her hold on his hair. “You’re such a posh piece of work, Sanderson.”

Scott was gratified to see that her cheeks were flushed and her skin dotted with tiny beads of sweat. “Did you like that?”

“Yes,” she said, though she didn’t sound as happy as he would have liked. “Where did you learn to eat pussy like that?”

“University?”

“You sound unsure.”

“I don’t know, I can barely think. I just did what I always wanted to do to you.”

Sam smiled, but her expression was misty. Scott wished he could focus on it but the room was spinning and twirling inside his head. “I want to have sex with you but I’m a bit drunk.”

“Yeah, I’m getting that. That’s okay, Sanderson.”

“I’m sorry, I feel like such a disappointment. Do you want me to do something else? Do you want me to go down on you again?”

She flashed him a Mona Lisa smile. “No, I don’t have a death wish. Just come up her and lie down.”

She shuffled to the left side of the bed, leaving a space for him. Scott lay beside her, feeling drunk and horny and exhausted. The combined effect made him more than a little soppy. He looked at Sam and was overwhelmed by a warmth in his chest.

“You’re lovely,” he told her. “Wild and lovely and I like you so much. You know that, right?”

“Sure, Galahad, I know that.”

He grinned. “You used to call me that when we were kids.”

She ran a hand through her hair, smoothing it. “I know. Did you like it?”

“Yes.” He yawned. “So…much.”

A heaviness was washing over him, but he shoved it aside. He was drunk and incapable of fucking, but he wasn’t going to sleep. He wasn’t…at all….

***

Scott awoke atfive in the morning to a splitting head and an empty bed. The woman he’d spent the evening with was gone and after assessing the situation—or what he could remember of the situation—he knew he couldn’t blame Samantha. What the hell was wrong with him, getting so shitfaced for no reason? He got up and pissed with his eyes closed, unwilling to face the world or natural light until he alleviated some of his physical agony. He peered through his eyelids as he washed his hands and what he saw had him jumping backward into the towel rack. There were big black marks all over his face.

Panicking thoughts of flesh eating bacteria consumed him as he hit the light. It wasn’t flesh-eating bacteria. It was black marker. One of his cheeks was covered with the word ‘traitor.’ The other wore a cartoonish but unmistakable vagina.

“Samantha,” Scott growled. “What the fuck have you done?”

On instinct he lifted his shirt and sure enough there were more black-ink words. ‘No matter what you and your dad do, I’m never selling.’

Scott swore. The lines between the message—and Sharpie vagina—were easy to follow. His father had done something and implicated him, as well. Samantha had responded not by talking to him, but by pranking him, the way she always had.

Fury rose in his stomach like acid. He ran the tap, needing to wash his face before he got dressed and made his father cop to whatever bullshit he’d dragged him into. Scott lathered his face with the complimentary bar of soap and scrubbed hard. When he washed the bubbles away, he saw none of the ink had budged. Samantha had used a permanent marker. He looked around the room for something to help him and spotted some additional marker on the side mirror. It read buy­scott­sanderson­aroot.com.

Scott Sanderson sucked in a huge breath of air and then bellowed every curse word he knew.

Chapter 14

September 30, 2007

Sam was lyingon her bed sketching. The petals on her clockwork rose tattoo were crooked, but it wasn’t for anyone, it was just to have something to do with her hands. Something that wasn’t studying or thinking about Scott. She looked out of her window to next door, as she’d already done dozens of times, and saw that the Sanderson house was sealed and silent. She’d barely seen Scott since his mother passed away two months ago and he wouldn’t meet her eyes whenever they did. Both Nicole and her dad were still leaving food but after the pie-smashing, Sam couldn’t bring herself to help them. He could have destroyed her offering out of frustration, but it had felt personal and if receiving her food hurt him, she didn’t want to do it again…

And she was failing at not thinking about Scott. She traced the velvety rim of a petal, mentally counting the days until she and Nicole were eighteen. Twenty-three. She couldn’t fucking wait. First they’d get a tattoo, then she’d start her apprenticeship and ink people instead of bananas. She’d make killer money and have clients and a portfolio and a car and—

“Sam!” Nicole burst into her room, slamming the door back with such force the walls rattled. “Sammy, I need your help!”

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