Page 124 of Brutal Obsession

I hardly believe myself.

“Threats work best on you, I suppose.” His expression turns contemplative. “Okay, how about this? You come with me, or I’ll spread you out on this table and make you come, and then no one will fucking doubt that you’re mine.”

The blood drains from my face. I can totally see him doing that. I squeeze my thighs together, because…fucking hell. He’s twisting me. A small part of me wants him to do it. I’m turned on by the thought.

And if I didn’t know most of the students—maybe not their names but definitely their faces—I don’t even think I’d give a shit.

What does that say about me?

“Dirty girl. You like that?” His gaze drops to my legs, then back up. “Mmm, you do. Tell you what. We’ll live out that fantasy one day, if you do what I say. Otherwise, it’s happening right now.”

I rise. His hand slips from my face, and he quickly stands, too. He follows me so close, he’s practically my shadow.

If shadows were hulking, hot, dangerous hockey players.

We arrive at his table. The one I’ve been avoiding for the last month, give or take. Steele, Knox, Jacob, Miles, Erik. They’re all chatting, eating, like nothing is wrong. To them, nothing is.

Paris and Madison are here, too. I suppose their dance class has concluded.

Greyson pulls out a chair for me.

I sit, and he sets my plate in front of me. He scoots his chair so close, his thigh presses against mine again. His arm comes around behind me, on the back of my chair.

“Your expression,” he reminds me.

I press my lips together and quickly scan the table. Of the people here, I’m pretty sure Steele, Paris, and Madison don’t give a shit about me. Knox probably hates my guts because of Willow. And the rest are neutral. Still, there are a lot of people here. It’s peak dining time.

Which is why I shouldn’t be surprised when Willow and Amanda come into the dining hall. They’re wearing exercise clothes, same as Paris and Madison.

Paris looks at me, and I smile at her. Maybe it isn’t so much a smile as a shit-eating grin, but Greyson should really take what he can get. I can’t magically rearrange my face any more than he can.

I lean back, bumping his arm, and the heat emanating from him feels… nice. It shouldn’t but does.

Another fucked-up thing between us.

“When did you get here, Violet?” Paris asks.

I tilt my head. “What?”

“When. Did. You. Get. Here?”

Greyson snorts. “She’s more welcome than you.”

You know… when I want him to stick it to her, he doesn’t. He lets her climb all over him and sit close and flirt and fawn. And when I’d rather be anywhere but here, he tells her to shove it.

Lovely.

“Grey,” she tries.

Oh, hell no. “You did not just call him that.”

Her expression darkens. “Why, did you lay claim to that nickname?”

I cross my arms. “As a matter of fact, I did.”

Jesus. Who would’ve thought I’d be arguing about a nickname… this whole night is a mind-fuck. And in the back of my head, I have Senator Devereux’s secretary reminding me of my agreement with them. The fact that my aquatic therapy costs hundreds of dollars that I don’t have to spare, and they’ve been footing the bill.

“You’re nothing special,” Paris snaps at me, flipping her hair over her shoulder.

---