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So well, I hadn’t been sure about her made-up orgasms until she confirmed that little truth just now. It turned out Maddie Sutcliff was a people pleaser and couldn’t bear the thought of letting her lover down. So she lied instead. That ate me a little more, fueling my cold rage.
I bent at the waist to inhale her air, running my nose along her blue streak while she batted at me.
Whatever shriek lodged in her throat was muted as she swallowed with effort, panic written across her wide eyes and white cheeks. “Get off me!”
I braced both arms over the back of the next chair, bringing my long body face to nose with hers. “I’ll make you beg,” I promised, dropping my gaze to her lips.
Her body stiffened as she glared back. “Never. Going. To. Happen. Asshole,” she added.
She shoved at my chest but unlike the day by the fountain, I was prepared for her kitten brand of vicious.
“Time to get some new moves, Sutcliff.” I stretched again, adding a yawn, and wandered away to collect my things.
When I walked past her on my way out of the library, she was still glaring at me.
Oh, little kitten. I could have made that so much worse.
But what was the fun in breaking her early? That came in the chase, after all. No, I’d play this out long enough to earn every scream from her pretty, oh-so-fuckable mouth. And she would give me plenty.
I blew her a kiss as I passed, trailing my fingers along her desk. “See you soon.”
Chapter Three
Maddie
“It’s not fair.”
“Totally not fair.”
“You’ve gotta do something about him.”
“He’ll get his comeuppance.” Jacks crowed for the second round as I sat in Abernathy House surrounded by my over-supportive housemates.
I wanted to crawl into my room and hide, but that would hurt their feelings more than mine, so I stayed.
“I appreciate you guys. Thanks.” I didn’t believe the words, and from the looks on the three girls’ faces, neither did they. I spent the last two days filling them in on the cold-as-hell ex and his demonic twin brother as well as our bet. Or game. Whatever he called it.
Jacks, Harper, and Dove were my housemates. Dove, our Maltese contingent of one, owned the house. At least her father did. There were some rich pricks on Bramwell campus, but one day she would be the wealthiest of them all, a billionaire in her own right. And that was before she tested her own intellect, which was considerable.
She raised her gray eyes that matched her name to meet mine. “It’s okay. I struggle with being given things, too.”
“Like compliments,” Harper Conway supplied in her Aussie accent, twisting her well-formed words into an obnoxious twang at the end.
“Or birthday presents,” Jaqueline “Jacks” Martine, our French girl, muttered, reaching across the coffee table for the wine bottle.
She drank the last of it to a chorus of groans. I picked it up and added it to the row lined against the end of the coffee table, counting the bottles there with one eye shut. “How many standard drinks was that?”
Somebody on the opposite side of the seashell-encrusted table snickered.
“It’s double if you use both eyes at the same time,” Jacks smirked.
“Nope.” I shook my head. “No chance unless you’re getting me a bowl.”
“Ugh. Americano,” she muttered under her breath.
“I’m English,” I protested.
“Eh. Same thing.”
