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Then there's a thud against the door, a hissed curse, light and breathy and oh so feminine. My smirk morphs into a grin almost instantly as the door flies inwards, bouncing off of the wall, and a tall, long legged creature that smells like buttery pumpkin and sex, all but falls into the room.
“Fucking door,” she grunts in a British accent, toeing it closed behind her with a loosely laced combat boot.
She flicks her hair back over her shoulder, lifting her head as she sweeps her forearm across her heavy bangs, little melting flakes of snow flicking to the floor, that's when she spots me.
“Hello,” I greet, cocking my head as she backs up with a jolt into thefucking door.“You must be Lynx's roommate,” I say politely, laying on my thick southern charm, pushing to stand, movements effortless and predatory in the easy glide of my suited body.
She blinks, chin lifting with every step of my approach until I'm drawing to a standstill a little less than a foot away from her. Lifting my hand in offering, she eyes it warily, hands splayed over the door at her back, blue rings sunken beneath her pretty lilac eyes.
“I'm Bennett,” I say, watching the panic ooze from her pores, it has every instinct inside of me wanting to drag her out into a dark field and force her to run. “Lynx's brother.”
My hand is still held out between us, but she makes zero effort to take it. A flustered blush highlights her sharp cheekbones, and I watch her throat roll in a swallow with apt attention. My extended fingers are almost itching to feel it, clasp her throat in my palm, squeeze the tips of my fingers into the sides of her pretty little neck.
Letting my hand drop between us, I take a step back, sliding my hands into my pockets with an easy smile.
“And your name is…?”
She swallows again, my eyes automatically following the movement, and then she pries her hands off of the door, straightening her spine, standing on her own, unaided by the wood at her back.
“I'm Poppy,” she lifts her hand this time, not in offering to me, but to sweep her hair back over her shoulder.
Dark hair streaked with fine golden strands shifts, revealing the plume of plum-purple hickeys decorating her neck. She must not even notice the way in which her fingers trace teasingly across her collarbone, dipping a little to the skin displayed at the base of her throat, but I do.
Milky pale flesh peeks out from the poorly zipped hoodie, something that I notice quickly because of the hockey team emblem, the jersey number, is Raiden's.
My eyebrows twitch, desperate to lift in surprise, the boy never cares about anyone, let alone lends them clothes. King's a fucking asshole, it's one of the things I like the most about him. But this, her wearing his hoodie, hisnumber, knowingly or unknowingly by her, he's claiming her.
“Poppy what?” I pop every'P'in her name with preppy pronunciation which only heightens the bright colored blush in her cheeks.
“Foster,” she says quietly, eyes wide, their unusual color both light and dark, as though beneath the clear lilac-gray-blue surface, something almost black lurks.
My smile grows, fingers clenching in my pockets at her nerves. It sends signals to all of my own, each signal from my nervous system yellingchase, fuck, kill.The wiring in my brain is wrong, mangled as a young boy. It's why I've managed to get to where I am today. From slinging shitty drugs in back alleys to supplying high quality product to the highest class of clientele all under the guise of a respectable business.
“If you don't mind-” Poppy starts, this quiet, thoroughly accented, overly polite request.
“I do mind, actually, where's my brother?” I ask with a raised eyebrow, cutting her off.
Her mouth gapes, brow digging in an arrow shape formation, a flustered breath skittering through her teeth. So stereotypically British, I almost roll my eyes.
“Not here.”
That's what she says. And it's like a little fire lights behind her eyes. Something I instantly want to coax out. Head cocking, gaze dragging up her body, booted feet, shredded jeans, oversized hoodie. All of thismessleading to such a pretty, innocent looking face.
I want to fucking eat her.
“Clearly, but you were with him, obviously,” I drawl, wanting to see what other sort of reaction I can tempt from her.
“Not this morning.” It's a sharp snap that's still soft and quiet but something conflictingly confusing.
“Really?” I ask then, smirk growing wider.
I step into her, closing all of the politely spaced distance between us. And to her credit, she holds her ground. Only a few inches shorter than me, I let my face dip, head canting to the side to catch her gaze, her eyes dropped. I plant my hand besideher head on the wood of the door, watch as she flinches at the movement, heart thumping in my chest like I've just won a prize.
“You smell like him,” I breathe into her ear, emphasizing my point by dragging in a deep breath of her, catching more than just the scent of my brother. “I know you've fucked him in the last twenty-four hours, Lollipop. So why don't you just tell me where my brother is?” I could text him, call him, likely would find him at home if I had just gone there first, but antagonizing this soft little creature feels much more fun.
She jolts with my words, blinking, and just as I expect her to slink back into the wood of the door, her hands come up in the sliver of space between us, and she pushes at my chest with the heel of her hands,hard.
Letting her move me, I step back at the firm nudging of her fists, watching her step to the side. Arm stretching across the door, her fingers latch onto the handle and she's wrenching it open so wide, she's almost hidden behind it.
