“Wait? Dru and Silas?” My mouth drops open. Dru is sleeping with her boss?
“Yup.”
Despite my shock, I can see it. Dru is a badass nurse working for Silas’s grandmother. I’ve known Silas Kenzington for years. Now that I think about it, I can see how he would fall for Dru. She’s sweet and funny, but doesn’t take shit. The way she keeps swimming away from him, though, he must have done some terrible shit. She’s definitely hurting. And he looks pissed because she’s not giving him the time of day. When she sits on the edge of the pool a few feet away, Silas tells her he wants to talk to her. Her response is clear. “Send me a text.”
Ouch. I turn away from eavesdropping on their exchange to find that my sexy tattooed man is still watching me. I swallow, looking away. I pick up my drink and take a sip, suddenly parched. For some reason, a picture of Reed comes to mind, and I feel a moment of guilt. I shouldn’t be looking at him because technically I’m in a relationship. My inner slut shouts in laughter. A relationship? Get real. A relationship with a man whom you haven’t slept with in almost a year? The same man who you think is sleeping with other women? The man who gave me an STD? I know I need to leave, but with medical school giving me hives and the pressure from my father, I just can’t deal with another upheaval like ending things permanently with Reed and having to move out of the apartment we share.
Reed Spencer is an associate professor whom I met when I started taking free art history classes offered at City College. No one knew about it, not even Jace. Did I have time to take extra courses that weren’t about anatomy or physiology? No, I didn’t, but I needed a creative outlet, and those once-a-week night classes kept me sane. I kept taking classes, and one day Reed asked me out. I was hesitant. In my experience, men weren’t great. Most of them wanted to date me because it was financially beneficial. Marriages between men and women in our set were common. I was expected to marry well. So dating was tricky. Most of the boys I knew through my father’s friendswere entitled assholes. When I went to college, it was more of the same, but I pretended to date two college guys and have sex with them because I wanted to fit in. They made the experiences boring and over too quickly.
So when I met Reed, it felt good. He was so different from any of those All-American preppy college boys I grew up around. It felt rebellious. He was cool, artsy. He loved discussing art history and visiting museums. He listened to jazz music and had a ’60s retro style. He was the antithesis of everything I knew. After a month of dating, we moved in together, signing both our names on a lease for a swanky apartment in the West Village. Reflecting on it now, I have no idea why I did it, but it felt liberating at the time. I wasn’t living somewhere that my father paid for. It was a regular apartment with no doorman, slightly warped floors, and neighbors who played loud Spanish music on the weekends.
It was great for a few months. I was living a colorful life. Going to med school during the week, but hitting up bars and events with Reed, feeling like I was finally moving away from how I was raised. Cold. Sterile. Unfeeling. But living didn’t help our relationship, which had grown stale. I discovered that while Reed had an artsy vibe, he was also a major flirt, and after six months of living with him, I knew something was going on, but I didn’t have concrete evidence. And when he found inconsistencies, Reed explained them away.
The earrings under the radiator? They must have been there before we moved in.
The tube of vanilla lip gloss is in his car. He’d let a friend from work borrow his car.
The thong that wasn’t mine was in our laundry. It must have belonged to a stranger who used the dryer last at the laundromat.
Gripping the edge of the pool, I sigh at my own stupidity. For months, I put my head in the sand, convincing myself that it was in my head, until my visit to the clinic made it clear that I couldn’t pretend any more. I couldn’t ignore the burning, discolored discharge in my panties.
The confirmation from my gynecology appointment that I had chlamydia was all I needed to stop having sex with Reed. He was the only guy I was sleeping with since I met him, but the look on my doctor’s face let me know I wasn’t the only onehewas sleeping with. Confronting him was a nightmare. He denied it and then threw it at me, saying that I must be the one cheating. Fed up and at a loss, I moved into the second bedroom, not wanting to deal with him anymore. After a few days of silence, he apologized, swearing that he wasn’t cheating and that the results must be wrong. I didn’t believe him, but I was too exhausted to think more about it. That was four months ago, and I still haven’t moved out.
So, for me to be salivating after a stranger I don’t know is sheer lunacy. I’ve sworn off men. I don’t need another thorn in my side. I just need more time to figure out my shit. Find a new place to live. Figure out if I want to be the surgeon my father demands of me.
For so long, I’ve followed the rules and stayed on the path that was laid out for me as the only daughter of billionaire businessman Tae Park. The Park Heiress. I’ve heard it all my life, and I’ve hated it just as long. It’s one of the reasons that I prefer to use my mother’s maiden name, Whitter. To most of the world, Camryn Park is a mystery. A woman who is rarely seen, except at a few social events. I don’t participate in the scene. The paparazzi mostly leave me alone. I’m not fun anymore. I wear clothing that is simple and not a name brand. I don’t drive a luxury car. I don’t attend lavish parties. I’m ‘boring’ according tothe blogs and influencers. I’ll take it if it means that I’m left alone to live my life in peace.
I lift my head to find him still watching, studying me. This time, I don’t look away because I’m not going to pursue anything with him. Looking is harmless. He knows my brother, that’s it, and after today, I probably won’t see him again. I covertly study him, paying attention to pulling out a brown cigarette. Never seen that before.
When Jace calls his name, he breaks our stare and walks to my brother. Damn, the back is just as sexy as the front. His firm ass looks fantastic in his jeans. And his back? It’s insane how wide it is. A moment later, he turns around, and I suck in a lungful of air because he and my brother are heading for me. I sit up taller, watching him stalk toward me, his powerful stride making my body scream. I cross my legs, hoping I don’t stutter like a fool.
Chapter 4
Damn, she’s young.
Too young, Stone.
The moment I walked into Jace’s backyard, a force made me look up. It was a fucking hit to the gut seeing her across the pool sitting calm and poised, like a fucking queen, dressed in that small ass bikini, dark shades, and smooth tanned skin.
I clock the five women and four men around the pool. A tall African American man who could rival Onyx in height. Two equally tall Caucasian men lounge in the pool. From the looks of it, they are like Jace, businessmen, but with an edge.
Dismissing them for now, I look around the property. Jace Park’s backyard is vast. Really fucking big, and my eyes scan the dark, shrouded forest beyond the manicured lawn. I want to explore the wooded recesses on the edge of the pristine grounds. Exploring forests has always brought me a sense of ease. The solitary peace. I wonder how many acres he owns. Probably more than I can calculate. The man is a billionaire with deep connections to everything and everyone, including my motorcycle club, the Legion Lords.
I can feel their stares. It doesn’t surprise me. I know how I look. My body is 90% covered in tattoos. Piercings are in my lips, eyebrow, and cock. I’m not dressed for a pool party, but when Jace invited me, I had no intention of going. Socializing isn’t my thing, but I wanted to stop by and thank him. I owe him more than I can ever repay.
My scar is also intriguing to most people. Usually, I don’t give a shit what people think when they see my face. I earned the scar that almost took my eye. The man who tried lost both his ears and tongue, along with three of his fingers; so, it was a fair trade, if you ask me.
That she’s intrigued by my scar shouldn’t make me hard, but it does. She’s curious, and I like her curiosity to a point, of course. I don’t want her poking around in the darker side of my life, but her curiosity is useful when a woman wants to fuck.
I take inventory of the other women around her. They’re all varying shades of beautiful tan and brown skin, but my desire remains dormant as I catalog them, taking note of each one. When you’re in my line of work, paying attention to details is crucial.
The one with short-cropped dark hair in a gold bikini looks pissed, staring off at the women in Jace’s grotto. I recognize the disgust on her face. Another woman, one with long braids, is definitely looking in my direction. Her body language radiates confidence. The smirk on her face reminds me of Riggs. I can tell he finds the attention I’m getting funny. Another woman wearing a skimpy bathing suit, funky purple glasses, and a bright smile smiles shyly. She’s nervous. My eyes travel to the curvy one in a yellow bikini. Tattoos dot her body. The workmanship is gorgeous. I would like to see them up close. She’s my usual go-to with her ink, shaved head, and piercings all along her ear. There’s a cloud of fury around her. Her face is tight, and I brieflywonder who put that hurt look on her face. But even my curiosity about her is mild.
Instead, my eyes travel back toher. There is something ethereal, otherworldly, almost, about her. Despite her shades, I can feel her focus. I stare right back, not giving a damn who notices. I want her to feel my presence, my perusal. Her concentrated stare travels along my body, and my dick throbs, wanting release. I haven’t felt this type of arousal in a long ass time. Chasing sex hasn’t been on the menu in almost a year. I’ve been too busy chasing something else entirely.
The white bikini that barely covers her sleek body makes my mouth water. An image of me using that minuscule scrap of fabric to bind her wrists comes to mind. I grit my teeth and let the fantasy continue with me using her bottoms to gag her mouth while I trail my knife between her breasts. The possibility of the sharp point making her arch her back. Just a small cut. Nothing too deep, just a small nick into her sun brown, sweaty skin. The damage to her delicate capillaries just under her skin would release her red and white blood cells, oozing slowly out, flowing along the tip of my knife and down between her breasts.
Widening my stance to give room for my cock to expand at the thought of tasting her blood, lapping it with my tongue, and then moving down past her navel to her pussy, finding her exposed clit and suck the tender bud into my mouth, tasting her arousal combined with the metallic flavor of her blood still on my tongue. I ball my fists at her imagined moans of pleasure, maybe distress when I don’t let up and test her boundaries.
