Page 145 of Lessons in Cruelty

It’s out before I can stop myself.

I don’t know what to expect, but Bastian smirking at me as he takes a long, slow swallow of his bourbon wasn’t even in the top ten.

“Sex with a fumbling boy who thinks clits are a myth?”

My mouth goes so dry I can’t swallow the last of the candy.

“We’ll talk again after someone’s fucked you so hard and deep you see God.”

My ears buzz. My thighs clench.

I’m seconds away from launching myself at him, and fuck the consequences. But that smirk tells me this is another test, and the part of me that’s survived this far is begging me to calm the fuck down.

I can’t blow up everything for a one-night stand with my professor.

No matter what he says, sex can’t possibly be that good. Even with him. Right?

Don’t say it, Haven. Don’t you dare fucking⁠—

I try a smile like his, but mine comes out lopsided.

“That an offer, Bastian…or a threat?”

Chapter 36

Bastian

Fuck. Why the hell is it so bright in here?

I push away from the white sheets and white pillows, squinting as I stumble into the bathroom.

Jesus, I’m still fucking drunk.

I’m still fucking drunk, and there’s a nineteen-year-old girl in my living room who asked if I was going to fuck her hard enough to see God last night. The same girl whose throat still bears another man’s fingerprints. The same girl I’ve been jerking off to for over two weeks.

The same girl I’m planning to destroy.

A much needed piss later, I splash water on my face and avoid looking at my reflection as I grab the closest towel.

It smells like Haven.

I rip away the soft, downy fabric and stare at the streaks of foundation and mascara on the stained towel. Almost absently, I swipe my hand over the granite’s cool surface.

Traces of cocaine cling to my fingers.

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!

I toss the towel to the floor and rush out of my bathroom, through my bedroom, and nearly skid on the carpet when I burst into the living area and hurriedly stop.

Haven lies sprawled on her stomach on the sofa.

One arm dangles over the side, the back of her hand resting on the floor. Her lips are parted, her eyes closed. Mascara smudged under her eyes.

Her hair is tangled, her dress creased and riding all the way up one thigh.

Only one shoe on one pretty foot.