Page 766 of Lessons in Cruelty

She moans loudly when I thrust into her, her nails digging into my shoulders. I stay seated balls deep for a long, delicious moment, my face smothered against the side of her neck until all I can smell is her shampoo and skin.

Then I fuck her hard and rough, until we’re both panting like feral animals.

It’s not enough to forget.

The memory of his hands, his mouth, his voice in my ear calling me a good boy…they’re still there.

I can still smell him. Feel him.

I still need him.

But when Haven comes, gasping a mangled version of Rooke’s name, I don’t feel jealous or possessive.

I’m too busy emptying inside her as I relive his cruel smile.

Chapter 30

Bastian

My hands won’t stop shaking.

It’s been happening all day. A fine tremor that starts in my fingers and radiates up my forearms, settling behind my temples where it hums like a faulty wire.

It’s the comedown from weeks of pretending to be something I’m not.

I’ve paced every room in this house at least a dozen times since then. Started grading papers, abandoned them when I read the same sentence four times without comprehension. Opened my laptop to deal with Evelyn’s estate, closed it when a solicitor’s email made me want to put my fist through the screen.

Made coffee, had one sip, tossed it down the drain.

Now it’s nearly six, the light outside bruising to purple, and I’m standing in my bedroom staring at the leather pouch I swore I wouldn’t touch.

“One line,” Bad Wolf coaxes. “Just one line to take the edge off. You’ve earned it.”

I have, haven’t I?

Too many hours without sleep. A pair of ungrateful brats pounding on my door at one in the morning. Me chauffeuring them home in a vehicle that should have been scrapped a decade ago. The boy looking at me like I was something he’d scraped off his shoe, even after I’d done exactly what they’d asked—respected their boundaries, kept my hands and my cock to myself.

And for what?

…manipulative, controlling cunt…

Kai’s words have been playing on a loop since he stormed into my office on Thursday to exorcise his demons.

Every time I close my eyes, I hear them. When I try to focus on something else, they drag me back.

I set the leather pouch on my nightstand.

Pick it up again.

Set it down.

“You’re pathetic,” Bad Wolf sneers. “Look at yourself. Pacing around like a lovesick teenager, refusing the one thing that would actually help, all because you’re trying to impress some children who couldn’t care less whether you live or die.”

Good Wolf remains silent. Has been silent since I got in that Uber.

The leather pouch sits on my nightstand, waiting. One line would clear the fog. Two would make me feel good as new. Three would make me stop caring that I no longer know what ‘good’ is supposed to feel like.

I leave the pouch where it is and walk to the window instead.