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I opened the passenger door of my Audi R8. “You don’t have a choice.” I nodded toward the car. “Get in.”
Her big doe eyes locked on mine. “I can’t leave Lyric.”
“Lyric is fine. Everyone in The Chamber knows you left with me, and Chandler will come back to take her home.”
She stood there staring at me for what felt like an eternity. I saw Chandler push off my hood and walk behind us.
“Later, bro,” he said as he passed. “Good luck with that one.”
I didn’t need luck. I needed her to fucking listen.
“Thanks, man,” I said back without moving my gaze from the girl in front of me. My jaw tightened, and my hand clenched the door frame. I inhaled a breath through my nose and waited. Thank fuck I was a patient man.
Tatum finally heaved a sigh then plopped down in the passenger seat.
I ducked into the passenger side, reaching over her body to buckle her in.
She threw her head back against the headrest and groaned. “I’m not a child.”
I angled my head toward her as the seat belt clicked. She lowered her head, bringing our faces centimeters apart. Her chest heaved with every breath she took, but her eyes never moved from mine.
“No. You’re not.”Not with tits like that.I ducked back out of the car, closed the door, and walked around to the driver’s side.
This was going to be a long fucking drive.
***
“You aren’t taking me home?” Tatum asked as she watched me drive through the heavy iron gates then up the driveway.
“No.” I cut the engine. “You’re wasted, and your dad would shit.”Or ship you off to Saudi Arabia and let some rich prick sober you up.
I led her through the foyer and living room, then up the curved staircase and to my bedroom. The walls in our home were an ivory color and the floors a light swirled marble. Even with high ceilings and soft uplighting, at night, it still felt ominous. Maybe it was the silence. It was always so quiet here.
I’d never “hung out” with Tatum, never held more than a five-minute conversation with her at a time, never tried to be herfriend. Since I was ten years old, I’d watched her from a distance—mostly—spoke when I needed to and made sure she stayed out of the kind of trouble that often seemed to find people in our world. Now, here she was, standing in my room in the middle of the night wearing tight black pants and a silk corset that cut off just above her belly button and pushed her tits up. Her dark brown hair was draped over her shoulders in long waves. Red lipstick was painted over a perfect pair of pouty lips, and thick dark lashes framed brown doe-like eyes.
Fuck.
Everything I did for Tatum was always instinctual, never sexual. Not that I had never thought about what her tight little cunt would feel like. I just knew I’d never act on it. Even if our families didn’t quietly hate each other, she was four years younger than me. I was twenty. She was sixteen. But right now, my cock twitched, growing harder by the second, and I was having a really hard time giving a damn about any of that.
I reached in my dresser drawer and pulled out a T-shirt then tossed it her way. “Put that on and get in bed.”
She caught it with one hand. Maybe she wasn’t as fucked up as I thought. With one shoulder leaning against my dresser, I watched her walk over to the bed. She dropped the T-shirt on top of the plush blue comforter, then reached down to unfasten her heels and slide them off her feet. My blood rushed through my veins with a fierceness I hadn’t known since the day I looked a lion in the eye. Tatum met my stare, then brought her hands to the top of her jeans and unbuttoned the top button. My eyes cut to the other side of the room. I gave a slight nod to where an open door led to my private bathroom. She followed my line of sight, then looked back at me, shaking her head.
Tsk. Tsk. What are you up to, Little Troublemaker?
I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth at the sound of metal against metal when she pulled down her zipper. She shimmied out of her pants then kicked them off to the side with her foot while I stood here motionless. Her bright red panties were a stark contrast to her creamy white skin. She moved her hair off her shoulder then reached around to her back.
That should have been the first red flag, but apparently, I was fucking colorblind.
I lived in a world where power reigned supreme, and my father wore the crown. There were libraries in universities across the globe with our family name on them. I was a firstborn male, fourth-generation Donahue, which meant one day, the legacy would be mine. I was twenty years old with the power of the world at my fingertips, and still, I was powerless to stop myself from standing here watching Tatum Huntington undress.
In one fluid motion she unzipped the corset and tossed it onto the floor next to her pants and shoes. I was breathless, fucking speechless, at the rapid rise and fall of her chest, at the perfect swell of her breast and her bare stomach. My hands itched to roam all over that delicate curve from her hips to her waist and up to her tits. Pale pink nipples begged to be pulled between my teeth.
God.
Damn.
My dick grew hard and heavy, pressing against the confines of my boxer briefs. This was wrong. I didn’t bring her here for this. I was supposed to protect her, not burn with the need to devour her. Apparently, my dick couldn’t give two shits about ethics.
