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I bite the corner of my lip. “So…uh, I’ve thought about it and I don’t want Bran hurt by my brother, after all. He doesn’t deserve it.”
And he’s definitely not the one who haunts my nightmares. Last night, I texted him and told him that he doesn’t have to be my fake boyfriend, and he replied that he’s always around if I need him.
Seriously, the world doesn’t deserve such a gentle soul like Brandon. Now, if his cousin were a bit similar, things would be way easier.
But no, I had to be interested in the resident mute of the King family.
“Bran is, like, the most eloquent ever,” Ava argues. “He could totally convince Jeremy.”
“That means he’d be dragged into the Heathens’ games.”
“So? He’s a big boy. He can handle himself.”
“Have you seen the way Nikolai looks at him?”
Ava visibly shudders. “That psycho looks at everyone like they’re on his shit list.”
“Yeah, but it’s different with Bran.”
“Different how?”
“Bad different. Nikolai has a serious thirst for blood and violence, and he might be my brother’s close friend, but I keep as far away from him as possible. I’m simply not putting Bran in his path. I’d never forgive myself if he were to end up being hurt because of me.”
“Aww. You’re like the sweetest.” Ava strokes my arm, then steps back. “I’m telling you this because I really love you, Anni. Creigh is like the hardest nut to crack, after his stone of a brother, but I think you’re getting there.”
“I-I am?”
“Hello? He was super pissed when you didn’t consider him for the fake boyfriend positionandthen picked Brandon.”
“That’s nothing.”
“That’s interest, bitch. And believe me, Creigh never shows that in anything that isn’t food.” She caresses my arm again. “Not sure if gaining his interest is a good or a bad thing. Scratch that, totally bad. He’s a King, after all, and they kind of have a twisted family aura, except for Glyn and Bran.”
The handprints on my ass tingle in pain as if agreeing with Ava’s words.
“Good luck. You’re totally going to need it.” She steps away from me and grins. “Be right back. I’ll go convince Cecily to let us order in tonight.”
As she jogs to our friend’s room, I disappear into mine and close the door behind me. I let my bag fall to the ground and stand facing the full-length mirror with a neon purple frame.
I lift the skirt of my dress and wince when the fabric rubs against my sore bottom. Turning sideways, I inspect the angry red handprints Creighton left on my ass and my upper thighs.
My fingers subconsciously ghost over them and I wince again when my cold skin makes contact. I continue to touch them, gently poke at them, reveling in the small bursts of pain and the memories they trigger.
I can still smell him, that spiciness and clean scent. I can feel his weight, his sheer size, and the absolute dominance he held over me.
My core pulses back to life, recalling the methodical way he brought me pleasure I’ve never experienced before.
Hell, I didn’t know that type of carnal claiming even existed.
I flinch when I touch an especially painful spot. It’ll hurt like a mother to sit or sleep on my backside for days to come.
And yet, for some reason, I’m looking forward to it.
The ache will bring back those fresh memories that somehow refuse to leave my subconscious.
I stare at the tube in my palm, open it, and apply some ointment on my ass. The pain becomes too much sometimes and I get on my tiptoes, inhale deeply, and then continue.
By the time I’m done, I think I’ll either cry or come again.
