Malice

“What is it?”

“Who the hell was that last night?” he demands in a deep growl that seems to vibrate through my body. “And why didn’t I see him leave the building?”

That’s news to me. Ghost definitely left my room and didn’t come back, so I don’t know what the hell happened to him once he was gone. I open my mouth to tell Saint just that, but then I pause and study him more closely. He’s livid. Is he jealous? Does the idea of another guy alone with me in my room upset him this much?

An evil little voice in my head tells me to poke at this nerve he’s exposed. To punish him for everything he’s done to me. Drive him crazy with the idea that I slept with someone else and moved on from him.

Racing my tongue over my teeth, I tip my head to one side. “Didn’t you see that guy? What do you think happened?”

His arms tense around me, and a thrill shoots through me as his eyes blaze. “Did you fuck him?”

“That’s not your business. You lost the right to have any say in who I do or don’t fuck.”

I’m pushing him to a dangerous point, I can see it in the tight lines forming around his eyes. He’s incensed, and it’s gratifying to see. I feel savage. My heartbeat speeds out of control and my blood is pumping, and I don’t know what I want more. To fight, or fuck.

Maybe both.

But not with him. Never again.

Yet, even as I tell myself that, I feel that terrible, familiar feeling between my thighs.

“I’m not playing around, Mallory,” he hisses through his teeth. “Answer me. Did. You. Fuck. Him?”

“Screw you,” I mutter instead. Why does he deserve the truth? After all, I have to endure seeing him with his new girlfriend. Why shouldn’t he have to suffer knowing I’m hooking up with other guys? I try to push around him, but his hand is suddenly around my throat, holding me back. I grasp his wrist, but don’t try to push him away. My body reacts to his touch, and I despise how much I love the feel of his fingers holding me in place.

I hate him almost as much as I hate myself. I almost tell him so, but he silences me with a brutal kiss that makes me cry out in surprise. My mind goes blank for a moment, and my body goes soft, remembering the feel of him. His tongue invades my mouth, reclaiming every inch of it as his own. I moan, my brain coming back online, but it’s already too late.

I’m too far gone.

My arms wrap around his neck as his hands descend to my hips. He holds me in place as he grinds against me, and I can feel his hardening erection through the layers of our uniforms. My pussy feels empty and needy as his cock presses into me. It’s been so long. I didn’t realize until just this moment how tightly wound I’ve become.

Don’t do this with him, stupid, my mind screams at me, slowly regaining control of my body.

After everything he’s done, I can’t let him do this to me whenever he feels like it. He’s made if perfectly clear what he thinks of me, and he’s got a girlfriend.

He. Has. A. Girlfriend.

A pretty redhead who, as far as I can see, is somewhat decent and fits into his world much better than I do.

That thought gives me the strength I need to push him back. I break our kiss and hold him at arm’s length, and he lets me. He could easily overpower me, but he doesn’t.

We stare at each other for several long moments, our breaths ragged and our chests heaving, and I don’t know what to say. He’s thrown me through so many loops, I’m actually dizzy.

“Don’t do that,” I finally murmur.

“What?” he rumbles.

I scowl. “You know what.”

He smirks as his hand comes up to snare my chin. “Don’t pretend you didn’t like it. You miss it, don’t you, little masochist?”

I stumble away from him, infuriated. He chuckles as I storm for the door, but I don’t look back. My body is on fire, and I’m having a difficult time catching my breath as I burst from the closet and hurry toward the dining hall as fast as my legs will carry me. I don’t check to see if he’s following me, keeping my eyes peeled for Loni and Henry.

When I spot Loni on the far end of the hall, still in her pajama pants like she normally is on Saturday mornings, I rush over to join her.

“Henry had to go to—” she starts with a sleepy smile, but her expression dips into a frown the moment she fully takes in my expression. “Uh oh. What’s up?”

“N-nothing.” My shoulders hunch into a shrug and I glare down at a new scuff on my te

Slipping into the seat next to her, I finally let my eyes wander back to the entrance to the hall. Saint is strolling through the door and our eyes briefly link. He turns his gaze from me and continues on to his usual table, where his friends are already seated.

Rosalind’s there. She smiles when he approaches and holds out her hand for him. He takes it, sliding into place next to her. They look so cozy together, I want to vomit.

Loni hasn’t missed where my attention is, and she reaches over to give the end of my loose braid a playful tug. “Hey, stop that,” she teases. “You don’t like him, remember? He’s a terrible person.”

I hate that it takes so much effort to coax my stare from them when I turn my focus back to Loni. “Yeah, I know. It’s just…they look so fucking perfect together.”

“Yeah?” she murmurs with a roll of her eyes. “Everyone around here said that shit about her and William-I’m-So-Tortured-Halloway, too, before she ran off to New York.”

Okay. Now she has every ounce of my attention. My brows shoot straight up. “Wait, what?”

Loni scoots closer, her brown eyes glittering as she plunks her elbows on the table. “How did I not tell you this? Your boy Satan dated Sansa Stark over there all through freshman and the first month or so of sophomore year, and then suddenly she was with Liam.”

“No shit?” I breathe.

She moves her head up and down. “Yes. The whole thing was just … weird.” She glances their way, studying them for a few moments, then pops her shoulders into a shrug and reaches for the yogurt parfait on her tray. “Looks like Liam doesn’t give a shit what they do now.”

I peek back toward their table, taking in Liam’s usual indifference and Saint and Rosalind, who seem to be deep in conversation. Good, let them be deep and meaningful and all that shit together. Rosalind can have him.

Good riddance.

That’s what I tell myself, anyway.