Eden

“Fine,” he grumbles. “Kristyn’s boyfriend is one of the wealthiest douchebags at Thornhaven. Liam and I went over there to tell him to keep his bitch in line, and he wasn’t overly appreciative of our warning.”

“So, you got in a fight?”

He squints, his blue eyes twinkling with a wicked mixture of amusement and chaos. “Noses were broken, cars were smashed, there might have even been a few knives drawn. We made our point, though, and those Ravenwood cunts shouldn’t bother you again. Neither should Laurel, for that matter.”

I can’t decide what to feel. I know as a rational, mature individual I should be horrified at his actions. I shouldn’t condone his use of violence and threats to always get what he wants.

Yet, I also can’t forget how I felt when I was being attacked by those bitches—girls who didn’t even personally know me. How helpless and useless they made me feel. I can’t pretend I’m angry at him, not really. I’m savagely satisfied by what he did, though I can’t really tell him that either.

“So, you got in trouble because you beat up a bunch of Thornhaven jerks at their own school?” I murmur, gazing up at him.

He bobs his head, clearly pleased with himself. “And ruined a two-hundred-thousand-dollar car, but who really gives a fuck about damage when they’re 18 and just came into their billion-dollar trust fund seven years early.”

Billion. Dollar. Trust. Fund.

I try to wrap my head around that number, but the only thing I can do is give a slow blink as I clear the sudden tightness from my throat. “Y-you don’t look that worse for wear,” I finally manage to point out.

In fact, it doesn’t appear that he’s got a scratch on him. Liam didn’t either.

His expression is one of smug satisfaction. I can’t help but wonder if it’s because he won the battle or because he’s sitting on top of 12 zeroes. I also can’t resist wondering if his sudden good fortune has something to do with all the shit he pulled for his father.

Which makes everything from my scalp to the tips of my toes tingle with dread.

“Those pricks didn’t stand a chance,” he says. “It helped that we jumped them when I realized they were souring toward our friendly warning. Took them by surprise.”

Sonofabitch, why does that excite me? How fucked up am I that the thought of him attacking other people is a turn-on? No, that’s not completely true.

The thought of him attacking other people for me is a turn-on because up until recently, Saint was setting them against me.

Before my thoughts run away from me, I murmur the question that had sent me all over campus in search of him yesterday, “You’re not setting me up again, are you?”

His posture goes taut and his stance widens. “What? What are you talking about?”

Flicking my tongue over my lips, I continue, “You’re not just doing things for me, making me feel protected, so you can demolish me all over again, are you?”

Now, he crosses his arms over his chest and stares down his nose at me. “Don’t you trust me, Ellis?”

I clench my teeth. I can’t believe he even has the nerve to ask that question. “Not a chance. Case and point, you told Liam that I”—I snap my mouth shut when a group of juniors pass by, waiting until the sounds of their conversation fades away to lean into him and hiss—"killed Jon Eric. Why would you say that?”

He bends his head until his full lips hover above my own, but he doesn’t kiss me. Instead, a slow grin crawls across his face.

“I needed him to believe you did it so he’d stay away from you,” he answers in the same tone he would use to order takeout. “He hasn’t listened to my requests to back off up until now, but if he thought you were a cold-blooded little executioner, his interest might cool a little.”

My lips squash together until pain shoots through my jaw. “That’s something a jealous, psychotic boyfriend might do.”

“Yeah,” he acknowledges, uncrossing his arms to nudge my nose with the tip of his thumb. I swat him away, so he pulls me against him, his strong fingers digging into the tail of my blazer. “Didn’t seem to work, did it? He’d still give his left ball for a sniff of what I enjoy on the regular.”

“Ugh.” I shove my hand against his face to push him away from me. “Good thing he knows better now.”

He’s laughing when he catches my fingers in his and brings my palm to his lips. “He’s an idiot.” His gaze is suggestive, his mouth fire when he trails his tongue from the heel of my palm to my pulse point. When a harsh breath bursts from me, he goes full-on smug, tilting his head as he says, “If he knew better, he’d know that you’re fucking lost for me.”

I don’t acknowledge his words as I snatch my hand back to myself, but he watches closely as I hold it close to my chest. “Are you setting me up to hurt me again, Saint?”

He just flashes his teeth and backs away from me.

I don’t try to chase him again.

That evening, when I get back to my dorm, I search my bathroom high and low for any cameras—a new ritual that I’ve taken to performing every time I leave my room for an extended period of time. I doubt I’ll find any, because even Nora and Ghost couldn’t be so sick as to hide them here, but I’m not simple enough not to check. Once I’m satisfied that the bathroom is clear, I strip off my clothes and step into the shower, turning the water on cold.

I haven’t been able to stop thinking about Saint and what he and Liam did all day. To my horror, however, my reasonable, mature side hasn’t managed to work up any true disgust at their actions. But my lustful, animalistic side has just grown hotter and hotter at the thought of Saint defending me like that. I hate myself for it, but I’ve been focused on that bastard all day.

God, what has he made me into?

The cold water makes me shiver, but it doesn’t dampen the heat burning between my legs. Fuck. I don’t want to give into temptation. I don’t want to sink so low as to get off on someone else’s pain, but my body just won’t listen to me.

When I can’t take it anymore, I switch the water to warm and give up. I’m so weak, but when I cup my breasts and pinch my nipples, imagining that it’s Saint’s large hands instead of mine, I find I don’t actually care. Throwing my head back, I let one hand slide down my torso while the other continues molding and groping my breast. Spreading my legs, I slip my fingers toward my clit, pressing against it with the pad of my finger and begin to rub.

It’s good but not enough.

I’m too used to his fingers and touch. It’s been so long since I’ve masturbated, it feels foreign and awkward.

Still, I keep going, conjuring Saint’s image and loathing myself for it.

If he were here with me, he’d probably shove me up against the shower wall and touch me into oblivion. Or, he’d drag me to the bathroom sink and place me on the counter, dropping to his knees so he could do that thing with his tongue.

A small moan escapes my lips at the thought.

Once he’d make me come, he’d take me by the waist and put me on the floor, turning me around to face the steamy mirror. Pressing his hand in between my shoulder blades, he’d push my chest down against the countertop, then take me from behind in one swift motion. He’d make my teeth rattle.

And I’d scream for him.

I don’t want to draw it out. I want to come and be done with it so I can put Saint and his violence from my mind. When fantasy Saint comes inside me, I lose it. As my own orgasm rips through me, I cry out, my voice reverberating off the shower’s tiled walls. I wait until the aftershocks have passed and then finish washing myself off.