picked Wren. Most people would. Not me, though. Every Saturday for the past year, I’ve crept out of bed and tiptoed down to the orchestra room in the small hours of the morning to listen to the Sun God play. No one talks about his talent. I don’t think anyone knows he even plays. At first, watching him sit at the piano in the dark, his long fingers flying expertly up and down the keys, was something I did because of the music. The pieces he chose were so somber and sad that they made my soul ache. At some point, that changed; I realized I was sneaking down there because watching him made my soul ache, too.
So, yes. I’d choose the Sun God any day of the week. Not that I could ever have him, of course. Aside from Dashiell being rich, arrogant as hell and at least eighty percent evil…I am not the kind of girl who gets to have things.
See, coffee trips are one thing. But there are rules that can be bent, and rules that can be broken. And then there are the rules that can’t be tampered with under any circumstances. Inflexible rules that have zero give in them whatsoever. I’m used to following those rules to the letter…and I’ve gotten very used to wanting things I cannot have.
1
DASH
“Oh my god, I’m gonna fucking die!”
Wren hands me a red and white checkered tea towel and shoves my hand down on top of my junk, laughing softly down his nose. “Jesus wept, Lovett, don’t be so melodramatic. You’re not gonna die.”
“That is a lot of blood.” From the front of the car, Pax, in his skintight wife-beater and gold aviators, looks like he’s heading to the airport to catch a flight to Mexico. He rubs a hand lazily over his closely shaved head, then reaches up and angles the rearview mirror, presumably so he can get a better look at me sprawled across the backseat of his 1970s Charger with my pants around my ankles and blood splattered all over my thighs. “A lot of blood,” he repeats. “That much blood should not come out of a man’s dick.”
“Stop staring at it and put your foot down,” I snarl. “My grandmother can drive faster than this and she’s dead.”
“Lady Margaret Elspeth Decatur Lovett? Drive? Don’t be stupid,” Wren chuckles from the front passenger seat. “That witch didn’t know how to operate a can opener. She couldn’t drive.”
It’s unsettling that Wren knows so much about my relatives. He’s a researcher. A snooper. His nose is always firmly inserted into business that has absolutely nothing to do with him. He can’t be stopped, dissuaded, cajoled or bribed from participating in this little hobby of his. It’s a part of him, firmly affixed, just like his wavy, dark hair, or his unsettling green eyes. His need to know things often comes in handy and works in our favor. Other times, it’s just fucking annoying.
Pax smirks, fiddling with the radio dial, trawling through static. “What were you even doing to it, anyway? I know you’re into some kinky shit, man, but there are limits. If you have to hurt yourself in order to get off, maybe just…go a little easier next time?”
“I wasn’t trying to get off!” I press the tea towel down, applying pressure against my cock, and a burning, stinging sensation travels all the way up the shaft, down both of my legs, into the soles of my feet, where it does a one-eighty back up my body to my brain, making my eyes water. Holy sweet Mary and fucking Joseph, that hurts. “I was—just trying to—” Oh. Oh, god. This is bad, “—wash myself.”
“Wash yourself? Did you use barbed wire instead of a cloth? ’Cause that shit’s messed up.”
Wren thumps Pax on the upper arm. “Not helping, man. He’s in a lot of pain. His cock might fall off. You’re scaring hi—”
“You’re both fucking scaring me! My cock is not gonna fall off! Oh my god, just drive, for the love of all that’s holy. I’m dizzy as fuck.”
“What did I say. Too much blood.” Pax announces this in a pointed manner, like he’s just won a very important argument. “Looks like your banjo playing days are over, brother. That string has well and truly snapped.”
“Don’t stress, man. They’ll be able to stitch you back together.” Wren imparts this over his shoulder, but he doesn’t say it with much conviction. He’s smirking like the very devil himself.