Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Monroe

There are few things I hate more than aborted orgasms. I might admire Broderick’s restraint and cruelty the smallest amount, but that doesn’t make me less likely to crawl the walls as I stalk around the house. Shiloh hasn’t found me yet, and I refuse to worry about her. She’s fine. More than fine. It’s about damn time her and Broderick stopped being so nice to each other. He might lie to everyone else, but I know the truth; he’s not a nice man. Not even a little bit.

And Shiloh?

No matter what I thought when I first saw her, she’s not nice either. She’s strong, and irritatingly good at her job, and sexy as fuck. She’s also a selfish ass for coming all over my thigh and then walking away as if she has no intention of doing it again.

We’ll see about that.

“Monroe.”

I paste a cheery smile on my face as I spin on my heel. Harlow Byrne strides down the hall in my direction. She’s attractive in an understated kind of way. Strong body with curves that might be tempting if they were attached to anyone else. Hair that’s been dyed a subtler red than is found in the Mystic faction. I’ve seen her fight a few times before she and Eli Walsh started dating; she’s a hell of a bitch in the arena. I can take her, but it wouldn’t be an easy victory.

She’s effectively queen of the Raider faction now. Abel took her as his Bride, but unlike the rest of us, he’s made it pretty damn clear that she’s at his side as an equal. The little prick I feel when I look at her is irritation, of course. It certainly isn’t jealousy. I don’t need to be seen as on the same level as Broderick, not when I’m leagues above him. “Harlow. What a lovely surprise.”

“Liar,” she says it easily, not bothered in the least. I hate to say it, but she’s damn good at her job, and she manages all the Brides expertly. She’s the reason I’m able to go home during the day to work—and avoid any ambitious Amazons getting funny ideas about who’s really heir. She’s also the reason I’ve been on what passes for my best behavior.

With everyone but Broderick, of course.

Harlow falls into step beside me. “What happened today?”

“I’m not sure what you’re speaking of.”

She shoots me a look. “Does anyone every actually believe that innocent tone coming from you?”

“There’s always a first time.” From the stubborn set of her shoulders, she’s not going to let this go. I bite back a sigh. “It’s personal.”

“Between you and Broderick.”

“Between me and Shiloh.”

She raises her brows but finally nods. “Shiloh’s greatly beloved by Abel’s people. Watch your step. If you toy with her and make her cry, you’re going to have every single one of the Paines and all their followers howling for your blood.”

“I’ll take that into consideration.” The funny thing? I don’t plan on making Shiloh cry. Making her orgasm until she passes out? Definitely. But the only person I want to sink a dagger into and twist is Broderick. Even the other Paine brothers pale in comparison for the fury I feel for him. Sure, Abel beating one of our champions is the reason I’m a Bride, but that was a fair fight. I might not like the outcome, but I can respect it.

Broderick? I want him on his knees, crawling and broken. I want it with a strength that surpasses reason. It’s not because he’s rejected me. It’s because he’s a fucking liar and hypocrite. I can’t stand either. Really, I’m determined to make him suffer on principle. I’m practically obligated to do it.

She looks like she wants to say something else but finally shrugs. “I’ll be checking in with the Brides again in a few days. Let me know if you need anything in the meantime.”

“I’m good.” I’ve made a few requests to Harlow for various things, and she’s filled every single one without question or complaint. It would almost be enough to make me like her if we weren’t from rival factions that have hated each other since the dawn of Sabine Valley. She’d make one hell of an Amazon.

“See you in a couple days.”

“Harlow.” I speak without thinking. “I’d like to see my sister and uncle. Without the other Brides.”

Her expression goes careful. “You’ll be required to have at least one of our people present.”

“Your people.” I can’t help needling her, just a little. “How quickly you cleave to the Paine way of life. Abel must be one hell of a fuck.”

“No comment.” She doesn’t blink. “Agree, or it’s off.”

“Agreed.” It’s not as if the Paine brothers and their people aren’t already watching my every step.

“Good.” Harlow nods. “It’s getting late, so it won’t be tonight, but I’ll see what I can do about tomorrow. I’ll send for you when it’s arranged.”

No doubt the meeting will include the fancy tea setup she favors. For someone so badass, Harlow sure loves that tea cart and forcing us all to drink that shit. It’s actually pretty good, but I’ll never admit it. “Works for me.”

We parts ways when the hall branches, her heading downstairs and me heading to the room that’s become mine. I was never meant for captivity. If it weren’t for the daily trips to the Amazon faction and tower, I’d be going out of my mind by now.

I half expect Shiloh to be in the room when I get there, but it’s empty. I frown. She better be okay. Abel seems to have a choke hold on the Raider faction, but that doesn’t mean that there aren’t still loyalists meandering around with itchy trigger fingers, just waiting for one of his people to pass by. No matter how capable she is, she’s not bulletproof.

If Broderick weren’t such an ass, he wouldn’t have let her walk out alone. He doesn’t see clearly where she’s concerned. Obviously he has a thing for her, but instead of admitting it, he veers too far in the other direction, holding her at a distance even though they’re supposedly such good friends. I don’t know how other people treat their friends, but I don’t avoid mine like they have the plague.

Though most of my friends are actually family.

Fuck.

I’m spiraling. This is ridiculous. I march into the closet and pull off my work clothing, switching to a pair of leggings and an oversized white shirt that looks like something that should be on a romance novel cover, complete with deep V down the chest. It’s ridiculously dramatic, and normally wearing it cheers me up immediately.

Nothing happens this time.

“I shouldn’t have let her walk out of that bar, either,” I mutter. It doesn’t matter that the power imbalance seems permanently off when it comes to me and Broderick. I could have kneecapped him and marched out of there on Shiloh’s heels. It’s not like it would have been hard.

The door to my bedroom opens, and the woman herself walks in. I don’t breathe a sigh of relief. I truly don’t. It’s just a tiny soundless exhale as I survey her, and I’m certainly not looking to make sure she’s okay and unharmed.

She shoots me a long look. “What’s got that expression on your face?”

I shrug. “It’s my face. I’m a person who has expressions.”

“Whatever.” She strides past me, pulling her shirt off in the process.

“What are you doing?” The question comes out too high, too fast, but what the fuck?

She doesn’t look at me, doesn’t stop. “I moved my stuff in here earlier. I’ve been sleeping in this room anyways, so there’s no point in taking up space in the barracks.”

“Um.”

She stops in the doorway to the bathroom, wearing only a black bra and jeans. It’s not even a fancy bra—no lace, and it’s a perfectly serviceable style—but my mouth goes dry at the sight. “Do you have a problem with that?”

“No.” The word is out before I can think of a reason I should have a problem with it. Surely there’s something? Yes, she’s with me pretty much twenty-four-seven, but maintaining some level of space is important… Isn’t it?

I haven’t been this thrown off by a pair of tits since I was fifteen and Casey LaRue showed up at school in a V-neck with a pushup bra on. I was so busy staring, I ran into an open locker like a complete fool. I was dating her less than a week later, but that doesn’t change the fact that it’s one of the few times in my life when I forgot myself so completely, I acted totally out of character.

Shiloh is about to make me add to the list. Especially when she turns around and her hands go to the front of her jeans. “I need a shower.” She glances at me over her shoulder. “That wasn’t an invitation, by the way.”

“Oh.” Surely I can do better than this? I’m still trying to come up with a word that isn’t two letters when she kicks the door shut, closing us off from each other. The click of a lock makes it clear that she meant it.

The water turns on.

Right now, she’ll be sliding off those jeans. Probably unhooking her bra and shimmying out of her panties.

I press my lips together, but all the thwarted desire comes back tenfold knowing that she’s naked in the next room. Before I can talk myself out of it—and really, why would I bother?—I slide off my leggings and drop onto the bed. I waste no time dipping my hand between my thighs and stroking my clit. Fuck, I’m halfway there and all I did was look at her.

I should take my time, but I’ve never been all that good at doing things I should do. I trace my opening and then spread my wetness up to my clit. Light circles, designed to tease me right to the edge. A tiny moan slips free. Will Shiloh masturbate in my shower? I really, really hope she does. That detachable showerhead is a piece of art and should be appreciated fully.

Maybe I’ll show her sometime…

The image roots itself in my mind. Both of us naked in the shower. Pressing against the back of her lean body as I maneuver the showerhead to her pussy, to her clit. I already know what she sounds like when she comes. I’m going to hear that cute little whimper in my dreams tonight.

I can’t wait to coax another out of her.

I come hard, not bothering to muffle my moans. I’m in my room, after all. It’s her damn fault for teasing me.

I’ve barely brought myself down when the bathroom door opens and Shiloh appears, wrapped in a towel. She stops short, her gaze going from me on the bed to my hand buried between my thighs. “Monroe,” she says slowly. “Were you just masturbating to the image of me in the shower?”

“To clarify, I was masturbating to the image of both of us in the shower.” I give my clit one last circle, shiver, and withdraw my hand from my panties.

“I see.” She moves slowly, crossing to stand next to the bed.

Before I can decide how I want to play this, Shiloh grabs my wrist and lifts my hand up until it’s even with her face. The same hand with fingers still wet from my orgasm. She leans down and draws my pointer finger into her mouth. Her tongue, the slight sucking motion…

I shift on the bed. “Tease.” My voice is too breathy, too affected.

Shiloh ignores me and gives my next finger the same treatment. Tasting me. Cleaning every bit of evidence from my skin. It doesn’t take a large jump to picture her tasting me from the source. I shift again.

She flicks her tongue against my fingertips and releases me. “I’m very angry at you.”

“You came in that bathroom. I didn’t. If anyone should be angry, it’s me.”

Shiloh raises a dark brow. “I wasn’t aware orgasms were transactional with you.”

She has me there. I sigh. “Okay, fine. They’re not. I enjoyed making you come for the sake of making you come.” I’d like to do it again. And again. And again.

“Thought so.” She absently trails a finger over her collarbone. “You’re seducing me to hurt Broderick.”

There’s no reason to lie. She’s a smart girl, and she’ll see right through it. “That’s part of it, yes, but I’d seduce you even if he weren’t involved.” I wouldn’t say I have a particular taste in partners. I don’t think attraction can be boiled down to something as mundane as liking a certain hair color or body type or gender. There’s too much nuance for that. Yeah, I liked the look of her face when we first met, but what really draws me to Shiloh is her steadiness and the way she cuts through whatever bullshit I throw at her without so much as raising her eyebrows. She feels unshakable…or she did until she was coming.

“How am I supposed to believe that?”

“That’s not the right question to be asking.”

“Oh yeah?” Shiloh smiles a little. “And what question should I be asking?”

It strikes me that I’ve never seen her with her hair down. It’s longer than I thought, well past her shoulders. I glance at her legs, note the intense scars there, and look back at her face before she can get self-conscious. They’re obviously the reason she only wears jeans. They don’t look like knife wounds or anything like that. Best guess, they’re burns, but they’re too regular to be from something like a fire.

Understanding dawns.

Someone burned her legs. On purpose.

Rage surges in me, so strong that it takes my breath away. I forget my intention to ignore her scars. “Who did that?”

She doesn’t ask me what I mean. She just shakes her head and moves toward the closet. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does to me.”

Shiloh pauses, looking at me like she’s never seen me before. There’s something on her face, something shocked and a little angry. “Why are you upset? It was a long time ago.”

A long time ago can mean anything, but I heard Harlow say that Shiloh has been with the Paine brothers since their first year of exile. She can’t be more than thirty, if that, and if she’s been with the Paines that long, this must have happened when she was a teenager. Maybe younger. “How long ago?”

She sighs. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

Since she obviously doesn’t want to talk about it, I should let it go. One does not successfully seduce another person by dredging out their past trauma. That kind of depth isn’t required for sex, and judging by the sheer number of scars, neither of us will be in the mood if I know the full story. With that in mind, moving on is the only thing that makes sense for my goals.

Instead, I open my mouth and tell the truth. “No, love, I’m not going to let this go.”