“That is not what that message was. You’re twisting it up to cause trouble.”
“I’m not trying to cause any trouble. Just pointing out that this guy wants to fuck you, on the off chance Carter didn’t already know.”
“See,” Carter says, nodding smugly and leaning across the table. “Give me that fucking thing. I have some words for Lucis.”
I cradle the phone protectively, then sneak it back into my purse before anyone can humiliate me. “Absolutely not. He’s the TA in my psych class and he doesn’t wanna fuck me.” Before either of them can disagree, I add, “And even if he does, it doesn’t matter. I am happily on the inside of a committed relationship. You can’t honestly think I’m goin’ anywhere.”
“I don’t, but I don’t like him sending you texts like that. It’s disrespectful.” Carter’s hand is still out, waiting for the phone. “Hand it over.”
I shake my head. “No. All he said was that study group was boring without me, it’s nothing scandalous.”
“Oh, yeah? That’s funny; according to you, Max and Cadence are the main sources of study group entertainment. But it’s boring without you there?”
Asshole Face doesn’t help, offering, “Must not be able to stroke his cock to thoughts of either of them.”
Glaring up at him, I ask, “Don’t you have actual work to do?”
“Nah,” he says, grabbing a chair from a nearby table and pulling it up to ours. “I can join you, if you’d like?”
“I wouldn’t like,” I inform him. “I wouldn’t like at all.”
Shaking his head, Carter grabs his champagne glass and takes a drink. “I don’t like Lucis,” he informs me.
“He doesn’t like you either.”
“Well, of course not, I get to fuck you and he only gets to dream about it,” Carter replies. “I wouldn’t expect him to like me.”
Smiling faintly, I shake my head. I know he’s not really as worked up about Lucis as he pretends to be, he just likes the drama. He likes the surge of jealousy, the friction and the play fighting. Then when he gets me home, he’ll throw me down on the bed, devour me, and fuck me with the kind of sensual violence Lucis never would.
One of the many reasons he knows he doesn’t have to worry about Lucis or anybody else.
Still, Carter likes his games, and I don’t mind playing them. I especially won’t mind later, when he’s punishing me with his body and I feel freer and sexier for it.
My blood warms with the mental images of what he’ll do to me in bed later, and suddenly I am ready to forego the cake—and the food—to go home now. Can’t do that, so instead, I reach back into my purse and draw out my phone. Lacking any attempt at stealth, I start typing out a text.
I feel Carter’s eyes on me, then my body responds like it’s been hit by a jolt of electricity when his voice drops low and he asks, “Who are you texting?”
I look up at him innocently. “Who do you think?”
A hint of pleasure glistens in his eyes right before he narrows them at me. “Delete the message and put the phone away.”
“Or what?”
Carter cocks an eyebrow at me, then he reaches into his pocket. The vibrator comes to life inside me and I jump, startled. Taking a shallow breath, I shift, trying to get my bearings, but it’s difficult not to squirm noticeably as the little bullet stimulates the most sensitive part of my body.
I don’t know if there’s no low setting on this thing or he just ramped it up to punish me, but I’m having the hardest time sitting still. Even my breathing is hard to control already, my body wanting to respond naturally to the pleasure triggered by the vibration.
I clench and unclench my hands, struggling to hold in helpless noises that are just begging to escape my throat. His friend is watching me, his blue eyes narrowed with suspicion. I’ll die if he figures out what Carter just did, but I’m not being as subtle as I’d like to be, either.
Casting my boyfriend a pleading gaze across the table, I silently beg him to turn it off.
Carter cocks a dark eyebrow, silently challenging me to obey him or endure the consequences.
I close my eyes, attempting to summon every unsexy thought I can muster, but pleasure moves through me in waves and it’s a physical challenge to hold it in.
This is torture.
Jittery and barely able to keep my shit together, I tap my screen, erase the message I was going to send, and flash Carter the screen as proof.
“There, it’s gone,” I snap, a little breathless.
“Good girl,” he says, more than mildly amused.
Every muscle in my body taut with the effort of holding back an orgasm, I wait for him to reach into his pocket and turn it off, but damn him, he reaches for his champagne and takes a slow sip instead.