“I have to go,” I say, trying to ignore the insanity going on in my body when he touches me, growls against the back of my neck, nips at my skin.
“Who’s texting you?” he asks.
“Preston,” I say, twisting out of his arms.
He looks like I just slapped him. He turns away to pull up his jeans and get himself situated before speaking. “Why is Preston texting you after midnight on a Friday?”
I sigh and slide my phone back in my pocket. “Does it matter?”
“Yes, it fucking matters.” He holds my gaze, waiting. And I see it matters to him, even if it shouldn’t. I want to be glad that I’m hurting him, but I’m not. It just makes me want to cry, and I’ve spent way too fucking much time crying the last few months.
“He got the DNA test back,” I say, pulling my bloody shirt away from my belly. The rain stings the torn skin of my bellybutton. “To see if… What Baron said is true.”
“And if it’s not?”
“I don’t know,” I answer honestly.
“Are you going back to him?” Royal asks. “Is that what you want? That’s what has you running out of here before my dick is even dry?”
“Royal…” I sink down on the bumper, and he climbs down to sit beside me. I watch him from the corner of my eye, this damaged, destructive boy who owns every part of me no matter how hard I fight it.
“You’d choose the Darlings, even if you aren’t one.” This time, he’s not asking. His shoulders slump in defeat.
“I’m not choosing anyone,” I say. “You’re the one making the choice for me.”
“What do you want me to do? Forgive them? Not everyone is like you, Harper.”
“I would never ask you to forgive them,” I say. “But I don’t hate them. Preston’s my friend. Colt’s my friend. You can’t hurt my friends and expect me to be okay with it.”
“I’m coming with you,” he says, standing abruptly.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“I didn’t ask what you think,” he says, holding out a hand. “I don’t trust Preston.”
I can’t help but laugh. “What exactly do you think he’s going to do to me, Royal?”
“You fucked him,” Royal says, glaring down at me.
“Yeah,” I say. “I fucked him.”
He flinches, but he keeps going, and I know it must be killing him because I know how much he hates to think of me with anyone else. But he’s never been afraid of pain. “Without a condom.”
I want to drop my gaze, to avoid seeing the way he’s looking at me, but I don’t. “Yes.”
“You let him cum inside you.”
“Yes.”
His eyes narrow, his nostrils flaring. “Did you like it?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. Sometimes, I guess.”
“More than you like fucking me?”
“It wasn’t the same,” I say, shaking my head. “Can I go?”
“Did you cum?”