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We stare at each other, Sylvie’s harsh breathing after her outburst the only sound. I don’t know where the hell this is coming from, and she can see the confusion on my face. In my eyes.

“I swore this school year would be better, but it’s still all the same. All the time. She won’t leave me alone. I don’t feel normal. Ever. I don’t even know what that means or what it’s like. But being with you, and hanging out with Summer…you both help me forget who I really am.” Her smile is small. Sad. “A broken little doll with nothing to live for.”

“Aw, Sylvie—”

“Don’t try to deny it. You know it’s true. All my talk of dying sounds so dramatic, but it’s my reality. Mine.” She lifts her chin, the moon casting its gentle, silvery glow on her face and that’s when I see the tears streaking down her cheeks. “She’s killing me. Slowly but surely. I know it’s all her fault. And no one wants to do anything about it. Not my dad. Not anyone.”

I go to her, pulling her into my arms and holding her close, crushing the wings she’s wearing beneath my grip. I don’t even care about the damn wings anymore or the costume or the party.

I just want to take care ofmySylvie.

She’s crying into my black shirt, her sobs quiet, her tears soaking the fabric. I run my hand over her hair, tangling my fingers in the soft strands, gripping it at the base, just as I imagined earlier.

Gently, I tug on her hair, pulling her head back so our mouths are perfectly aligned. “Come on, Syl. You’re breaking my heart.”

“I thought you didn’t have one.” She slides her hands across the front of my chest, her touch softening, her palm resting right in between my pecs. Her cheeks are tear-stained, her eyes rimmed with red, yet she’s still so damn beautiful. “You told me that once. A long time ago.”

When I would encourage her to leave me alone. Messing around with your best friend’s little sister is one way of fucking your life up, especially when your best friend is Whit Lancaster. If he knew all the things I’ve done with Sylvie…

He’d kill me. Murder me with his bare hands.

“It’s been a while since we’ve spent time together, Spencer.” Her fingers curl into the fabric of my shirt, gently tugging. “I’ve missed you.”

“You inviting me into your room for real this time?”

She nods, letting go of my shirt. “Come on.”

I follow her into the building, the door slamming closed behind us, locking into place. It’s quiet in here, and we’re completely isolated. No staff checks on the Lancasters in this building past dark, if ever. Meaning we’re all alone.

Just the two of us.

Once she’s got her suite door unlocked, I’m pushing my way inside, crowding her, forcing her so her back is against the wall, where I pin her with my body, the black wings she’s wearing getting crushed. That familiar urge rises up within me, the same one I only ever feel when I’m with her.

I’m a nice guy. Respectful. My mama taught me to have some manners. My father taught me to always remain quiet versus spilling your guts to every asshole you meet. Both have given me plenty of advice over the years. How to deal with other people. How to deal with girls. Women.

Yet I still don’t understand this need I have for Sylvie every time I get her alone. She makes me feel edgy. Uneasy.

Like all I want to do is pounce. Jump her. Devour her.

Make her all mine.

It’s like she can feel the energy I give off, and while she responds to it, she also pushes me away. Every single time. It’s frustrating as shit, and I know I should be more patient, considering she’s a virgin. But we’ve done so much already.

Why can’t we get past that one last barrier?

“Spence.” Her voice is a breathy whisper, more air than sound, and she tightens her grip on my shirt, yanking me close. I dip my head, my mouth landing on hers, her lips parting beneath mine, our tongues touching. Circling. A low sound comes from deep in my chest and I press my body to hers, wanting her to feel my need.

All of my need is for her. Only her.

She’s taller with the heels on her feet, her tits crushed against my chest. I break away from her greedy lips, trailing my mouth down the length of her slender neck, licking and nibbling her pale skin. She trembles beneath me, a moan falling from her lips when I kiss across her chest. Along the top of her tits.

Lifting my head, I keep my gaze on hers as I tug down on the front of the corset she’s wearing, her tits popping free, her pale pink nipples hard. I lick one, then the other, smiling when a jolt rocks through her, making her grab the back of my head, her fingers curling into my hair.

She holds me to her as I feast on her breasts, licking and sucking a nipple into my mouth, my hands finding her hips, holding her against the wall. She bucks against my grip, struggling as if she wants me to touch her even more, and I run my hands beneath the legs of her shorts, touching her thighs. I pull away slightly, staring at her as I slowly start to realize…

Damn, she’s thin. Skinny legs and thighs, hip bones protruding. Tiny little waist, smallish tits, concave stomach. It’s like the girl never eats. I’ve wondered before if she has an eating disorder…

“Hey.” She settles her palm directly over my dick, quickly snatching my attention. I lift my head, my gaze locking with hers, and she studies me, her brows drawn together. “What are you doing?”


Tags: Monica Murphy Romance