“Nice digs. Looks like it’s turned up for the Price family since the last time I saw you.” I watched her profile as she punched the button for the top floor.
“It’s nothing impressive.”
“Seen one penthouse, seen ’em all?” I huffed, unable to stand the stench of wealth dripping from her unimpressed tone. She may have grown more beautiful in the years since we’d known each other, but she’d also grown more spoiled.
“Something like that.” Her tone was flat as the elevator doors dinged open, and we stepped inside. Alone and quiet, we rode to the top.
When the doors dinged open again, she walked out without a word, slipping both her heels off and tucking them under her arm as she touched the keypad to unlock her door.
I heard the soft snick of the deadbolt, and she pushed the door wide. Floor-to-ceiling windows dominated the entire wall, from the kitchen to the living room to the hallway leading to the bedroom and the rest of the apartment. The city night was lit up like fireflies in the darkness, and the blanket of black that was Central Park was almost mesmerizing in the sea of stars.
“Eighteen through twenty-two.” I hummed, walking past her, drawn to the windows like a moth.
I could see my next piece dancing before my eyes, the soft swirls of navy mixed with amber. Like a modern starry night, the yellow orbs of Park Avenue hummed to life as far as the eyes could see.
“Excuse me?” She tossed her shoes onto the white sofa and padded to the open-concept kitchen, with white cupboards flanked by white marble counters and white tile swirls underneath. It was modern luxury, understated and minimalist, and fit her perfectly.
“Your balconies. There are twenty-four of them across the facade of your building. You are eighteen through twenty-two,” I offered, my gaze finally settling on hers.
She was coming at me, two freshly poured glasses of red wine in hand, one held out to me. “Okay, I guess I never thought of that. Your brain looks at life in such a different way from mine.” She sat down on the couch, her all-black ensemble a stark contrast to the pure white sofa. “I always loved that about you.”
I nearly crushed the glass in my hand with her words. I hated that she could show me kindness when I didn’t feel kind enough to help an old lady with her shopping bags. Devlynn held a mirror to my face, a mirror I had no desire to see. Because I wanted to burn every single person like her. Watch the entire Upper West Side crumble to ash from a match that I’d lit.
“Don’t say that,” I gritted, sitting opposite her, stiff and painfully aware of how wrong I was in her space. How much I stood out and how right Arthur was when he'd tried to kick me off the property.
“I’ve had a shit day, okay, Elis? I’m cool to hang for a while. I could use the distraction. I won’t even ask why you were lingering outside my building tonight because all I can think about is this glass of wine and forgetting this day ever happened. Or week.” She paused, swirling her glass before tears filled her eyes, and she glanced out the window. “Maybe the last two years.”
“The last two years? What could be that bad? Did you not get the limited-edition handbag you wanted? Did the next up and coming musician find you too uncool to invite you to his release party? What could be so bad for a rich girl like you?”
Her eyes cut back to mine. Big tears rolled down her pretty face, a face I loved once. A face I would have done anything for.
She shifted and took another swallow of wine as if the alcohol would be strong enough to wipe away the taste of my words. “I buried my dad today.”
My eyebrows shot up. “Not what I was expecting.”
“And what exactly were you expecting, Elis? That I spent all day shopping and needed a nice, strong man to carry my loot? I swear, you may think my life is superficial, but your thinking is all wrong.”
“Sorry about your dad and all, but living in this shell of a penthouse and never struggling a day in your life doesn't make you a poster child for misfortune. People die all the time, Devlynn. Having your parents die doesn’t make you eligible for the world humanitarian award.”
“And what does that say about you? You think you’re making such a massive political statement by spray-painting your little murals around Tiffany’s, but if you gave a shit, you’d know that the biggest philanthropist in the city just died, and with him, his cash flow. I’m supporting my mother through a breakdown, so forgive me if I don’t have time for your stereotypes about my life.”
I shot to my feet, red splashes of wine covering my hand as I invaded her space, lust-fueled frustration lacing my veins. “You think you’ve got it all figured out, Devlynn? You think that man told you everything?”
I set the glass at my side, caging her in the broad span of my arms until my nose was only a breadth from hers, our breaths heaving as we shared air and intense gazes.
Her chest rose with breathless pants, and her eyes finally averted. I caught her chin in my fingers and forced her lips to meet mine. The kiss was a combustible force of everything toxic, compiled with hate, frustration, longing, and misery. I hated everything she stood for, but I also craved her like a hit of the most expensive designer drug.
“You drive me fucking insane, Devlynn Price. All I can think about since seeing you again is fucking you up against that same balcony window where you look down at the peasants below. Every soft inch of you calls out to me, begs for my hands, those sexy lips begging to suck my cock dry. And as much as I want to fuck you so hard that you forget your damn name, nothing has changed from five years ago. The reason we broke up is still there, glaring at us like a neon sign.”
I passed my nose up the length of her neck, enjoying the tremor that erupted inside her. Her nipples pebbled, and the soft hum of her heartbeat thrummed like a hummingbird under her throat. I darted the tip of my tongue out, trailing up the contours of her neck before dancing one fingertip in tiny circles around the faint outline of her nipple.
“Those eyes say yes to everything I want, Devlynn, but I can’t be trusted to be gentle with you anymore. I don’t want to make love to you, Dev. I want to fuck you hard, raw, and fast. I want to make you beg to be my slut. To be in control, to hurt you, Devlynn. To ruin you in ways a good girl like you shouldn’t be ruined. A toy for me to fuck at my leisure, to use and abuse. But I don’t want to make a habit of fucking broken dolls, and that’s all you’ll ever be.”
I stood, fists clenched at my sides as I left her stunned on her pristine designer sofa, my kiss haunting her lips.
Chapter 6
Devlynn