Kingmakers, Year Two

11. Miles

11

MILES

I wake up to Ozzy bursting into our room, his mohawk wildly disheveled and his clothes even worse, the sling missing off his arm and the gauze wrap filthy.

He’s grinning like a madman, practically dancing in place as he shucks off his grass-stained shirt, revealing the stocky, muscular frame beneath, and even more of his awful amateur tattoos.

“Where have you been?” I ask, already suspecting the answer.

“With Chay,” Ozzy says, beaming with joy.

“How was it?”

“Fucking spectacular. Everything I dreamed of and more.”

“Even with your arm all fucked up? ”

“Mate, I wasn’t in charge of that ride. She’s insatiable. All I could do is lay back and try to think about binary code so I didn’t nut in two seconds.”

“So how long did you last, then?” I tease him. “Four seconds?”

“First time—maybe a minute. Second time round, I was much more successful. By the third time?—”

“Alright,” I say, “I get the picture. I’m very happy for you.”

“Now’s the hard part, though,” Ozzy says.

“What do you mean?”

“She’s gonna try to fuck and chuck me, like she always does. But she’s not gonna get rid of me so easy. I may not have stamina in the sack, but when it comes to chasing Chay . . . I’m fuckin’ Lance Armstrong.”

“Good luck with that,” I say, shaking my head at him.

“You think you’ve got a better chance?”

“With what?”

“The forbidden princess.”

I consider lying to Ozzy, telling him I’m not going to pursue Zoe. But it’s pointless. He’s my best friend. He knew I liked her from the moment she first caught my eye. And right from that moment he started telling me what a terrible idea it was to kick that particular hornet’s nest .

“I might,” I say.

“You’re gonna get yourself killed.”

“A lot of people tell me that. It hasn’t happened yet.”

“Only takes one time.” Ozzy grins.

“That arm feeling better?” I ask him, to change the subject.

“Yeah it is,” he says. “That’s the healing power of Chay.”

I roll my eyes. “I bet.”

I head to the showers before I have to hear more about Chay’s magical pussy powers.

There’s a communal bathroom on each floor of the Octagon Tower. Four floors in total, with all the male Junior Heirs residing on my floor, including Rocco Prince.

So it’s not totally unsurprising when Rocco interrupts my nice hot shower.

I don’t bother to cover up. I’ve got nothing to be ashamed of.

Rocco stands there in his robe, looking me over. There’s something inhuman in the way he cocks his head, his eyes flicking around like some kind of raptor—intelligent, but without the normal range of emotion.

It takes a lot to get under my skin. Still, even I feel a twinge of discomfort, standing vulnerable and naked under the water .

I won’t let Rocco see me squirm, though. Not for a second.

“You keep staring and I’m gonna charge you for an Only Fans membership,” I say.

“Just assessing the competition,” Rocco says. “Wondering what was so alluring to my fiancée last night.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lie.

I’d like to rub it in Rocco’s face that I was dancing with Zoe all night, but my desire to protect her is stronger.

“Don’t pretend to be stupid,” Rocco says. “And certainly don’t pretend that I am.”

He strips off his robe, revealing his body—lean, pale, reasonably fit. There’s nothing deformed about him. Yet I feel a wave of revulsion, like I turned over a rock and found him underneath.

“Are you thinking you could beat me in a fight?” Rocco says, turning on his showerhead. “Maybe you could. You’re taller, heavier. But I think you lack a certain viciousness. The willingness to go past the line. Past what you might consider dishonorable, immoral, even disgusting. I have no line, Miles. None at all. There’s nothing I won’t do.”

He stands under the shower spray, the water flattening his dark hair so it plasters against his skull, his waxy flesh making him lo ok more than ever like some sort of white plastic automaton.

“Do you think you’re the first person who’s tried to threaten me?” I say.

“No,” Rocco replies. “You’re a hustler, right Miles? A deal-maker? You think you can manipulate people. Make them do what you want. That’s how you feel a sense of power—not by violence, but by bending men to your will.”

Despite the hot shower, I feel a chilling cold in my guts.

“You like the idea of taking Zoe from me because you like flouting authority. The school, her parents, my parents, our marriage contract. You like thumbing your nose at all of it. And deep down, you have a little of that hero complex that afflicts your cousin Leo so heavily. You want to save Zoe because you pity her.”

“I don’t pity her,” I growl. “I respect her.”

“Respect?” Rocco says mockingly.

That’s a foreign concept to him. I doubt he respects his own friends or even his family. He admires only himself.

“Yes. I respect her,” I say. “You have no idea. You’re like a toddler wiping your shit on the Mona Lisa. You couldn’t be more ignorant to what she’s worth. ”

“You’re wrong there,” Rocco says quietly, his gleaming eyes fixed on me. “I see Zoe’s qualities. If she was weak, if she was willing, then there wouldn’t be any fun in it. It’s the challenge of breaking her. The joy of deconstructing her, piece by piece, then rebuilding her the way I want her to be. Reforming her like melted glass. Of course there’s always a chance the glass will shatter . . . but if not, I’ll make her exactly the way I want her.”

My guts are churning. I want to rip his fucking throat out, show him how it feels to be torn to pieces like he imagines doing to Zoe. I’ve met men who were greedy, violent, callous. But I’ve never met someone this destructive. Rocco has the soul of an arsonist. If he has any soul at all.

In that moment, I make a decision.

I’m going to save Zoe from Rocco. I don’t know how, but I’m going to do it. Not to be a hero. I’m gonna do it because this is fucking wrong, and it can’t happen. She can never belong to him.

Rocco sees the spark of decision in my face. He’s perceptive, I’ll give him that.

It angers him.

“I’ve never failed to get what I want, Miles,” he hisses. “I’m not like the other men you’ve faced. I don’t eat. I don’t sleep. I don’ t give up. I can’t be threatened. I can’t be bargained with. None of your tricks will work on me.”

I turn the water off with a sharp twist, shaking the droplets out of my hair. I pick up my towel and wrap it around my waist, slowly and deliberately, refusing to break Rocco’s laser stare.

“You talk a lot,” I say to him. “You think you’re smart, or convincing. I think you’re limited. Stunted. Pathetic, quite honestly. You don’t even know what you don’t know.”

Patches of color come into his face, splotchy and random.

Rocco can read people, but so can I.

I know that what he wants more than anything is to be feared. He wants to seem formidable. He thinks he’s smarter and stronger than everybody else, purely because he isn’t bound by the usual rules of fairness or compassion.

Well, I don’t give a fuck about rules, either.

If Rocco thinks I won’t play dirty, he’s got another thing coming.

I face him without a trace of fear, cutting off that unholy energy on which he feeds.

“You think you figured me out, because what? I like to make deals to get what I want?” I walk toward him with rapid strides, closing the gap between us in steps. “You think I’m playin g around, because that’s what I allow you to think. What you need to understand is that if I decide that you’re going to lose, you might as well write it on the fuckin’ stone tablets. If I turn my wrath toward you, I will not stop raining down hellfire until you and everyone who knows you is done. I will make deals that will ruin your life and any potential life you could have had. Do you think you’re the only one here who will do something psychopathic? I’ll rip your throat out with my teeth, and I won’t lose a single night of sleep over it. You have no idea the lengths to which I’ll go.”

Rocco takes one startled step back. It’s instinctive, compulsive. He means to stand his ground, but he can’t.

I laugh right in his face. Because I know that’s the thing that will torment him the most.

“You’re a fucking ant to me,” I say.

I turn around and walk away, leaving him in the echoing silence of his own helpless rage.

Back in my room I pull on my clothes, charged with a kind of energy I’ve never felt before.

I was ready to strangle Rocco right then and there. God, I wanted to do it. If he’d said one word to me, I might not have been able to hold back .

And now I have this fire in me, this unresolved aggression.

I have to do something with it, before I explode.

There’s still an hour before class starts.

I could go to the dining hall. But I have the strangest sense that what I’m looking for isn’t there. In fact, I think I know exactly where to find it.

I run down the stairs of the Octagon Tower, taking them two at a time. I’m sprinting across campus, certain that this compulsion is based on something real. I run all the way to the northwest corner of the grounds and rip open the library door.

A bizarre sense of destiny grips me. Nothing and nobody can stand in my way. Glancing toward Miss Robin’s desk, I already know it will be empty, that she’ll be down in the archives rummaging through maps.

I search for what I’m really here to find. I hunt through the library, pupils dilated in the dim lamplight, blood thundering in my veins, even my sense of smell heightened so that I catch a whiff of that sweet amber perfume before I even see her.

Zoe is halfway up the spiral ramp, her book bag and a hefty stack of textbooks spread out on an open table. She’s standing at the shelves, up on tiptoe, trying to reach a leather-bound tome just out of reach .

It must be laundry day, because she’s back in a plaid skirt after a week of trousers. As she stretches up as high as she can to hook the book with her index finger, her skirt pulls up, revealing a long expanse of bare thigh.

It’s blood in the water.

The effect on me is all out of proportion.

Fueled by pent-up aggression and a newfound insanity, I grab Zoe from behind, one arm around her waist and one hand clamped over her mouth so her shriek doesn’t bring Miss Robin running back upstairs.

I seize her and throw her in the crevice between two bookshelves, pinning her in place with my body wedged in the opening. I kiss her with a ferocity I’ve never known. All the fury I promised Rocco pours out on Zoe instead.

I ravage her mouth, I wrap my hands up in her silky black hair, I inhale that scent off her neck, which reeled me up here like a bright, shining lure. My hands are all over her face, her body, even reaching up under her skirt to grasp the firm globes of her ass.

When I pull back for a second, I see her wide, startled eyes, and her swollen lips open in confusion.

“Miles, what the hell?” she gasps .

I dive in again, kissing her even harder. After the first shock, I feel Zoe give in. Her arms encircle my neck, her body grinds against mine. Now she’s on tiptoe for a different reason: to press every inch of her body against me with all her strength. It’s like she’s drowning and the only air she can breathe is the air in my lungs.

She’s just as wild as I am, maybe even more so. She’s letting go, fully and completely, maybe for the first time in her life. She bites the side of my neck with her sharp little teeth, digging her fingernails into my back through the thin material of my shirt.

I caress her breasts through her blouse, those full, perfect tits that I haven’t been able to get out of my mind since that day on the wall. They’re burned into my retinas like the flare of a lightning strike. Her nipples poke stiffly through her bra and I have to free them. I undo one button, then two, then rip the third one open, yanking down the front of her bra to let her tits spill out in my hands.

The moment I touch her breasts, Zoe goes limp against the wall, like I’ve taken control of her. She lets out a long, tortured groan that I stifle with my left hand, while cupping and squeezing her breast with my right.

Her flesh is soft and firm, the nipple a delicate tan color, flushing darker with every touch of my fingers. I bend my head t o take her breast in my mouth, and she bites down on my hand covering her mouth, moaning helplessly.

Once I start going down, I don’t want to stop. I drop to my knees and scoop up her thighs, laying them over my shoulders. Hooking my finger under the elastic of her panties, I yank them to the side and bury my face in her pussy.

Zoe is pinned to the wall, lifted up with her legs over my shoulders. My face presses hard against her. I eat her pussy like I’m starving.

I’ve never tasted anything so sweet. Zoe is already soaking wet. My tongue slides between her lips, then all the way inside her. I find her clit and I gently suck and swirl my tongue around it, until Zoe makes a sound that’s almost like sobbing, and I can tell she’s covering her own mouth now, trying to stifle her whimpering with both hands.

It’s impossible. Her pussy is warm and throbbing, and she’s getting wetter and wetter as I slide my fingers inside her and tease her clit with my tongue. She grinds against my face, her thighs squeezing my ears. She won’t be able to hold on for long, I’m going to make her explode like nothing she’s felt before.

I lick her clit with the flat of my tongue, over and over again, steady and hard. My whole face is smeared with her wetness and I don’t give a fuck, no one has ever smelled or tasted better than this girl, I’d take a fucking bath in her pussy if I could.

I find that sensitive place inside of her and I stroke it with my fingers while I lick and swirl her clit with my tongue. When I find that perfect combination where she starts to clench around my fingers, where she’s not in control of her hips or her breathing or anything else, then I hit it again and again and again while she cums all over me.

Now there’s no keeping quiet. Zoe’s whole body shakes like she’s possessed. She lets out a strangled scream through her hands that is the sexiest fucking sound I’ve heard in my life.

I keep licking her, a little more softly now, until I’m sure that every last pleasure shock has surged through her, and her full weight has collapsed on my shoulders.

Then I set her down gently, standing up to smooth her sweaty hair back from her face. Zoe is crying, actually crying, a double track of tears running down the sides of her face. I feel a stab of guilt like I did something wrong. I wipe my mouth off on my sleeve and take her face in my hands to kiss her, saying, “Are you okay, Zoe?”

“I—I—I’ve never—never felt anything like that,” she stammers, her teeth still chattering together, and shivers running through her body in waves.

“It was good, though?” I ask .

“G—g—good doesn’t begin to describe it,” she says.

I still have her pinned between the bookshelves—not to trap her now, just because it’s quiet and hidden, and I want her to feel safe, I want her to feel like we’re the only two people in the universe.

Zoe burrows against my chest, her face pressed against my neck. I keep my arms wrapped around her and I stroke her back with the palm of my hand, trying to calm her down, soothing the shakes away.

I didn’t intend to have this effect on her.

“I’m sorry,” Zoe’s muffled voice vibrates against my chest. “I’m embarrassed. I don’t cry, usually.”

“I know you don’t,” I say, tilting her chin up to make her look in my eyes. “Don’t be embarrassed. You can be however you want in front of me, Zoe. I like you all the ways. And that was sexy as fuck, by the way. I want to do it again right now.”

Zoe laughs weakly. “I don’t know if I could survive that.”

We stay exactly where we are a few minutes longer, whispering and laughing together. Then, when Zoe can stand again, I help her gather up her books to head down to her first class.

“Oh god,” she murmurs. “I’m sure Miss Robin heard that.”

“She wasn’t around when I came in,” I say .

“Still,” Zoe says, her face pink. “I wish I had a paper bag to put over my head.”

“Come on,” I say, taking her hand. “I’ll distract her while you sneak out.”

I walk a little ahead of Zoe, checking if the coast is clear.

Miss Robin is indeed back at her desk, and by the way she peers over the top of her glasses at me, I’m sure she heard something.

“Miss Robin,” I say, “Could you check if anybody put an International Taxation textbook in the lost and found? I think I left mine here.”

Miss Robin gives me one, slow blink that is much more cheeky than I’d expect from our timid librarian, then says, “Certainly, Miles.” She turns to search the lost and found bin behind her desk.

While she’s occupied, Zoe hurries by, quiet in her flat shoes on the thick carpet. I get the feeling Miss Robin can hear Zoe anyway, because she spends an abnormally long time hunched over the box, pretending to search the well-organized and easily-perused pile of objects.

Straightening up empty-handed, Miss Robin checks to see that we’re truly alone, then says, “I’m not an idiot, Miles. ”

I give her half a grin, hands stuffed in my pockets. “Sorry, Miss Robin. I’m sure you remember the recklessness of youth. I don’t think you’re too far out of it yourself.”

She smiles slightly in return, but it only lasts a moment before she says, “I hope you know what you’re doing, Miles. This isn’t a game for her.”

“It isn’t for me, either. I promise you that.”

She examines me with those dark eyes that contrast so sharply with her vivid red hair. The glasses have slipped down her nose again. She doesn’t need them to give me an x-ray stare.

“I believe you,” she says at last. “Be careful all the same.”

“I will.” I nod.

I do intend to be careful.

But I can’t promise to be safe.