His mouth moves against mine slowly, his hands holding me as if I’m made of glass. Too gently for my liking. Snaking my arms around his neck, I pull on his waves to make him open his mouth and slip my tongue inside. His tongue piercing scrapes against my teeth, our mouths meshing awkwardly. The coiling heat I was expecting in my core doesn’t come and I end our kiss on an internal curse. Ugh, damn my stupid body for not giving me this. Stepping back, I offer him a weak smile as if nothing’s wrong, but I can see by his expression there most definitely is.
“It’s not the same anymore, is it?” he asks softly, his eyes already filled with understanding.
“No,” I breathe. On paper, Huxley is an ideal catch. Roguishly handsome, beach blonde waves and pools of melted chocolate in his eyes, muscles for days, incredibly smart and beyond protective. But my lady-parts seem to be craving something a little darker, the twisted part of me preferring a little more damage to work with. He leans forward and presses his forehead to mine, the citrusy scent from the shower gel we’ve both used coiling around us.
“I care for you and I’ll protect you with everything I am, but I’m not the one for you.”
“There is no one for me.” I whisper. He pulls back with a roll of his eyes and disbelieving smirk, dropping a kiss onto my nose. We step out of our embrace that’s bordering friendzone and begin to dress. Pulling the dress over my head, I let the material cascade down my body. It weirdly fits like a glove, the floor length skirt flaring out when I spin side to side. A pair of glittering, silver heels are at the bottom of the bag, a small jewellery bag tucked inside one which I leave on the bed. Walking over to the mirror on the vanity in the six-inch heels, I brush out my still damp hair and braid it over my shoulder.
Huxley’s reflection dresses quickly, the extra-slim fit shirt barely fitting over his broad shoulders. His slacks are also too skinny, an unladylike snort leaving my nose as he turns to reveal his accentuated bubble butt. “What the fu- “he mumbles, straining to pull on the black blazer. I can only imagine Huxley’s clothing choice was all too intentional as my outfit fit so well, every one of his muscles outlined through the suit. “No way, nope. Not doing it,” he starts yanking the material off vigorously. Buttons fly and seams rip as I snigger, a naked again Huxley rummages in his bag for his dark jeans and white polo top.
“She’s not going to be happy,” I sing across the room. This only seems to spur him on, as he ruffles his hair into a shaggy mess. Smirking, I pick up my lip balm from the vanity’s white surface and gloss a coat over my lips as Huxley moves in behind me. He drapes a heart-shaped sapphire around my neck and gently eases the matching studs into my ears, dropping the velvet bag onto the table in front of us. “You ready for this?” I ask, sharing a look of determination with him in the mirror. After a sharp nod, Huxley offers me his arm and we leave the room with two minutes to spare.
Butler Bill, as I started calling him in my head, is waiting for us at the bottom of the staircase. Dax, Garrett, and Axel are already by his side, their suits reminding me of the night they converted my dance studio into a nightclub. A sad smile pulls at my lips, simpler times seeming so distant now. Each one has gone for their own take on passive aggressive defiance – Dax has used his tie to fix his hair back in a fluffy ponytail, Axel’s sleeves are rolled up to the elbow with his shirt only buttoned over his navel and Garrett is wearing his entire suit backwards.
Reaching the bottom step and feeling left out, I bend to grasp the side of the navy material in my hands and pull hard, ripping a slit all the way up to my hip. The guys break into cheers while Butler Bill seems to have an aneurysm, his eyes wide and breathing on pause. I reach over to adjust Garrett’s tie knot at his nape and Axel turns to plant a kiss on my cheek, my heels making me almost eye height with the group for a change.
“Come on then, let’s get this shit show over with.” Axel prompts, striding forwards to lead the way. Garrett hurries to his side, complaining that he should still be resting while the rest of us follow them. My heels click loudly on the gleaming marble floor as we stroll from one side of the mansion to the other, every wall pristinely white with no homely additions in sight. No artwork, pictures of Axel, clocks, mirrors, nothing. Just closed wooden doors that match the network of beams crisscrossing overhead. Butler Bill shoves past me as we near a double doorway, rounded black iron doorknobs matching swirling decorations covering the timber.
“Ahh, Master Axel, your mother has requested we meet in the ballroom to begin-“he quickly fumbles for the handle, but Axel slams his palm on the door loudly. An echo of ringing silence follows, everyone holding their breath to see what happens next.
“No.” Axel’s quiet tone is laced with a deadly authority which surprises me, his amber eyes flicking back to me. “She’s never going in there.” I remain still
