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The current generation of legacies—the heirs to the Key— Kaede Sinclair, Callum Bennett, Hollis Carlisle, Asher Jameson, and Roman Mitchell, are all now of age.
He's dressed in a dark navy suit, and I think I can faintly make out pinstripes running down the length. His hair is dark, cut close to the sides and longer on top, perfectly styled to accentuate the slight waves.
Even though it’s been years since I last felt Rain’s lips on mine, he still manages to occupy my every waking thought. But that’s the kicker with unrequited love, right? It’s so much harder to get over because all the would’ve, could’ve, and should’ve-beens.
"Are you done eye-fucking me from across the bar and ready to get out of here? Or is playing coy your style?"
I'm slightly startled by how blue they are when our gazes collide. They're a shade close to indigo in this dim lighting, but I'm pretty positive they're actually ridiculously vivid any other time.
"Just because I don't fuck to make a living doesn't mean I don't know exactly how to make you lose your fucking mind."
"You’re bringing me to my damn knees just by being down on yours.
Lucas is the only one of the elders who doesn't give me shit or look down on me.
"If you learn anything on your first day here, it's don't fuck the staff. You might be a coworker to them right now, but you'll be CEO sooner than later, and we don't need any sexual harassment suits on our hands."
If not because of the pure, unfiltered disdain radiating from Hale in waves, then because he's even sexier when he isn't picking me up in a bar, or tossing words with me like his favorite sport. But something about the way he glares at me makes this bastard better looking in the light of day.
"I could be your favorite mistake, baby."
"That very well might be, Roman. But I make it a habit to avoid mistakes at all costs. It's how I got where I am and how I'll stay there."
Roman's shoulders go rigid. His nostrils flare as he grinds out, "I’m not the men who’ve come before me." My eyes travel up and down his body before settling back on his face, accessing the claim he's making. No, you most certainly aren't, little Mitchell. You're twice as lethal as all of them put together.
But I'm selfish, and I want to be the person who sees both sides of him.
"A man like Hale Calloway would be fun for a night, but you'd never get under his skin enough to make it something more. If you're lucky, you'd get a repeat once, maybe twice, and then it's done. A hot fling that fizzles out quickly."
"The last person to talk to me like that?" he says, his attention moving back to me as he raises a brow. "I got down on one knee for."
Because what Harry said is wrong. There's no possible way anything would ever come from this other than enjoying each other's bodies a couple times.
Still, I learn Hale was born and raised in New York and has never had a desire to leave the city. His favorite color is blue—complete shock, I know—and he hates ketchup with a passion. He has a sister named Kenna, who is two years younger than him, and from context clues and his body language, I can tell she’s a sensitive topic. Most likely protective big brother syndrome, if I had to guess. When I ask if he’s single, he gives me a bit of a death glare. Probably because he had his mouth around my cock less than a month ago. He snaps out a quick, "I’m not a fucking cheater. And from New Year’s
...more
"What fucking day, Hale?" A long, irritated sigh escapes him. "February fifth."
"I mean, it just makes sense why you are the way you are. You're the fucking definition of an Aquarius."
He's intelligent as hell and quick to understand everything I've taught him thus far. Honestly, it’s impressive to see how quickly he’s taken to this kind of work. He might not like it and he might not want to be, both of which have been obvious from his actions and the conversations I've had with Lucas about him, but he was made for this.
"You think you'd get the hint by now, I'm not interested in having any sort of conversation with you, Mitchell." Damn, the asshole in me came out to play tonight.
"You're wound way too fucking tight. You'll have a damn heart attack or a stroke before you hit thirty." "Then I'd appreciate you not poisoning what time I have left on Earth with your presence."
"I mean, nothing relaxes me more than blowing a load down someone’s throat." And yet again, my mouth is faster than my brain. "At least your mouth would be doing something useful if it were wrapped around my cock."
"You feel so much more than you let the world believe."
"You’re a messy knot of feelings and emotions, aren’t you, Hale? You just don’t let yourself feel them."
"I’m not a fucking monster. I have emotions just like everyone else." "And what do you feel for me?" His expression is almost pensive when he pulls away, just far enough for me to see his entire face. "And don’t lie to me, because I know what I saw earlier today. I know the truth." You don’t know a goddamn thing, you arrogant fucking man-child.
"Your eyes speak louder than your words, Hale Calloway. You feel something for me. Something you wish you didn’t, yet you still can’t manage to make it go away. A want bubbling under the surface. Desire that’s eating you alive the more you deny it."
I smirk down at him, loving the way his attention is fixated on me. Waiting for me to make a move or request of him. Kneeling at my feet. Submitting to me. It makes me feel powerful. And if I'm not careful, it's something I can see myself getting addicted to with the blink of an eye.
"Jesus Christ," Roman says as he watches me before sucking the digit into his mouth, tongue twirling around it greedily. "I prefer Hale," I retort before pulling my thumb free from his lips.
"If I wanted a pet that kneels at my feet and begs for attention, I'd get a dog. As it stands, I have no use for one." "What the fuck does that mean?" he snaps, rising to his feet. "It means you can leave. Now."
"You're so fucking beautiful when you lose control. I wish you'd let yourself do it more."
You’re nothing. That’s what I’ve been told by so many people in my life. Some I’ve cared for, some I only saw as an enemy. A means to an end. But those words cut me all the same, no matter who they come from.
"So just so we’re both on the same page...I’m not getting lucky after this non-date, strictly professional, fundraiser?" This time he laughs for real, shaking his head as he gets ready to leave. "Not in your damn dreams, Roman." I let out an exaggerated sigh, watching him walk back toward his office. "Oh no, Hale," I mutter to myself, "It happens every fucking night in my dreams."
"Like what you see, baby? I know I make up one sexy package. And if you're good, I’ll let you unwrap me later tonight."
Fuck, he looks so good. He’s the exact opposite of me, wearing an all-black tux, including his shirt. The only color is his eyes, a brilliant sapphire as he steps in front of me. They search my face for a second before he clears his throat and reaches to adjust the tie I know is sitting perfect on my neck.
And that's what he is, this man in front of me. Pure ice. The coldest human. The most detached and emotionless person I've ever met. Someone who makes every member of Enclave look like a ray of sunshine. Then there’s me. The inferno that burns down every fucking thing I touch. Exhibit A being the literal dumpster fire that was tonight’s event. But Hale, he manages to put out the flames.
I'm not surprised by this either, seeing as Roman's been in a perpetual state of horny since the moment we met. And while I'd like to think it has something to do with me, I'm starting to realize that's just who he is.
"You're so cold, yet when I touch you, I burn," he whispers, his mouth trailing over my collarbone in a brush that sears my skin.
It’s not a kink. Not in this case. I just need to make sure he can’t touch me or I might embarrass myself. And if I’m giving into this incessant need for him, this’ll be the only time. I need it to last.
Every second I'm inside him has me consumed in fire. In liquid hot, molten lust only he's responsible for creating in me. Because he’s the fire, the heat and embers that ignite a blaze sure to send us both up in smoke.
I can’t break my rules for you. They’re all I have to keep from getting in too deep. From caring too much. Especially when this is already too complicated.
"Why do you care what I think of you?" I ask slowly. "I don’t." I raise a brow. "Then why bring it up at all?" His lip curls back as he snaps, "Because I saw it written on your perfect face the other night when you left here. And I haven’t been able to get it outta my head since."
"Are they the reason you got this?" he asks, his hand moving up to trace the lines of text inked into the skin of my left arm, just below the elbow. Nine words total, three lines of three. Hell is empty and all the devils are here.
"The scar was a reminder of what was taken from me. And this is to remind me of retribution. Paying back a wicked man and his accomplice who crawled straight from my own personal hell."
"Just know that while I might be a monster, I’d never scar you. I hate that someone has."
It’s funny how I’ve become so adept at reading his body language since he almost never gives away his emotions through words or tone alone. It's
"I bet my cum tastes a thousand times better on your tongue than all those lies. But that’s something you never wanna find out, apparently."
Goddamnit. Why am I so eager to please him?
Because at this point, his body is a drug and I've become an addict in dire need of another hit.
