shakes and I free-fall into a feeling so addictive I want to restart all over again.
My eyes snap open, and I find his face in that picture.
What the hell is he doing to me? Why am I letting him?
I pull my hand from between my sticky legs, feeling disgusted that I let him, a pawn, get to me this way.
He won’t.
Absolutely won’t.
I start to tuck the phone away then notice I clicked like.
Oh no.
No, no, no.
I remove it immediately. He probably receives a thousand notifications, so surely he didn’t notice it.
Just when I’m about to throw my phone to the ground, it vibrates with a text. I startle, my heart nearly jumping into my throat when I make out his name.
Ronan: Hey, stalker *winking emoji*
He noticed. Oh, god, he noticed.
What is wrong with me today?
But fuck him, really. I won’t reply.
When I ignore his text, he sends another.
Ronan: How-about-no98 is an interesting username, by the way.
I glare at the phone as if I can wrench him out of it and punch him in the face.
Ronan: Also, your scratch still hurts. Want to come kiss it better?
Teal: I should’ve scratched you harder.
I curse myself as I hit Send. Why the hell am I even indulging him? I broke so many of my patterns today, and it’s all because of him. I should stay the hell away from him to avoid any other disaster.
Ronan: Pain. Yum.
My legs clench, and the orgasm from earlier feels like it’s rising to the surface all over again. Just how can he elicit this reaction from me?
But if he thinks he can get me out of my element and receive no retaliation, he has another thing coming.
Teal: You’re not my type. Get over yourself.
Ronan: And what’s your type, ma belle?
Teal: My type is at least fifteen years older, experienced, and doesn’t smile the entire time like a gigolo on crack. In short, not you.
I feel a weight slide off my chest as I send that text. I needed to remind myself of that fact as much as letting him know, because that’s what’s bothering me about the whole thing — the fact that he, someone not even close to being my type, is invading my thoughts this much.
There’s a long pause before he sends his next text.
Ronan: And yet you came when I only touched your tits.
Teal: That’s because I didn’t know it was you.
Ronan: Is that why your arousal still coats my stomach?
My cheeks heat and I curse him all the ways to Sunday.
Ronan: It’s all dried up, but it’s there. You saw it on that IG pic. I’m not washing it off.
Teal: You’re sick.
Ronan: I like to think I’m not sicker than you, ma belle, but I love the competition.
Ronan: Cancel the engagement and I might fuck you.
I might fuck you? Might? As in he’s gracing me with his damn cock? The arrogance of this bastard.
Teal: As if I would ever want to fuck you.
Ronan: I think we should both agree that you did tonight.
Teal: I did not.
Ronan: Sure. Whatever helps you sleep better at night.
I can almost imagine his smirk, and I want to smash his face and this stupid feeling of embarrassment with it.
Ronan: Night, ma belle. I’ll dream of your orgasm face.
I throw my phone to the side, seething, my heart beating so hard it’s nearly dangerous.
He thinks it’s fine to play with me? He’ll see what playing means.
9
Ronan
There’s this thing about breaking habits that messes with the human brain.
Or that’s what Cole says. I believe him, anyway, because he reads more than the pope reads the bible.
My point is, breaking my habits is what’s making me weird. I can see it loud and clear now.
I went from throwing a party every other night, smoking my stash of weed, and fucking exotic girls to living like a priest.
The partying part can be overcome. Not only does Lars no longer bitch at me to stop, the absence of night fun also means Mum is home. I get to have breakfasts and dinners with her every day. Needless to say, her presence matters more than all those other strangers who only exist in my life because I have money and status.
Mum being here also means Dad is around, too, and that kind of sucks, especially since he’s been watching me more closely lately.
Lars and I have put on an Oscar-level performance each time he’s asked about a missing item.
Or rather, I put on the performance and Lars follows along. It’s become our thing since