my hands in my pockets, I rock back on my heels. “What if I was? Would it matter?”
Her face smooths out from the scowl, even if she still looks frustrated. “I’d be mad that you rigged that contest to give it to me.”
“But not about me being in the group?”
“I don’t care about some dumb rich kid club,” she insists, waving the envelope around. “That’s not the point. We’ve been over this, Bass. The point is that you shouldn’t use your money—or power—to give me things.”
I take a step closer. “I hate to tell you, Sugar, but that’s the point of power. You wield it however you want. But let me make one thing clear. If I was a Devil, I wouldn’t mark you with a t-shirt. I’d want to mark you for real, somewhere that everyone could see.” I reach out and run my thumb along her jaw, eying the perfect spot. “I’d want everyone to know you were mine.”
Her eyes dart to my mouth, then back up. Her throat bobs with a swallow. “People know we’re dating. It’s not a secret.”
“Being Devil-marked is different.”
“How?”
Fuck, but it’s so hard to explain. To someone on the outside, the tradition must seem dumb as hell, but to us, it’s a big deal. Tyson can never mark his girl. Not until he comes clean about everything, and he probably never will. It’s not just about giving someone a hickey. It’s about the way Reyn and Vandy, or Emory and Aubrey, are completely connected. It’s about letting someone in—all the way in—because the risk is too big to waste on some minor fling. The Devils are more than some silly high school secret society. For most of us, we’re more family than our own flesh and blood.
“Do you really want to know?” I ask, weirdly nervous about her answer.
“Will it hurt?”
“Not if I’m doing it right.”
I expect her to tell me to fuck off, presumably after she rips up the check, but she doesn’t. She just looks up at me with those big hazel eyes and says, “If you were a Devil, and if I’m really your girl, it only seems right for you to treat me like it.”
Just hearing her say it sends a rush of heat through my body. I slide my fingers between hers and look both ways to make sure we’re alone. Part of being a Devil is being sneaky. Sure, the whole world can see the mark, but they don’t need to know where and when I’m giving it to her.
I open the tower door and pull her inside, shutting it quickly behind me. It’s cold and I keep her close as we walk up the stairs, as much for warmth as just to be near her. I turn on the flashlight on my phone, showing the way up the old stone stairs.
“This is where the magic happens?” she asks, eyes dubiously taking in the space. I know what she’s thinking. It’s not so special. For all its reputation, it’s still just an old, musty, cold tower.
“This is it.” I wrap my arms around her and nod up to the beam. “If we go through with this, I’m supposed to add another mark under my name.”
“Another?” her eyebrow raises. “How many marks are there?”
“None that matter,” I tell her, nosing into the warmth of her neck. “There are different ways to mark someone. It can be the kind you can’t see, like sex, or it can be the kind you can see.”
“Like what?”
I lick and kiss down her neck. “Hamilton Bates always marked Gwen with a hickey under the ear. Sparked a shit-ton of rumors.”
Her voice is reedy, shaking. “That seems antiquated.”
“You’re at Preston. It’s never been a bastion of progressiveness.” I lift up her hair and kiss the top of her shoulder. “I heard that Reyn wanted Vandy to get that tattoo on her inner thigh. Just for him.”
“What about you?” she asks, pressing her chest against mine. “How would you show the rest of the school that I’m yours?”
“Well,” I drop my mouth to the smooth skin in the dip in her collarbone, lathing the spot with my tongue. “I’d probably buy her shit, like a new laptop, or stuff for her car, or… you know, something super sexy like cat treats.”
She gives a silent laugh. “That does sound like you.”
I open my mouth against her, sucking gently at first, getting her used to the coming pressure. She gasps when I really clamp down, pulling the