CHAPTER 3: Meeting Again
The next morning's hangover isn't worth it. What the hell had I been thinking last night?
I throw the blankets off my body and trudge to the bathroom. When I look in the mirror, I see that my mascara has taken over a third of my face, and my red lipstick has taken over another third. Fuck, I didn't take my makeup off last night? I think I just stripped off my dress and heels and fell on the bed. I look like shit.
At least the gala had been on a Friday. It's Saturday now, and I have all the time in the world to regain my dignity.
I finally remove my makeup and take a short shower. A bath sounds more tempting, but it's already ten o'clock in the morning, and I don't want to be at home the whole day. I don't even want to eat breakfast here. I want to get out and eat something fried and salty. That always gets my spirits up.
I pad naked to my walk-in closet and choose a black leather jacket, red blouse, jeans, and boots. My long chestnut hair gets blown dry, and my blue eyes get natural eye shadow.
When I finish putting on a fresh coat of red lipstick, I remember how my lips look when the color is all over my mouth and chin. It looks like I've just finished feeding on a person. You know, like a vampire would? Then I remember Drew and his cocky speciesism, and my mood sours. Damn him for being attractive and a jackass. But also, why hasn't he killed me? I've expected the king of prejudice to slay me for wounding his pride last night. Maybe my downfall will come when I leave this room.
My head shakes at my reflection. Who the hell am I kidding? I don't mean anything to Drew. Drew hasn't amassed the wealth and prestige that he possesses because he wastes his time getting offended by a nobody's comments. Sure, I pride myself to be something, but compared to him, I'm a fly he waves off before doing something more important.
"Fuck him," I grab my wallet, phone, and keys and head out the door. My phone is at fifty percent. Damn, I've forgotten to charge it. But it doesn't matter. The foundation sends important messages to my email. Rarely anyone there calls or texts me because I'm always outside of the office surveying contacts and locations in person. I can never sit still indoors. I'm always on my feet and getting my hands dirty to accomplish things.
But it's the weekend, so I indulge myself with less formal affairs. Starting with a cheeseburger for breakfast.
"Would you like the combo or the burger by itself?" the drive-thru employee asks over the speaker.
"Make it a combo, please, with a small Lemon Splash as my drink."
The employee informs me of my total with thanks and hands over my food at the pick-up window. A helmet covers my head, so he doesn't recognize me. After securing my takeout, I get back on the road.
On my motorcycle.
It's not typical for princesses to ride motorcycles, much less be the ones driving them, but I consider myself an exception. The thrill of the speed, weaving through traffic so I can get to my destination faster, getting away with tricky turns because no one can see who I am—it's exhilarating!
And my bike is pretty sweet too. It's a touring model, so it's perfect for traveling long distances. I would know because Brendan helped me pick it. He and I were supposed to go to new places and collect memories together.
But he died, so now this plum beauty sits in the garage until I feel like riding it. I usually get to work and everywhere else in the back of a limousine surrounded by security, as per custom for transporting a princess. I hate getting around that way, but if I want people to change their minds about me being their queen, I have to act the part. Those theatrics are for them. The motorcycle and the memories associated with it—they're for me.
Speaking of memories…
I turn the bike into an open highway stretching to the beach. As I do, sensations of reality and memory begin to mix. Large arms wrap around my waist as Brendan's voice hollers over the engine for me to go faster. Then he's the one in the driver's seat, and I'm yelling about how lucky we are to be alive.
A bump pulls me out of my thoughts, and I get cold all over. Brendan is gone. No memory is strong enough to bring him back. I'll just have to ride this motorcycle by myself. Alone.
Fuck, I need that cheeseburger.
In thirty minutes, I arrive at the beach. Even before I get close to the parking lot, I can see seafoam curdling at the shore. I won't go into the parking lot, though. Instead, I head to a secluded part of the beach where I have the place to myself. The sand here is more compact, so I push the bike along with me before standing it beside the canyon wall.
My helmet finally comes off, so I can comb my hair with my fingers. Then I pull my food and drink from the saddlebag and bite into the cheeseburger. Fuck, that's good. The way the juices of the patty mix with the fat and salt of the cheese is heavenly. No courtly function can cook something this good. I should know; I've been to a lot of them.
The fries are also good. They're thick with a crunchy outer layer and a chewy inner layer and sprinkled with even more layers of salt. I wash the grease off my tongue with tangy lemon soda, and there's a symphony of flavor in my mouth. No fancy restaurant can beat the taste of Burger Stuff.
I continue to bite into heaven while watching waves caress the shore. The sun makes the waters twinkle. The ocean roars and purrs as it pulls and pushes at the sand, playing a game that teases departure but inevitably returns each time. Or maybe it isn't a game. Maybe it's a genuine effort to leave for different lands, but the comfort of the familiar is too strong to resist.
I flinch. A shirtless man is running on the shoreline, making his way to me. I'm not used to it. Most beachgoers go to the more popular section of the beach because the sand is softer, and the waves are bigger and cleaner. Here in my section, there are more rocks than sand, and the seafoam is filled with seaweed. Rarely anyone comes here, especially in autumn. So, seeing someone making his way here baffles me.
But the closer the man gets, the tenser I get. He's tall, broad-shouldered, and rippling with muscles. His swimming trunks do very little to hide the long, thick girth between his legs. Stunning, absolutely stunning, but what stuns me most is that I know this man. His green hair looks darker because it's wet, but it gets obvious who it belongs to when this man reaches me.
"May?" Drew stops to stand in front of me. "What are you doing here?"
I place my burger to the side to avoid looking at him. "Enjoying the beach. I should be asking you that question."
"Oh really?"
"Yes, because I live here. You don't; I would know if you did."
"I happen to have a villa here, not far from this beach, actually," Drew smirks. "Are you following me, love?"
Love? The nickname makes me bristle. Mostly because he probably calls other women that too, and I don't want to be another one of his toys. But I can't tell him to stop because that may provoke him to do the opposite. I've learned the hard way with Max. You learn a lot from having an annoying sibling.
"I'm not following you," I grunt. "I'm just enjoying my lunch. You're the one who came up to me."
Drew looks over my meal and frowns. "That's not lunch; that's garbage."
"You're insulting my food now?"
"You should've had a better meal, especially after the hangover you got this morning."
That's it.
I hop out of my bike and stand directly in front of him. My head tilts up and focuses on his glinting green eyes, so I'm not tempted to look down. "What is your problem? It's bad enough that you've rejected my foundation on speciesist grounds, but now you're playing with me too?"
"I haven't said anything wrong. Besides," Drew tilts his head, "playing with you is the least of my intentions. Unless you want it to be. Would you like that, love? Would you like to be my little toy?"
I shove Drew's chest, and he steps back out of courtesy. I'd feel pride about retaliating, but because Drew is a little farther, I now get to see the beauty of his tan body. He's obviously been swimming before his run because salt water is still trickling down his pecs, his abs, the ridges leading to his—
My head shakes to break the spell and then flushes. Drew looks even smugger than before.
"Enough!" I huff. "Human or not, I'm still a person. I won't let you push me around like this."
"And how will you stop me, love?"
"With everything I have. Even if you kill me, I won't let you do it without a fight."
"Why would I kill you? That would break my little toy."
"Fuck you."
Drew's emerald eyes darken. "Is that an invitation?"
I tense. "I-I umm—wait, what?"
Drew scans the area around us, looking up at the canyon wall providing us shade. Then, when he seems satisfied, he rushes forward. He moves faster than I can blink. Suddenly, the canyon wall is digging into my back, and Drew is pinning me there with his body.
"Wh-What?" I squirm, "What are you doing?"
"Do you know what you did to me last night?" Drew growls into my ear. "I was so angry. I wanted to take your smart, vulgar mouth, and shut it up with my cock."
"Y-You wouldn't dare."
"Try me. It's taking every ounce of my willpower not to fuck you against this wall, and believe me, that willpower is fraying."
I whimper. Drew is saying such vile, dirty things I should be offended by, but the fact that he's the one saying them is turning me on. I struggle half-heartedly in his hold but just as I've feared—or hoped—he grinds harder onto me. I feel his cock press between my legs and, oh god, it's big. Really big.
"Tell me to fuck you," Drew presses his lips to my ear. "Unless you can't handle it."
I don't realize I'm trembling until he says that. His strength, his warmth, his words—they've been making me dizzy. But not anymore. I rake his shoulder, leaving welts on his skin. "Please. You can't handle me."
That seals my fate. And my mouth.
Drew kisses me hard, hard enough to bruise my lips. I'm trying to resurface from this lust Drew has thrown me into, but it's too much. I hate Drew with every part of my being, but I also want him.
I kiss him back just as hard, raking more welts with my long, red nails.
The zipper of my jeans rips open, and a hand goes in.
