A/N: This chapter contains graphic sexual content. You have been warned (there's also Nazis and drugs and religion, so hopefully I can offend everyone at the same time!)

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Chapter 10

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I opened the door on my right, the room right beside the living room. Bryce was sitting on the bed, leaning against the wall, still dressed and looking like he wanted to be left alone. Of course he didn't want to be near me. But he could just deal with that because I wasn't going anywhere. That was definitely one of my cigarettes in his hand.

"Hey, Bryce, smoking kills." He looked up with a bored expression. "Cancer. Eats away at your lungs. Any of that sound familiar, you hypocrite?"

"Actually it does. Someone really wise must have said that."

"And someone really dumb must have repeated it to me about a hundred times."

He didn't offer an explanation, just held out the cigarette. "Is that you're way of asking?"

"Yes, please. Asshole."

I hurried over, snatching up the cancer stick. The headache that had been plaguing me all day slowly receded.

"That's the last one" he informed me, holding his hand out to, expecting it back. His eyes were on the tiny television that was across from the bed. It was some cheap late night horror movie and his point was obvious—five dollar special effects were more interesting than me. It didn't bother me, not enough at any rate.

I sat down on the bed, a wide gap between us. We passed it back and forth as the movie played on. Every so often I would point out an inaccuracy, like the way blood really sprayed when someone's arm had been ripped off. He didn't say anything in response. I was horribly jealous. It took a lot to help me forget—and I had tried everything in the book. He could turn off everything at will. It wasn't fair.

Eventually, there was just the two of us and nothing left to smoke. It was only than that I crossed the divide between us. Goosebumps appeared on my arms; they hurt. I hated being so freaking cold all the time. I watched as my hand moved towards him, coming to land gently in the crook of his arm. His skin burned underneath.

"Did you really think I couldn't cast an energy bolt?" I asked him.

His eyes didn't moved from the television screen, but a soft chuckle escaped him. "No. That hailstorm was terrifying. But I like pissing off my sister."

Thought so. He picked my hand up, devouring it with his much larger one. Did he know he was giving me an invitation? Or did he merely want to get rid of me? It didn't matter what he wanted, not really. He wouldn't say no. Even if he hadn't told me outright, I still would have known. It was the delicate way he touched me, the way he wouldn't quite meet my eye.

With a sigh, I leaned forward, capturing his lips in mine. I was lonely, he was here and he never had a nice thing to say. It was that simple. He didn't even hesitate. His left hand snaked around my waist, pulling me on top of him. I came willingly, deepening the kiss as he dragged me into his lap. Our hands detached and he brought his to tangle in my hair as I wrapped an arm around his neck.

Should there have been fireworks, sparks or the hundred other different clichés that people have come up with? Maybe, but I liked what I actually felt. Warm. Wet. I could taste the last lingering bit of the cigarette. He could have been anyone—no, that wasn't right. He was too demanding, to insistent for me to think that. There was no doubt it was Bryce Nast who was kissing me until my head spun. No doubt. But just because my head, and my stomach, and other parts of my body was getting lost in the feel of him, didn't mean my heart was. And it was better this way.

I ended up straddling him as our tongues fought and he fisted handfuls of my hair, dragging me closer still. He was so much bigger than I was, but that would probably be more fun.

My fingers ran down his chest, searching for the hem of his shirt. We broke apart as I tugged it up over his head and dropped it onto the floor behind me. To my surprise, there was actually a bit of fine hair that I hadn't noticed before—I had figured Bryce would be vain enough to wax, but apparently not. My fingers traveled over the planes of his chest right before I pulled back.

I wanted to see those tattoos up close and personal and he just watched, bored but not inclined to stop me. There was one on each side, two figures surrounded by foliage and geometric patterns of some kind. On his right, there was a fearsome skeletal creature that had to be Death. On my right, there was a woman—clothed, surprisingly enough. It was the woman who caught my attention

It forced me to pull back further as I asked: "Bryce, is that Mary?"

"Mary...the stripper I bought for my brother one year? Mary the daughter of our biggest electronics supplier? Mary, Austin's secretary? Mary—"

"Mother of God," I interrupted.

"Please tell me that doesn't offend you. Because it's my body and I know I meant it respectfully so you can—"

It was pretty easy to figure out that with Bryce, to shut him up, all I really had to do was put my mouth somewhere within the vicinity of his, which somehow ended up with his lips on mine and him not ranting anymore. But I was still curious, so when we broke away for air, I asked, "You're religious?"

"What's with that tone?"

"Bryce, you ruin people's lives for a living. You don't get to be religious."

"Judge not, and you shall not be judged: condemn not, and you shall not be condemned: forgive, and you shall be forgiven," he whispered as his hand slipped under my shirt, running along my spine, up and up. Sitting on his lap got a little more uncomfortable when he realized I wasn't wearing a bra. I wasn't wearing panties either, but he'd find that out later. "Luke 6:37. So if someone forces me out of bed in the middle of the night, as long as I forgive him, it doesn't matter if I kill him afterwards."

So that was Bryce logic. Creepy. Luckily, there was something much more interesting to talk about. There was some sort of Celtic design just above the top of his pants, dipping under the waist of his jeans. A lot further down I bet.

"Subtle, Bryce," I teased.

"Take off your shirt and maybe I'll tell you the story of that one later."

"You still owe me the story of the whip."

"They go together," he promised.

"Then maybe you should tell me both."

"Later," he murmured as he kissed along the neckline of my shirt, to the very tops of my breasts. Sometimes it wasn't so bad that shirts didn't fit me properly.

"All clothing stays on until you tell me the story," I threatened. It wasn't so much that I cared to know, even though I was sort of interested—I wanted to see which one of us would win this kind of face-off.

"I think I could work around that."

I couldn't help it. I giggled. Kissing him slower this time, I threatened, "I could go help Leech get over his wife and leave you to jerk off in the shower if you don't tell me."

"You wouldn't."

"I don't bluff, Bryce. I'm a compulsive liar, but if I'm crazy enough to say it, I'm crazy enough to do it. Now, do you want to tell me one little story or do you want me to leave?"

"I would swear to God you're telling the truth," he said, staring at me like I was nuts. What else was new? "You're very good at that. Scary good. I'm impressed. But you're not going to leave."

"You sure about that?" He couldn't be. I wasn't sure what I was going to do if I didn't get my way; he couldn't know. "You willing to risk it?"

"I've risked a lot worse and I'm still here." We glared at each other, daring the other not to back down. Slowly, Bryce began to chuckle. "I think I'm going to tell you anyway. You might actually appreciate this story."

He lay back down on the bed and somehow managed to get us both over our sides, trapping me between the wall and him. His right side was up in the air, the black ink melting into the half-darkness. He propped his head up with his left arm and reached out the right to play with my hair. I began to trace the outline of the tattoo. If my hand happened to descend downward with the lines...well, I think that was the point.

"That was the first tattoo I got. I was seventeen and my dad felt guilty he was in Europe for my birthday and said I could have whatever I wanted," Bryce began.

"He let you get your first tattoo down there?"

"His condition was that it had to be someplace Grandpa would never see. Since that defeated the whole purpose...I had to make a statement some other way."

At least he hadn't tattooed his penis. My mother had once had a boyfriend who had done that. He delighted in telling me how he had been fully erect the whole time it was being done. Luckily, Mom walked in the room and even she realized that one was not a keeper.

"Why couldn't he see?"

I was more focused on undoing the button on his jeans then my question. I was about to tug down the zipper when he spoke.

"Gillian, you said you wanted to hear the story. So keep your goddamn hands to yourself for now." I pouted, but there were ways around everything. I wrapped my leg around his hip and then leaned over and placed a feather light kiss on his shoulder. He didn't mind that, so I explored his chest with my mouth as he talked.

"Grandpa's got tats too. Two of them. One reads: Wir fürchten Gott."

"We fear God," I translated. "I speak German. And Spanish, by the way."

"You understood Leech? Shit," he muttered. "His face is going to be priceless when I tell him. Anyway, that's what the one on his left arm says. It sort of doesn't go well with the one on his right. He got them both when he was fifteen when the Fatherland annexed Austria. A great day for the Empire." Bryce couldn't help but mock. "They'd immigrated a long while before but he still had some relatives pretty high up—anyway. He doesn't mind the quote. He actually still says it sometime. It's because of the other one that he doesn't like ink much."

He was cupping my ass now, holding me tight against him, giving me almost no room to manoeuvre. But he didn't stop talking and stranger than that, I didn't try and stop him. I even asked:

"What's the other one?"

"What do you think?" I didn't know much about history, but that seemed like an easy one. "After the end of the war he forged some papers and got sent to Nuremberg because he wanted to see the lawyers there in action. I think he would have gotten it removed afterwards, but that would be admitting he shouldn't have gotten it in the first place. No one's seen him without his shirt since. I never even knew he had tattoos until he saw mine."

"After you purposely had it done so he wouldn't see? Smart Bryce."

"I didn't mean to show him. It was an accident. I was playing around in his pool with my cousins and then someone dared Joey to dive off this tree, so of course I had to do it too. And when I got out of the water, my trunks were half off. Grandpa saw. He has been reading by the pool the entire time, but after he saw me, he got up and went into the house. No one even noticed, except my Dad who told me to get the hell out of the water and go apologize. I was half out of the pool when I saw Grandpa coming back out. He was holding a bullwhip in his hand."

I snorted. "Seriously?"

"Fuck, yeah. You should have seen this thing. He had a whole collection of weapons and stuff but I never knew he knew how to use them. It was ten feet long and could break the sound barrier if you cracked it right. And he came out of the house, waving it like an expert. My dad started screaming at me to get the fuck out of there so I ran like hell and my dad started trying to calm him down but Grandpa was just waving the whip and running after me..."

Bryce dissolved into laughter at the memory and I found myself joining in. It amused me, picturing him running away from the crazy old man. I was a horrible person. Sue me.

When I stopped giggling, I had to ask, "He didn't manage to hit you, did he?"

"If he had I'd have a fucking ugly scar. Though he wasn't just trying to scare me. He doesn't pull that shit. If he'd have caught me, he would have fucking done it."

"And so you took that charming family memory and had it permanently embedded onto your skin?"

Bryce grinned and informed me: "Not one other person in my family has a tattoo. They hear that story, and they're too fucking scared. I did it to show him I could."

"I bet that's why you do a lot of things. Really, Bryce, why didn't you just have 'fuck you, Grandpa' put on instead? It would have captured the sentiment just as well."

He began kissing me again, as he said, "I like being subtle."

I giggled. "You're about as subtle as dynamite. So why the eagle?" He seemed much more interested in tracing patterns on the inside of my thigh, so I figured it out myself. "It's not an American eagle, is it?"

"No."

It was mostly just a grunt, but it was an answer. Some sort of Germanic emblem or something. A sign of respect and fear all tied together that he would never admit to. "That's actually kind of sweet."

He pulled back quickly and sat up, leaning over me. I think he was actually offended because he sounded more pissed than usual. "I am not and never will be sweet. Take your fucking shirt off already."

"Did I hurt your feelings?" I laughed, sitting up. "That's too cute."

"Shut up, Gillian."

"Aww...poor baby," I said, leaning over to kiss him. It didn't long before he was responding, tongue just barley brushing my lips as I shivered. It wasn't hard to find his hands, to bring them to the hem of my shirt. "I'm sorry. However can I make it up to you?"

"You could start by just being quiet."

Quiet was probably the exact opposite of what I was in bed, but I didn't say that because he finally got the damn hint and took off my shirt. He smirked and I think it was in appreciation, because his eyes darkened and then I was somehow on his lap again, but I didn't really care how.

Warm arms wrapped around me as he kissed me. As his palm skimmed my sides I couldn't help but giggle. It tickled. He snorted against my mouth, but then his hands were on my tits, surprisingly rough for a white-collar worker, but I wasn't complaining, just arched forward a little bit more and didn't bother keeping my moans quiet.

I don't think he minded.

Bryce was busy with my chest, fingers playing expertly across the soft skin, brushing over sensitive peaks until I gasped aloud. Only then did he decide to put his mouth to good use, moving it downwards, kissing and teasing, dipping lower and lower until he could replace his fingers. The concentration he placed on the breasts he had constantly mocked was impressive.

He began to suck, tongue tracing swirls against my skin as moisture pooled between my legs. His mouth was so warm that I felt the cold finally receding. Truly hot for the first time in a long while, I tightened my thighs around his hips even as my fingers laced through his hair.

"You really are a whore," I gasped as he switched his attention to the other side. He was too talented not to be. "God, Bryce, I'm so fucking wet already."

I think he liked that, because his response was to scrape his teeth across my nipple causing my fingers to curl so tightly in his hair I was afraid the frail bones might shatter. I thought my whole body might shatter. It's why I was here, after all.

I kissed him, tongue searching for something. They were sloppy kisses, wet and hungry. Our chests were pressed tightly together and it was driving me crazy, being already so sensitized to his touch. His hands were groping my ass, urging me into him. He was so hard under me—it was almost as good as being wanted. I quickly ran a hand between us, looking for his half-opened pants.

He didn't seem to like that. Of course not. This was a competition and as a Nast he had to win. But when he began rubbing me through my shorts, I decided I should just let him have his way. And when his flingers slipped under the baggy material to my dripping core, I just congratulated myself on my excellent decision making skills. But he just barely brushed my lower lips, more content to play along the inside of my thighs than the heat between them.

Tease.

"Come on, Bryce. Don't you want to feel how hot I am for you?" I kissed him again, teeth catching his lower lip. "Don't you want to make me scream until I can't talk anymore? Don't you—"

My hips jerked as he thrust two fingers inside me, quickly, shocking me into silence. Then his thumb found my clit and I really ran out of words. The pace he set was blistering, and I loved every second of it. As I writhed on top of him, Bryce placed one hand on my hip to hold me steady. I could feel the vibrations of his chest when he demanded in a low voice:

"Why don't you tell me what you want, Gillian?"

"I want—" If I knew that I would not be in this room right now. "I want you to fuck me, Bryce. Have your wicked way with the wicked witch."

"I'm going to get you my pretty," he mumbled with a tiny smile.

"And your little dog too," I gasped as his thumb proved quite talented. A little more inspired, I said: "I want you to taste me, I want to watch you between my thighs, licking my pussy until you make my eyes roll back. Would you like that?"

"Bet you taste delicious."

"Like sugar and spice, even if I'm not nice." He wasn't nice, not all. He managed to hit right there inside me, while his thumb grazed the swollen nub and if felt so good that my brain shut down. That didn't stop my mouth.

"I want your cock buried deep inside me, fucking me over and over. God, Bryce, I want you to fuck me. Fuck me until I can't talk, can't stand, can't think. On the bed, up against the wall, as hard as you can, I want you to fuck me. I want you to make me come until I can't anymore and then I want you to do it again. I want all that, Bryce. I want you like that because I'm greedy little bitch."

I whimpered as he withdrew his hand, my pussy throbbing, my knees weak. Fucking bastard. His hand on was on my face, blue eyes watching as I tasted myself on his fingers. Neither of us were good at sharing—our tongues tangled as we fought over my sweetness. I think I may have bit his finger at one point.

But then he was pushing me down, back on the bed. It was easily enough for him to pull off my shorts as he said, "You're not the only one who can be greedy."

He spread my legs further apart, manoeuvring himself between them. Cold air on hot flesh made me tremble, but watching Bryce watch me and then lick his lips almost made me come right then and there.

He placed the gentlest kiss on my knee and my hands found my tits, nipples painfully tight, and I fondled them as his tongue came ever so close to the heat between my legs.

"I'm not going down on you," I blurted out. I've done a lot of stupid shit and this was near the top. Why was I trying to be honest just then?

He looked up, looking at me like I was insane. "This is me going down on you," he explained. "I'm not sure how much clearer I could make this."

"I just thought you should know before you did it, I won't return the favour. Ever. So don't even bother to ask."

"That's stupid hang up to have."

It wasn't a hang up. I had given more than my fair share of blowjobs; Bryce had probably received way more than his fair share. He probably had someone on the company payroll for that express purpose. So to keep things fair he was never going to feel my lips on his cock, no matter how tempting it was thinking of him trembling as I licked and sucked and swallowed...right. I was not doing that. Ever.

"Whatever. Just so you know."

"Fine," he agreed. "I liked it better when you were talking before."

"Did you? You liked it when told you how I wanted to feel you—oh my god, Bryce."

I should move to New York.

Moving across the country to get tongue fucked like this on a regular basis actually seemed like a perfectly rational idea. Either I was really easy or he was really good at this—probably both, actually. It didn't take long before I was coming apart between his bed and his mouth. His hands were on my hips, even as they tried to buck off the bed, holding to me to him until I think my eyes really did roll back.

It was only after I stopped shaking that he finally stopped lapping up my juices, placing a goodbye kiss just below my navel.

"You owe me a story," he said as he climbed over me.

"Hmmm?"

My vocal chords would recover soon enough. Meanwhile my hands fumbled with his pants as I tried not to notice his arms on either side of my head. It wasn't fair. Corporate lackeys shouldn't be in that kind of shape. Distracting me with muscles that my fingers itched to touch, that I couldn't stop imagining straining as they held me close—right. His pants.

"I'm going to let you decide how I'm going to fuck you," he whispered, tongue tracing my earlobe, my body responding to him again. "But you owe me a story."

Finally, that stupid zipper came undone and I slipped my hands inside his shorts. Wrapping one hand around him while the other pushed his clothing off, I began to pump, slowly, just a little bit roughly. When he groaned above me, I could feel it everywhere.

"Deal," I whispered. So what did I want? What did he want? "I bet what you really want is to fuck me up against your best friend's guest bedroom wall." It was the only thing I could think of that would be disrespectful enough to please him.

He kissed me to seal the deal and then I rolled out from under him so he could sit up to properly removing the last of his clothing. He was much better looking naked—and I wasn't just saying that because seeing his dick unobstructed made my pussy twitch. He was just more impressive now that I could run my hands over the muscles of his chest, his stomach, his thighs...

Bryce groaned under me as I ran my hand along his shaft. I pushed him back on the bed and I climbed over him, legs on either side of his hips. I may have teased him for a bit, guiding him to my entrance, then moving the head to my clit, rubbing the aching flesh until I was gasping.

"I'm all hot and bothered at just the thought of you inside me, Bryce, but I think I like you best like this. Like a toy, only here to please me. A fun little game for us to play."

Why did I want him angry? I don't know. But I said it just because I knew it would piss him off.

He didn't disappoint, sitting up, pressing closer, eyes narrowed. "A nasty game, for a nasty girl." His hands were on my tits again, rougher than before, and I could only moan in agreement. His voice turned harsh. "Enough with the fucking foreplay."

So that's why I wanted him mad.

Without further preamble I sank right down on his cock.

My muscles clenched around him as he hissed, fingers digging into my hips.

"I'm going to hell," he gasped. "Or jail."

"Bryce…" I think I was going to tell him to shut up. But his hands were back on my breasts, cupping the soft flesh, and I just stopped thinking, my hips grinding against him instinctively, needing more...more.

He really didn't it like it that much, having me on top. Not that he was complaining at all and he did seem to be enjoying himself just...he wasn't completely into it. I leaned down to kiss him and he ended up growling against my lips, "For the record, I'm no one's toy."

"Are you saying you can't help me? I guess I could try doing this by myself."

I was such a bitch; I pushed him to the bed and rose right up off of him. With a bit of manoeuvring I managed to be kneeling beside him on the bed. He might have killed me then and there, but he was in shock, a little bit, I think. He could only watch as I arched backwards so he had a perfect view of my breasts, my stomach, my pussy. My fingers reached between my legs, sinking into my heat, slowly moving in and out, teasing myself, not bothering to keep quiet at all.

"See, if you were my whore, you could be doing this right now, Bryce," I explained, a bit breathlessly. "It could be your fingers inside me, touching me, driving me crazy. Feeling how wet I am—"

"Gillian—"

He knelt in front of me, arms around my waist, hard against my stomach, but I stopped him with my fingers to his mouth. He obediently sucked and when my hand was clean, I leaned up to kiss him.

"Don't you wish you'd been good, Bryce? Or that I wasn't so...what did you call me? Nasty?"

"Fuck this," he muttered.

I don't know how he did it. I suppose the fact he was twice my size and I was rather distracted helped. Somehow, he managed to get his hands on my hips and then he literally lifted me up as he stood up.

Without even thinking about it, I wrapped my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist, pressing myself against him, as he walked us towards the wall.

"See how loud you can make me scream," I begged.

He didn't answer, but it didn't matter. Not when my back hit the wall with thud, as he pressed into me, hard enough that I gasped. Excellent.

He was inside me then, even if I wasn't sure how he did that, either. Years of practice, I suppose, but I didn't care, not really, because it felt so fucking good.

His fingers were digging into my ass as he drilled into me, hard thrusts that had me babbling, shit I don't even think made sense, just words, really, hot and please and fuck and who knows what else. But it was even better than before, just this mindless beautiful heat that was taking over everything.

I arched my back and—oh—that was just perfect.

"Don't you dare," he hissed. "You're my toy now, Gillian, and you're not coming until I say so."

I wanted to protest, because I was annoying that way, but I could feel the vibrations of his voice everywhere and I was sort of helpless to resist. So I bit my lip and I swear I tried to be good...

..but the words just sort of spilled out. The nastiest, dirtiest stuff I could come up coming out of my mouth, but the funniest part was what got him the worst was me saying his name. His breathing picked up as I moaned. That was too easy. So I took it and ran with it, as he thrust into me again and again.

I whimpered his name over and over, not caring how I hit the wall, only that I was so fucking hot and I hadn't felt this good in a long time. He did know how to do hard. Over and over and then finally—finally!—he said it.

Voice hoarse in my ear, but just as arrogant as always:

"Come for me, Gillian. Come on my cock, screaming my name."

So I did as I was told.

When I clamped down on him, he exploded inside me, fingers definitely going to leave bruises on my ass. I didn't care. I kissed him as he shook, stepping back until we were back on the bed, me on his lap once more.

"You and your mouth," he gasped, kissing my hungrily.

"I think you like my mouth."

"I'd like it a lot better if—"

I silenced him with a kiss. "You're so predictable, Bryce."

"I resent that."

When I caught my breath, I climbed off him and glanced around the room. Only then did I notice the TV was still on. I was trying to stand on my trembling legs, but Bryce grabbed my wrist. "This is the best part."

He made himself more comfortable, utterly unashamed. He was gorgeous in the half light, silvery gold, all lean and glistening with sweat. His eyes were glued to the TV and he didn't invite me to stay. But he left space on the bed and I figured it was the best invitation I was going to get.

I lay down in front of him, not believing that he had seen this crap before. These made for TV flicks all seemed the same to me. But it was sort of unintentionally very funny. We watched for a while as the hero tried to decapitate some sort of vampire-zombie hybrid. But the creature escaped and of course the hero had to follow it into the dark warehouse. Was it the left? Was it to the right? Behind him? Above—

I almost jerked off the bed, but a large hand held my waist. I turned onto my back and hit Bryce in the arm, even if it didn't stop his laughter. I wasn't scared. I just hadn't expected lips on my neck at that particular moment.

"You all right, there?" he asked, still laughing.

"Real mature, Bryce. How about a warning next time?"

"You need a warning? Gillian, that's what the sex was."

His hand absently traces the contours of my ribs and I found myself shaking my head, but smiling a little, as he rained kisses on my face. His hand was moving over my body, ever so slowly. I sighed happily, but then he whispered, "Right after he kills her, she full on blinks. Watch."

I didn't bother sitting up, just turned my head a little. Sure enough, even though zombie-vampire lady was split in two, her eyes shifted as she lay on the ground. I found myself grinning at him as he chuckled quietly. It made me blurt out:

"I don't hate you, you know. I know I act like it and most of the time I think it, but I don't. I...I don't." I was a little surprised to find that the words were true. Truer than I had thought. At least, they felt true. And that was the best I could right now.

He chuckled. "Good. I'm trying to only sleep with woman who dislike me, not hate me."

"I don't think I dislike you either."

"That's a bad idea, Gillian." He was talking quietly now, so I had to strain to hear. "This whole mess is a bad idea."

"We can't hear Savannah bitch and complain until we fix her and once we do you won't have to listen to her. Though she really is never going to let me live this down. Ever. From now on, every time she almost gets me killed it's going to be, you slept with the evil half-brother that one time when my life was in danger. It's going to be a nightmare."

"You really are freak, MacArthur. Tell me my story now."

"What kind of story?" I asked as my hands began wandering his body.

"Not that kind," he laughed. "I told you a traumatic childhood story. Think you can trump it?"

I could, but I wasn't going there just to win a stupid game. I tried to find a roughly equivalent memory instead. "Okay. When I was twelve my older sister was dating this older guy who was into some...things that I pretended I didn't know about. He was a jerk," I added. I hadn't liked him at all but Dana insisted he was a good guy at heart. "I mean, really, twenty year old guys should not date fifteen year old girls."

Bryce starting chuckling, kissing me again.

"They don't date teenage girls, they fuck them."

"She wasn't like that." Not that she was a virgin or anything but... "Do you want to hear this or not?"

"Sorry."

"Like I was saying, he was into some kind of shit. So he asked her to hold some of his things at our place for a while. She agreed, forbade me from going into her dresser and that should have been that. My mom never cleaned our room, said she wasn't our maid, but she was always snooping around my sister's stuff. So she finds the drugs and flips out. I get home before Dana to find her screaming, and by the time my sister gets back she's lost it. She starts shouting, about how Dana's a druggie slut. 'How come there's crack in your room?' she demands. And Dana just stands there and says...

"'That's meth, Mom. Don't you know anything?'"

Bryce tried to pretend he wasn't laughing. I knew he would get it.

That's why I went back to kissing him, long and deep and when he tried to pull away I just sort of naturally didn't let him. I turned on my side and soon found myself on top of him as we moved together lazily, hands exploring one another. I could feel him hard against my thigh. Was he waiting for an invitation?

I moved my mouth along his jaw as he said, "I would like to point out that if we did continue this game I would be the winner, hands down. The fucked up family award is mine." He pretended to wipe away a tear. "My Daddy's dead and Mommy never calls."

"My Daddy slit his own wrists and my Mommy called me a fucking cunt." That wasn't exactly true—Mom never insulted me. But I wasn't about to forget the things she had said to Dana. I leaned in close and kissed him. "I win."

He pouted. "Stop being so competitive."

With that he rolled us right over so that I was on my back. He was between my legs now, so fucking close...

"Make me."

Bryce was up for the challenge.

...

When I finally managed to catch my breath I found myself partially on top of him, but I don't think I could have moved if I had wanted to. I didn't. I wanted to just close my eyes and drift away.

"You're not staying here," he whispered underneath me. "The bed's too small."

"I'm not leaving." I looked up at him, in the pale moonlight, grinning. A little taste of his own medicine wouldn't hurt. "Compensation, Bryce. Remember? I think I've earned this bed."

"I think we're even. In fact, I pretty sure you owe me."

The fact that he hadn't been keeping an exact score surprised me, but I was happy to hear he hadn't. I was way too far ahead to hope to pay him back. That was beside the point. I felt too good to move. "I'm not leaving. You can take the couch if you're so desperate. Walk past Savannah naked, see what she says then."

"Might shut her up. Or I could drag you to the couch."

I wasn't about to say he wouldn't dare—that was the fastest way to get him to do it. Instead I just said lightly, "Or you could call Leech over."

"Are you trying to suggest a threesome?"

I just meant that the big man would find it easy to carry me to bed. But now that Bryce had given me the idea, I couldn't help but grin. They were both attractive and the two of them together would tear me apart. "I'm in if you're in."

"That is surprisingly less repulsive than it should be," Bryce said with a shrug. He laughed and relaxed, shaking gently under me, hands absentmindedly rubbing my arm. His touch was soft and my eyes fluttered closed. "He wouldn't go for it—he still in mourning over Claire"

"Was it really that bad?"

"He just didn't expect it. Though he should of. She taught the second grade and was dying to have kids. But Leech...he's a necro. It...it gets bad in his family and he didn't want to risk it. It's like a fucking genetic disease, even if he can't tell her about. So he didn't tell her. Now he's in shock that she left."

"Oh." I thought it over for a little bit. "I think you were right. He should have lied. I can't believe you didn't try and explain it to her behind his back."

"I didn't realize how serious it was. By the time it occurred to me, she wouldn't believe a word I said. It was not a fun conversation." He thought for a moment. "Don't tell Leech about that. He would kill me."

"You're telling me secrets now? What's next? Are we going to cuddle?"

"Go to hell, Gillian," he muttered.

Actually, in order to fit on the bed he did have to wrap himself around me pretty tightly. I didn't say anything. I didn't doubt he was capable of carrying me back out, if the inclination struck.

...