Brutal Blueblood

over my face, refusing to go back down to the party even though staying here was obviously a bad idea. But I didn’t want to go to my room and rattle around like a well-pleasured but unsettled ghost either. With a groan that nobody but me could hear, I wrenched open the balcony door and stepped out into the cold night air, which felt amazing after the hot urgency of the corridor.
I was smarter than this. I was intelligent. I knew things. Knew what rich boys like Owen Montgomery did with girls like me. I was just for fun. I was a distraction. I was completely expendable. I was someone he would never think about after he was finished with me.
After all, wasn’t that what had happened to my mother? Wasn’t that how I’d come about? Some rich prick in the city had knocked her up and promptly forgot all about her, making it impossible to find him. It’d been the ultimate ghosting.
What was wrong with me? I really needed to do better because I did know better. It was just he’d started touching me, and . . .
And what, Tanith? He is a Hellfire boy. And you, smart as you are, are a nobody.
Hellfire boys didn’t date nobodies. Hellfire boys felt nobodies up in the dark and then promptly walked away.
The admonishing didn’t stop there. My brain replayed what had happened. Owen’s hand on my neck and then sliding into my hair as he gripped tight. His mouth desperately seeking mine as if he couldn’t not kiss me. As if he couldn’t not taste me. As if he would die if he didn’t get his hands on me.
It was an Owen Montgomery I didn’t know. The Owen I knew was always in control. That was an Owen Montgomery so cold that ice wouldn’t melt in his mouth. Ever. He was that guy. His mates called him the Ice King, for Christ’s sake. Like he was some fantasy book character.
He was the calm, cool, dashing, debonair Hellfire type, the one least likely to do something that would incur bodily harm. But he would certainly be on hand, in case anyone needed bail money or fishing out of a river, like that time a couple of years ago with Rhys. But God help you if you expected him to feel anything. He didn’t know what feelings were.
And you’re the silly girl who just let him feel you up.
I could still feel the residual tingles of his palms on my nipples diffusing throughout me as he squeezed my breasts, and then Owen oh-so-gently rubbing his palms so my nipples hardened as he groaned into my mouth. I could still feel the length of him pulsing against my belly as I throbbed in response.
That was the problem. The throbbing. I could ignore the rest of it. But that constant searing, needy throb . . . Jesus Christ. How did anyone deal with this? Was this what had happened to Iris Briggs? I’d heard she was a lot like me—quiet, studious, working her ass off.
And then Keaton Constantine had happened to her.
Now, I understood. This was how girls like me lost their heads—and their scholarships. God, please, God, do not let this be me. I was truly smarter than this. So what if Owen Montgomery kissed me? Made me come? So what? I could take it. It was just getting off. People did it in fan fiction once a chapter. He wasn’t proposing marriage. Hell, I was pretty certain he still didn’t like me given how little he thought of me.
He was just so goddamned condescending. Like he knew anything about my struggles. Knew anything about who I was. Knew anything about how hard it was for me.
He knew nothing.
“You look like you need a drink.”
My head whipped around to find Felix smoking a cigarette. I made a face. “Sorry, I didn’t see you around here. And no, thank you.”
“That’s all right. I just came up from around there.” He pointed toward the corner of the house, where there was another door.
“I’ll leave you be and head back inside.” I knew what it was like to need your solitude.
“No. As a matter of fact, I’m glad to catch you here. Seems like you’re mad about something, pretty girl.”
The way he said that made my skin crawl. “I’m thinking. But thinking is really cold work right now.”
“Oh, come on, I’m not a complete and total jackass. Okay, fine, I’m a little bit of a jackass. But have a drink with me anyway.” He held up his glass and waved it around.
“I don’t really drink that much.”
“Shame. Seems like you need it.”
I didn’t like the implications of that at all. “It does?”
He gave me a lazy smirk. “You think I didn’t notice Owen with his hands all over you?”
My stomach twisted. “What?”
“Owen. My little brother. He’s jealous as hell that I kissed you first.”
It was on the tip of my tongue to correct him and tell him his brother had actually gotten the first kiss from me, but I didn’t. I didn’t need to broadcast that, and I really, really didn’t want the competition between the two of them to get worse. “Our kiss was just a mistletoe thing, right?”
He laughed. “What? You don’t want me to propose?”
I furrowed my brow. “No, I’m not even sure I like you.”
He chuckled low. “Well, at least you’re honest. You like my brother, huh?”
My furrow only deepened. “No. I’m certain I don’t like him.”
Felix laughed even more. “Ugh, God, young love. If only I had a heart.”
He passed over the glass, and I eyed it dubiously. He rolled his eyes. “Jesus.”
He pulled it back and tipped the glass to his lips, wincing as he swallowed. “See, it’s not like it’s drugged or anything.”
Had he really said that? I eyed him dubiously this time.
“You really are an innocent thing, aren’t you? Normally, I eat innocent things like you for lunch. But I can tell you don’t fancy me. Which is just fine. I mean, I’m confused,