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  His hand reached up and pressed on the marks. They looked like flames peeking out from the collar of his shirt on his right side.

  They looked vicious.

  “Yeah,” he mumbled. Then smirked as he shrugged a shoulder. “Shit gets out of hand sometimes.”

  I really couldn’t argue since I had similar marks decorating my back, but I sure as fuck wasn’t about to mention that. “Uh…just…make sure you clean them well,” I remarked like a tool. “You wouldn’t want to get an infection.”

  His black brows drew down, and he looked at me like I was crazy. But, hey, crazy was being inside the Hale home after claiming Grace Hale for my own and shooting the shit with Sterling Hale like we were best buds.

  I slapped him on the shoulder. “I gotta go,” I told him. “I gotta get to work.” He nodded and I headed on out. But as I put my hand on the doorknob, he called out to me. I turned around, “Yeah?”

  “That day you wouldn’t let Grace change her tire?” I nodded. “That’s when I knew you were good enough for her. You had every right to hate her, but you still refused to let her get hurt.”

  I smiled at my one-day-to-be-brother-in-law and knew a stamp of approval when I saw one.

  Epilogue

  Grace~

  I wasn’t sure if I’d ever get used to this.

  I was laying on my bed, looking up at the ceiling, coming down off high that was Styx Reinhart. It’s only been three weeks, but it just kept getting better. Tonight was New Year’s Eve, but we had made plans to stay in. I didn’t get much time with Styx after school, so we were reluctant to share our time with other people.

  I curled onto my side, and I could feel Styx’s heart beating underneath my cheek. “I’ll never get tired of that,” I mumbled, exhausted.

  Styx let out a low chuckle. “Good to know.” His right arm wrapped around me tighter, and this was all that mattered. These moments with Styx.

  Christmas had been a quick, small, painful affair. Mom and Dad had come home long enough to spend Christmas week with us at home. They had met Styx and it had gotten ugly. Styx had gotten a good up close and person example of why I had been the way I was. And why I was trying to change.

  It hadn’t been until Sterling lost his shit that my parents had both backed down. They hadn’t given their approval, but when Sterling had threatened to let Hale Securities & Investments end with our father, instead of caring on the dynasty into the future, they…conceded.

  I owed my brother so much.

  Meeting Styx’s parents had been an experience of the complete opposite. They had been warm and welcoming, and Temperance was a doll.

  My phone beeped with an incoming text. I loathed to move from my place next to Styx, but it could be London or Sterling. So, holding the sheet to my chest, I rolled over and reached for my phone on the nightstand. It was a text from London.

  London: Holy shit!

  I saw there was a link included in the text, so I pressed it, and holy shit, indeed. “Oh, God…”

  “What?” Styx was immediately at my side, his head over my shoulder, peering down at my phone.

  “Seth’s been arrested for rape,” I rasped out, shocked and…shocked.

  “What?”

  I didn’t answer, and instead just read the article where a girl had accused him of raping her. According to the article, she had proof and was credible. Apparently, they’d attended a party together the weekend of Thanksgiving, and he had ended up assaulting her at that party.

  “Jesus.” Styx’s breath was soft on my shoulder.

  “I…” I didn’t know what to say. I mean, what do you say to something like that? An ungracious part of me automatically thought about Karma, but still.

  And then, my phone beeped with another incoming text. I saw it was Sterling, so I opened it immediately.

  Sterling: (winking face emoji)

  I closed my eyes as my stomach hollowed out.

  I started crying, and immediately sent Styx into a fit of uncertainty. “Grace, baby, what is it?”

  Turning to look at him, I knew I couldn’t tell him. I loved him, and I trusted him with everything I had, but this wasn’t about me or my secrets. This was about my brother and what he wouldn’t do for me.

  So, I lied.

  The first and, hopefully, only one I’ll ever need to tell Styx. “I just kind of feel like it’s Karma for what he did to Leah, and…I think I should feel bad about that.”

  Styx leaned forward and placed a kiss on my bare shoulder. “Feel happy for Leah,” he murmured against my skin.

  I smiled and leaned my head to the side, so we were cheek-to-cheek. “I think I’ll be happy for us, too.”

  “Even better.”

  The End.

  Mirrors

  ◆◆◆

  Copyright 2020 Monica Clayton

  Published by M.E. Clayton

  All Rights Reserved

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, then please return to Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This book is a work of fiction. The entire content is a product of the author’s imagination and all names, places, businesses, and incidences are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead), places or occurrences, is entirely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any manner whatsoever without the express written consent from the author, except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Formatting: Smashwords

  Cover: Adobe Stock

  Warning: This book contains sexual situations and other adult themes. Recommended for 18 years of age and over.

  Table of Contents

  ◆◆◆

  Dedication

  Prologue

  1. London

  2. Sterling

  3. London

  4. Sterling

  5. London

  6. Sterling

  7. London

  8. Sterling

  9. London

  10. Sterling

  11. London

  12. Sterling

  13. London

  14. Sterling

  15. London

  16. Sterling

  17. London

  18. Sterling

  19. London

  20. Sterling

  Epilogue

  Dedication

  ◆◆◆

  For My Readers –

  Every new story, every new character, every new adventure is for you.

  Prologue

  This was wrong.

  I knew it, but I couldn’t find it in me to care.

  As my back slammed up against the tile wall over, and over again, my mind and any rational thought had, long ago, given way to the undeniable pleasure that was wracking my body.

  Unlike most girls, I had never given much thought to how I’d lose my virginity. I hadn’t daydreamed of rose petals and candlelight. I hadn’t imagined a fairy tale love, where my boyfriend would do everything right, and our joining would be about love and not lust. I hadn’t pictured any post-coital tenderness or sweet words of forever.

  I hadn’t really thought about it at all.

  I had imagined that when the time came, I’d know it, and I’d be ready.

  But if anyone had ever posed that question to me and had asked me what I had imagined my first time to be like, I never would have described this.

  I wouldn’t have known how to describe this.

  How do you put something like this into words?

  My core felt full, but it still needed more. My body felt on fire, but it shivered from head to toe. My lungs felt like they were strug
gling, but my breaths kept coming faster. My nails were breaking skin, but I still couldn’t hold on tight enough.

  I was drowning under sensations that were too wild to tame, and I wasn’t scared that they might take me completely under.

  “Christ, I can’t get enough,” he grunted in my ear as his body slammed into mine, forcing the wall to shake with the impact of our tangled bodies. “You’re so fucking tight.”

  My fingernails dug deeper into the hard muscles of his back, but I couldn’t bring myself to care if I left marks. I was holding on for dear life here. Even though he was holding me up without one hint of strain, I felt like I was on the verge of melting at his feet.

  And this wasn’t even our first time.

  The first time had happened three hours ago when our drunken laughter had morphed into something different. The first time had happened when that ‘something different’ had led me to follow him into his bedroom. The first time had been on his bed, him covering my body with his, and taking me deep and slow. It hadn’t been making love, but every thrust had been calculated, measured, deep, and painful.

  And all I had done was spread my legs further and begged for more.

  The second time was, again, on the bed, but this time, his body had been underneath mine as I rode him to completion.

  The third time had been on my hands and knees, the bed sheets a tangle mess, his strong hands on my hips, as his powerful body crashed into mine with brutal thrusts that had been guaranteed to be the final time for me.

  Until he had followed me into the shower.

  The hard tile against my back did nothing to distract from the pleasure he was pulling from my body. The soreness I was feeling now, and would definitely be feeling tomorrow, wasn’t even registering as he grunted filthy things in my ear. I held on and kept begging for more because I knew I’d be done after this time. Even if I wanted to make this an all-nighter, my body couldn’t take much more. My body was new to this and it was demanding that I relent soon.

  I also knew we would be done after this time.

  He didn’t do girlfriends, and I wasn’t looking for a boyfriend.

  Whatever that ‘something different’ that had passed between us earlier was, it wasn’t love at first sight. Hell, I wasn’t even sure it was like. I was fairly sure it had just been an underlying simmer of chemistry that had surfaced with the dangerous combination of alcohol, lust, heat, and curiosity.

  Well, I wasn’t curious anymore.

  The pressure started to build again, and I feared he was ruining me for other guys. Because there was no doubt that this night was going to be a hard act to follow in the future.

  I held on tighter. “Don’t stop,” I demanded. “I’m going to cum…don’t stop…” His teeth latched onto the skin of my neck, and I knew there’d be another mark to add to the numerous ones he’s already left all over my body. “Yes…”

  I came all over him again, not worried about what tomorrow would bring, if anything.

  Chapter 1

  London~

  It was the Friday before winter break, and I was seriously contemplating just skipping the day. It wasn’t as if skipping today would affect my grades or anything, so why not?

  I sat in my Aston Martin DBS Superleggera Volante that my father had gifted me two years ago, and watched students making their way into the massive hallways of Blackstone Prep Academy. BPA was where the One Percent of the One Percent sent their children for high school. Living in Wakefield Community that was nestled within the city of Dayton, California, we were that elite offspring to the super wealthy. And Blackstone was so prestigious, people sent their kids from all over the nation to attend, and it was only high school.

  Blackstone Prep was a massive monstrosity of teenage education, and even had an area designated as dorms for out-of-state students. The entire building was made of stone and mortar and was the perfect backdrop for any horror movie of your choice.

  I couldn’t argue that the education was the best, though. Parents donated millions, and millions to this place to ensure their children will be groomed to perfection and ready to take on the college of their choice with ease. And after college, we were expected to take over the world.

  I, however, still wasn’t quite sure of my path, just yet. My father, Griffin Addison was an energies tycoon in Texas, and made more money than any one person had the right to. His wealth was rather obscene, and the only other family I knew of that exceeded even my father’s wealth were the Hales.

  My parents had divorced when I was about six, or so, and it had been ugly. My father’s family had struck oil in Texas and, of course, my father had been included in the building of their dynasty. My father was a brilliant man, and that side of my family had known they’d need my father to make the most of their good fortune. Well, my mother, Bernice, hadn’t wanted to leave California. She had refused to be subjected to the ‘whims of the Addisons’, and so, after months, and months, and months of arguing about it, my father had left for Texas, leaving us behind. And four months after that, Bernice had filed for divorce, taking half of everything. Unfortunately, she hadn’t done her homework and had struck too soon. She had received half, and while it had been an astronomical lump sum of alimony, it had been nothing compared to what my father was worth now. And much to Bernice’s dismay, I spoke with my father every week, and we had a good enough father/daughter relationship, considering the distance.

  These days, Bernice was engaged to Mark Manson, who was in technologies of some sort or another. The main thing to note was that Mark had money. He also had a son by his first wife who was a complete jackass-his son, not his first wife. Cash was nineteen-years-old and a freshman in college, attending Stanford. He wasn’t a bad-looking guy, but he was just such a jerk. And with Stanford only been an hour, or so, away from Dayton, he visited too often if you asked me.

  Bernice and Mark had started dating last year, and I guess it was love because they got engaged within a few months. But, to be fair, Mark really might be in love with Bernice, but I couldn’t see how, because Bernice’s true colors were visible to anyone who took the time to really look.

  I was also jaded enough to understand that, having turned eighteen this summer, child support was coming to an end for Bernice. While technically it could have already come to an end, my dad had agreed to pay child support through my high school graduation. After that, college would be paid for by my dad directly until I was old enough to access my trust fund at twenty-one.

  And why was I bothering with college if I had a trust fund? Because I had trust issues and nothing in life was a guarantee. Sure, my father was extremely wealthy today, but all that could be wiped out tomorrow with one unwise move. I’ve seen it happen. And while I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do as a career, I still knew I wanted to go to college for some direction and security.

  There was also this new kick I was on thanks to my best friend, Grace Hale. Grace had gone though some things earlier in the school year, and it had changed her perspective on life and people. She had vowed to quit being a horrible, entitled, rich kid, and she was bringing me along for the ride. Now, while I hadn’t been as bad as Grace, I knew I could stand to use some self-improvement.

  The funny thing about us entitled little shits was that society looks at criminals, the underprivileged, and the abused with a different mind frame than they did us. If a kid gets caught, I don’t know…dealing drugs, let’s say. The courts, social workers, teachers, etc. will investigate their home life, and if their parents are poor, drug addicts, or drug dealers themselves, well, then, it’s accepted that the troubled kid had been raised that way, and doesn’t know better. They were a product of their environment and the best thing we could do for that kid, as a society, was to show them that there were better ways, other options. We teach them that they can be better.

  And that’s great.

  I had nothing against showing people how to be better and helping them find success for themselves. Mostly because I just didn�
�t really care what other people did. Other people’s lives were not my business unless they were out to hurt me, personally, in some way. But to just…judge, or care what they were up to? That wasn’t me.

  And you know why?

  Because, for all the money that surrounded me, I was a product of my environment also. I was raised to worship money and to believe that a family could be torn apart if the price was right. I was raised to believe I was better than the citizens outside Wakefield Community. I was raised to believe I needed the latest handbags and the fanciest shoes. I was raised to believe that a sixteen-year-old should drive a goddamn Aston Martin DBS Superleggera Volante.

  But there was no sympathy for that.

  There were no social programs out there that were devoted to making us better people instead of the entitled, cruel, spoiled little shitheads that we were.

  Or, used to be, I should say.

  Grace and I were working to be better, but even then, it had taken Leah Moffet killing herself to make an impact big enough to open Grace’s eyes to what horrible people we had been. And with this newfound epiphany, I was finding I had less, and less, and less tolerance for the jackholes that walked the hallways of Blackstone Prep Academy.

  Now, I wasn’t as closed-off as Grace was these days, but I was starting to see the validity in how she stayed home a lot now. I still liked to attend parties, and hang out with groups, and whatnot, but most nights I ended up wondering why I ever left my house in the first damn place.

  And as much as I was working on not being a total asshole, it wouldn’t have even matter had I gone with my father when he had headed for Texas, because money was money. His family were dicks, too. My older brother Jason had gone with him, but he had been old enough at the time that his voice had mattered when our family had broken up. Jason had been ten at the time, and he had made it clear that he had wanted to be with Dad. So, Dad took Jason, and Bernice kept me. Jason was about to graduate from Rice University this year and was going to work with Dad with whatever he did. Needless to say, our family wasn’t close, but as a product of my environment, I was used to it.