Midnight Muse

“And I’m going to ask you to ride me, Princess. I want that tight, drenched pussy on my cock as you take what you want, everything that you want, because you’re my needy girl, Quinn, aren’t you?”

The sound of my name on his lips has me rolling my hips faster, grinding on him harder.

“Yes!” My nails rake down the back of his shirt.

“And when you’re coming on my cock, squeezing me tight, I want you to?—”

“Your drinks,” Slate says gruffly, interrupting everything. I’ve never been so frustrated, so horny as I am when he shoves an arm between us, effectively breaking us apart.

I don’t think my glare has anything on Knox’s, but Slate doesn’t seem to care at all, shoving a drink into my empty hand before doing the same to Knox. Now I have two, but my first one is almost empty, having spilled more of it than I actually drank.

I can’t miss the way Knox is adjusting himself, shooting me an apologetic look before turning those daggers back on his best friend. I gulp down as much air as I can but it’s humid and gets stuck in my throat.

“Thanks,” I answer, dazed. Slate doesn’t look any less calm from the shot—or shots?—he’d taken at the bar. His brows are pulled tightly together and there’s a scowl on his lips that doesn’t go away when he takes a swig from his own drink.

Knox seems to realize the mood his roommate is in, and although he gently maneuvers his way back to me, pressing a reassuring hand at the base of my back, his confused attention stays on Slate.

“You okay, man?” He asks, cautiously. I don’t think he’s ever seen Slate like this either.

“Fucking dandy,” Slate grunts in response, eyes grazing down to where Knox’s hand is, to how he’s standing slightly in front of me. I think I see Slate’s lip curl in response but he’s quickly bringing his drink to his mouth, glaring at us all the way, while he empties the contents of it in a few large gulps.

Knox stiffens beside me.

What the hell is going on with him?

Before either of us has a chance to ask, Rory’s pushing through the crowd, towing Ace behind her. A girl makes a face as she passes by but Rory doesn’t seem to notice, eyes red-rimmed in a way that makes me start surging toward her and abandoning the boys behind me.

What the fuck did I miss while I was completely consumed by Knox?

“Ro, what happened? Are you okay?”

She shakes her head, giving me a sad smile. She’s clutching onto Ace like he’s a lifeline, wrapping one arm around me when I hug the daylights—nightlights?—out of her. “I’m okay, just ran into a little trouble.”

My heart sinks. She doesn’t need to elaborate for me to know she’s talking about her douche of an ex, Max.

“Where is he?” I ask frantically, rolling onto my tiptoes to peer around the bar. It doesn’t help much, and I can’t see through the mass of bodies surrounding us, but when I find him, I’ll?—

“Already taken care of, Quinnie,” Ace answers a little too smugly for Rory’s liking, if the gentle elbow she hits him in the side with is any clue. I can’t help but grin along with him, thankful that he was able to help her out while I was lost in the feeling of Knox’s body pressed up against mine.

Glancing over my shoulder to check in with him, I find him avoiding my gaze, but not on purpose. He’s staring at Slate still, who refuses to meet any of our eyes, glaring around the room like all of these people are his own personal enemies.

“We’re going home,” Rory tells me, shifting wearily on her feet when she picks up the tension swirling around our group. She looks just as worried about Slate as I feel, but he refuses to acknowledge any of us. When she shoots me a questioning glance, her ocean eyes still glossy, I shake my head.

I have no idea, either.

“We’ll join you,” I answer, reaching my hand back for Knox’s. He immediately attaches and twines our fingers together. I gently thumb over one of the ridges of his scars and he squeezes back. The moment we had only a few minutes ago was ruined, but I think we might still be able to make up for it, as long as nothing else goes wrong tonight.

“You coming, man?” Ace asks, clapping Slate on the shoulder.

All Slate does is hunch further, shrugging Ace’s hand off.

Something has grabbed his attention, and he doesn’t look happy about it, tossing over his shoulder, “No, I don’t think I will.”

We stare after him, shocked. He’s already disappeared into the crowd. Well, as much as any six-foot-five man can disappear. But the boys can see better than me so I’m sure they’re catching where he’s off to.

“What’s his problem?” Rory asks, rubbing at her red eyes. It makes me ache for my best friend.

I hate Max.