Wreck Me (Corrupt Legacy Series #2)

I tell her when it’s the perfect moment to switch gears to get more speed. She’s a quick learner so she gets that as well.

“That’s enough for tonight,” I say after she takes a few laps.

“Thank you. This was an incredible date night,” she says as we exchange places again.

I interlace our fingers over the console, driving like this until we reach the school grounds.

“I want to establish some ground rules for this to work out,” I say, turning to her. “You were a virgin and princess, only gay guys or someone who’s in love with someone else would not want to fuck you.”

“Dane—”

“No, don’t deflect. You let me inside your body…”

She tilts her head, coming to terms with us. “Fine. What do you want to know?”

“What type of relationship do you two have?”

“Not like the one we have.”

What is that supposed to mean?

“Then why are you together?”

“Because we have to be, and I’m not saying more.”

Silence permeates the air while I try to process what that means.

“Six, one, eight, zero,” she says over her shoulder when I park behind the dorm building.

“What?”

She winks at me and rushes inside. Climbing out, I rack my head for what that code could be for when my eyes land on the panel next to her apartment.

I wait until the lights are off and walk by the chaperone.

“I want an autograph. I can’t pretend not to see you every time doing something you’re not supposed to.”

“Fine. You can take a pic too.”

Afterward, I put in the digits, and the door opens with a click. Tiptoeing inside, I follow her lingering, sweet vanilla flowery scent to her bedroom.

I catch her in a state of undressing, and she giggles. “I thought it would take you longer.”

Closing the door, I turn the lock. “Nothing could keep me from coming to you. Especially when you want me to come for you.”

I sweep my gaze around. Books and sketches are scattered on her desk. Decorative pillows line the queen-sized bed, matching the pink rug. The room is just like her: all pink, soft, and feminine.

I approach her desk, and one sketchbook is open, revealing an image of a house renovation plan.

“You’re really talented.”

“Thank you. This is the plan for the mansion. Maybe someday I could make it mine. But I want to preserve the antique architectural style.”

“So is that your dream? To become an architect?”

“Yes, I’ve always liked to draw stuff.”

She’s back in her head. I can read her as if she’s a part of me.