Page 17 of Revenge Puck

My stomach tightens.No fucking wonder she looks familiar.

I stare at the photos a second longer than I should, until the rustle of sheets and blankets being thrown back have me reaching for the door handle, all the delicious pieces of the situation clicking into place.

I inhale when I give the photo wall one last glance. “Holy shit.”

This is Declan’s sister.

THREE

JULIETTE

I wake up slowly.

The kind of slow where my eyes open before my brain engages. Where the room is unfamiliar for half a second, and my body feels heavy and warm and loose in a way it usually never does on workdays.

White ceiling. Bright morning light. The faint hum of traffic outside as the city wakes.

Last night, I’d listened to the front door close as if I was dozing off. But really, my entire body had been filled with tension before I’d eventually fallen asleep.

I’ve never had a man wordlessly walk out on me before.

No explanation. No real goodbye. No excuses as a letdown.

It felt awful. Really awful.

I stayed in bed for hours after, staring at nothing, replaying everything, feeling stupidly embarrassed—like I’d misunderstood the entire night. The last person I wanted to tell was my best friend, who absorbs all my problems as if they’re hers.

The crisp white sheets tangle around my lower half where his large body had once been, cool now because he isn’t there. Iroll to the side and stare toward my bathroom, daylight glowing through the window.

My chest tightens.

I knew what last night was supposed to be—a one-night stand that wasn’t actually a one-night stand. That would includefucking, wouldn’t it? But we’d barely kissed; as if Aaron had been avoiding intimacy.

His dick was never outside of his pants.

Strange what my brain wants to fixate on.

I sigh, morosely glancing around my boring, pastel bedroom.

So tidy.

So pretty.

Jeez, I havelaceon my freaking pillows.

I pick one up and toss it to the floor, disgusted with myself. No wonder he hadn’t wanted to have sex. We’re complete opposites! I am frills and ribbons, and he’s dark and simmering with a bitterness I may never know the cause of.

Why didn’t he stay?

Why didn’t he?—

“Spread your legs…” he murmurs ruggedly, his sexy low voice causing my toes to curl before he even eases himself down my body and settles his face between my legs.

I can’t look away from the top of his head, can’t decide if I should bolt off the bed or beg him to put his mouth on me.

“You smell like bedtime stories and sugar cookies.”

So blunt. So matter-of-fact.