Gluttony, page 10
“Lemme innnnn.”
Bang-bang-bang-bang-bang!
I peek through the peephole, and I recognize a pair of familiar hooded brown eyes.
God.
My first inclination is to leave him there and let some disgruntled neighbor deal with him. But after this morning when he acted so strangely, and now when he’s clearly drunk, I don’t think I can ignore him.
I unlock the bolt, then pull the door open. God stumbles in reeking of alcohol. He tosses his keys onto my table with a loud thunk.
“Honeyyyy, I’m homeee,” he slurs out. He cracks his shin against the table and curses. His body topples backward, and if it weren’t for the wall he knocks his elbow through, he’d have landed on his ass.
“Whoa,” I yell. “Stop crashing around in my apartment. Go lay down before you break something or yourself.”
He grins at me, sexy and sleepy, before stumbling down the hallway to my room on autopilot. This is a bad idea, but what else can I do? I can’t leave him out there like this.
“I can’t believe you drove in this condition,” I grumble to myself. He’s too reckless.
Before I close the door, I notice a guy with golden hair leaning against the wall smoking a joint.
“Take care of him,” is all he says.
“Did you drive him here?” I ask. “What’s your name? Are you his friend?”
The man just smiles and waves before disappearing down the hallway. Spooked by the creeper, I shut the door and lock it. When I finally make it back to my room, I stop dead in my tracks. God has stripped down to his black boxers and is snoring facedown. He really does look like a god—all sinewy muscles and strength wrapped up in his tall frame. I’m annoyed with him, but I feel better knowing he’s asleep like this rather than out on the streets. Driver or not, he doesn’t need to be out there. I slip back into bed and lie on my side to face him. My fingers stroke through his hair on their own accord.
“Why are you like this?” I whisper.
Truth is, I know now. After he left this morning, I used the phone he gifted me to look him up. He was rich just like Neveah had told me. But more than I could have ever understood. His father travels to Saudi Arabia frequently because he’s good friends with a prince there. They own not just Goddard Oil and Gas, but like a million other companies across the globe. There were countless articles about him and his family—all of which deemed him as a spoiled, undeserving rich kid who would soon inherit everything. When I saw his father and how heavy he was, I even understood a little about his outburst this morning.
He doesn’t want to be like his dad.
Closing my eyes, I try to harness why I’m angry with him. He was driving recklessly and ran me over. But the anger is a simmer, no longer boiling over. I guess the whole “keep your friends close and your enemies closer” has some meaning now, but I don’t think I’m doing it right. I think you’re supposed to keep them close so you can watch them to make sure they don’t screw you over. With God, I just want to watch him.
I wake, whimpering in agony. Blinding pain inside my skull. I can’t make sense of anything except a pill being brought to my lips. Then, a bottle of water. I gulp it down as tears leak down my temples.
“What do you need?” he whispers.
“I need not to hurt.”
He pulls me to him, and surprisingly, the hurt lessens.
I’m groggy and confused when my eyes blink open. The room is dark gray, the early morning upon us. The neighbors are yelling at each other at the crack of dawn. I groan. My entire life I’ve known nothing but noise. Sharing a room at the orphanage, then living in this apartment, it’s all I’ve ever been exposed to. But now, with my head hurting all the time, it drives me mad. I can’t stand it.
“Do they always do this?” God grumbles.
I turn my attention to him. He’s on his side facing me, his eyes closed with his hands clasped together like he’s in prayer. In a way, he seems angelic. Too bad I know better.
“Every morning. I have no idea what they even argue about at six in the morning, but it usually ends with…” I trail off, heat flooding my cheeks.
“With what?” His brown eyes snap open.
“Nothing,” I croak.
When I start to roll over, his large hand grips my hip, stopping me. Heat burns through me at his touch. His thumb brushes along a sliver of exposed skin on my stomach.
“What, Z?” he asks, his voice husky.
Before I can utter a word, we hear it.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
The neighbor’s bed bangs against the wall as the woman moans in pleasure. The man tells her he’s going to put babies inside her. The entire thing is ridiculous and embarrassing.
“Ah,” God murmurs. “That.” His palm slides up my spine under my shirt, making my skin erupt in goosebumps. My nipples harden, and I hate how easily my body responds to his touch. He pulls me closer and holds me there with his palm splayed across my upper back.
“God,” I warn, intending to sound firm, but it comes out breathless.
“Go back to sleep, Z.”
My erratic heart has other plans. I remain stiff, worried at what he might do—what I’d allow him to do if he tried. All my fears are squashed, though, when I realize he’s out. Immediately, I relax and fall back asleep, warm in his embrace.
Pleasure zings through me. All over—everywhere at once. A moan escapes me. In my dream, God is mine. He’s not an enemy, he’s a lover. I grip his hair and buck my hips, desperate for more. As awareness bleeds into my senses, I realize I’m very much awake. God isn’t a dream. His thick, muscular thigh is between mine, and I’m shamelessly riding the muscle as though it’ll bring me to orgasm. He pinches my nipple under my shirt, making me groan. I feel his lips smile on my throat.
Whoa.
How did we get here?
“Z, I can’t get enough of you. I want it all,” he murmurs hotly against my skin. “I want to feast on you forever. Only you. I’ve never wanted someone or something so badly in my life. You’ve consumed my every thought.”
I whimper when his palm slides around to my back, leaving my nipple aching, then down into my shorts. He grips my bare ass and pulls one cheek to the side. My pussy seems to open from this action. When his thigh rubs against my center this time, I shudder from the delicious feeling.
“God,” I choke out. “Oh, God.”
He sucks on my neck and continues his relentless rubbing against my clit through my sleep shorts. His fingers slide along the crack of my ass, exploring me like it’s his every right. I don’t stop him. I grind on his thigh like it’s my own personal climax horse, desperate to ride it into oblivion. When pleasure ripples through me, I know he’s won. Whatever game he’s playing with me, he’s much better at it. It has nothing to do with money. This man is smooth. Too smooth. His fingers slide along my crack again, reaching deeper into my shorts, searching for the heat of my pussy. When a fingertip slides against my wetness, I let out a choked sound of embarrassment, pushing at his chest.
“G-Get away from me,” I cry out.
He jerks his hand away and pulls back, his brows furrowed together in concern. “Are you having a headache?”
“What? No. You’re my headache,” I snap. Tears burn in my eyes. I’m so weak with him. I don’t even know him. He’s the man who hurt me, yet I’m allowing him to touch me where no one has ever touched me before.
“Zemira,” he rasps. “Please.”
“Just go.”
He frowns, but slides out of the bed. I lie on my side, ignoring the buzzing still humming through me after my orgasm. Five minutes later, the door slams shut behind him.
Good. It’s for the best. I need to be alone.
My twisted, aching heart disagrees.
The guidance counselor, Mrs. Griffin, purses her lips and narrows her eyes at me. I can’t help but squirm under her intense scrutiny. Women like Mrs. Griffin intimidate me. Rich, beautiful, powerful. I’m none of those. I’m poor and broken. And after the accident, I sure as hell don’t feel pretty by any means. As if on cue, my scar itches, reminding me I’m everything she’s not.
“The Goddard boy hit you, hmm?” she asks, her black eyebrow arched unnaturally high on her smooth forehead.
Biting back tears, I nod.
She flashes me a cruel smile. “I’m surprised you’re still here.”
My stomach roils at her words. Still alive? Still in college?
“I don’t follow,” I mutter.
“Of course not, honey,” she coos. “You had your brains splattered all over the front of a car.”
I cringe at her harsh delivery. “So,” I grit out, changing the subject. “I’m just trying to figure out how to keep my financial aid. Surely I can get a doctor’s note to excuse—”
She waves me off, her sharp red nails glittering in the sunlight streaming in the window. “At St. Augustine, there are no excuses. The work gets done or it doesn’t. You stay here or you don’t. There is no gray area, Miss Coleman. This university doesn’t do favors. Everyone in here is here because I make those hard decisions.” Her eyes narrow again. “And with you, I’m still deciding.”
“Please,” I beg, hating that tears are threatening. “I need this. Can we ask the dean maybe?”
Her lip curls in disgust. “The dean is no longer offering his dick in exchange for favors and good grades. We have a new dean who plays by my rules. So sorry to burst your bubble, honey.”
My cheeks heat at her words. What’s wrong with this lady?
“Does the boy like you?”
I flinch at her words. “What?”
“The Goddard boy. Does he like you? Simple question, dear.”
Unease crawls up my spine. If I’m not mistaken, she seems jealous. Or hostile about the idea.
“He hit me with his car,” I utter. “No, he doesn’t like me.”
Lies. He’s my own personal stalker.
Her nostrils flare, then she tilts her snooty head up in a regal way that has my blood boiling. “I’ve made my decision. Your financial aid has been suspended because of your poor grades. The university will not make any special allowances because of your injuries.”
I can’t help but gape at her. It’s almost as though she’s mad at me. What the hell did I do to this lady? She starts scooting papers into piles, her cheeks burning red. I think back to what set her off.
“No, he doesn’t like me.”
I shouldn’t have lied. But…what would have happened had I said yes? This woman has a calculating glint in her cruel eyes. If I had to guess, she was probably hoping I was involved with God. Like perhaps she was going to use it to her advantage in some way. I can almost sense it.
I should have just let the evil woman have her way.
“Goodbye, Miss Coleman,” she barks out, dismissing me completely.
I leave her office, choking on my own tears, but I refuse to let her see them. My financial aid will be suspended because of my grades. That’s the final answer. In every single one of my six classes, I have an F. An F! Me, the constant overachiever, has not one, but six Fs. Because I want to blame someone, I pull out my new phone and text God.
Me: I hate you. You’ve ruined my life.
He responds right away.
God: Where are you? Are you okay?
Me: Screw you!
My phone starts beeping loudly. I don’t know how to shut it off. It’s not a call coming through or a text, but like an alert. Several kids walking by snigger at me as I figure out how to turn it off. I end up dropping it and it slides across the marble floor. Hobbling over to it, I set my crutch down to pick it up.
“Need help?”
The golden boy from last night. Why do these gorgeous guys keep showing up? Am I a magnet for stalkers now?
“It won’t stop,” I grumble as I hold up my obnoxiously beeping phone.
The guy leaves his perch against the wall and saunters over to me. He plucks my phone from my grip and lifts a brow.
“Someone’s coming for you,” he says with a chuckle.
“W-What?” I hiss. “What do you mean?”
“The find my phone app is sending out an alert.”
“God,” I snap. “How do I make it stop?”
He shrugs. “You let him find you.”
Narrowing my eyes at him, I bite out my words. “Who are you?”
“Rush Dempsey, and you’re Zemira Coleman.”
I stiffen and take a step away from him. “Are you God’s friend?”
“We’re brothers of sorts.”
When he doesn’t offer more, I let out a sigh. “So, you’re not going to turn this off for me?”
He shakes his head and walks away, calling out over his shoulder. “No, but he will.”
The doors at the end of the corridor burst open and God stalks through them. His features are intense. Worried. He storms my way with his phone in his grip. When he nears, he pushes a button on his phone and the beeping stops.
“There you are,” he says lowly. Unaffected. As though he didn’t just freaking hunt me down.
“You’re a psycho,” I hiss, slamming my phone into his chest. “Take your tracker back, freakshow.”
He snorts and plucks the phone from my grip. Then, he reaches into my purse and deposits it there.
“Leave me alone,” I mutter, all anger draining away. “This is all your fault.”
He ignores me and stands too closely. His knuckles run along my cheek, and it takes everything in me not to lean into his comforting touch. “What’s my fault? What happened in there?” His eyes darken as he looks toward the counselor’s office.
“I have six Fs.”
He arches a brow. “I have four.”
“That doesn’t help,” I grumble. “Unlike you, I have to get a job after college. I need the good grades to stay in college to make that happen. All you ever think about is yourself.”
“So, you make up the grades. Big deal.”
I shove him, but of course the brick wall doesn’t move. “A huge deal, God. I can’t make up two months’ worth of work. The counselor already said the teachers are unwilling to let me make it up. Accident or not, that’s not how college works.”
“Lillian? She’s just a psycho bitch…” he practically snarls. Then, he softens and cocks his head to the side, studying me for a moment. “Go to class and take notes. I’ll fix it so you don’t have to worry.”
“You can’t fix this.”
The cocky bastard grins at me. “I can fix anything. God works in mysterious ways…”
I flip him off as he leaves me to waltz into the counselor’s office.
Asshole.
But hope flutters inside me at his words. I suppose if anyone can make a miracle happen, it’d be God.
God
I push inside Lillian’s office, catching her off guard. She sits up straight, her nostrils flaring.
“I’m surprised the school has allowed you to stay on,” I taunt, a cruel tone in my voice. “You know, because of the scandal with your rapist husband and all.”
Her eyes blaze with fury. “I own this school now. Removing that little weasel was all my idea. And now he’s fled to who knows where with his tail between his legs. The divorce papers have already been filed.”
“Hmm,” is all I say, just to rile her up.
She and her pervert husband fucking disgust me. Rhett already informed us George left the state. Chastity, being his daughter and all, was fucking heartbroken when she learned just how dark her precious daddy’s sins went. But she has Rhett, me, and the rest of the brothers now. We’re her family. She can finally be rid of this cunt in her life.
“You don’t have an appointment,” she sneers.
“One of the perks of my daddy being your friend,” I bite back. “I can pop in whenever the hell I want.”
“What do you want?” she demands, shooting her eyes to the clock on the wall before bringing them back to me. “I have other boys to see.” She smirks, indicating she’s gonna fuck with one of my boys.
“I want you to let Zemira bring up her grades.”
“No,” she snarls. “I’ve made my decision.”
“It’s not your decision to make,” I state coolly. Then, I pull out my phone and dial Dad. He’s obnoxious most days, but he’s there when it counts. Like when he finally came through and made that call to get Wrath out of jail. And like now.
As soon as he answers, I put him on speaker.
“Dad, I’m having a chat with Lillian Griffin.”
My father grunts on the other line. I can hear him smacking as he eats. “Why?”
I give her a smug look. “I want her to do something for me—help another student—and she refuses. She seems to think she runs the fucking world.”
Dad laughs and chokes for a minute before saying, “We own the world, son.”
Her face burns bright red. The way she grips her pen suggests she’s seconds from jamming it into my temple. “Four,” she starts, but he cuts her off.
“Give the boy what he wants,” he barks out.
“I can’t do that!” she shrieks, throwing her pen down. “I simply can’t!”
“Don’t make me call your brother, sweetheart,” Dad grumbles. “I’ll make a hefty donation St. Augustine. Name another goddamn wing in the university after me for all I care. But give my son what he wants.”
Damn, cashing that coin in to my dad was the best thing I ever did.
“Four,” she tries again, this time, her voice small. “The new dean won’t allow it.”
“Just because you pulled your damn strings and managed to get in your own Elite dean to replace your pervert husband doesn’t mean anything to me. I still own this town and everyone in it. Call me when it’s done, Lillian,” he instructs. “Goodbye, son.”
I rise from my chair and give her a victorious grin followed by my middle finger.
Once outside the witch’s office, I go on a hunt for Zemira. Opening the tracker app, I locate exactly where she’s at and head that way.
Knowing I got Lillian to do my bidding has me unable to wipe the grin off my face. Money will buy you anything. All it took was a call to my dad and now the university has to play nicely. Lillian has to abide by the Goddard rules. The teachers will have to allow her to make up the work. I can’t wait to tell her the good news.
