Page 46 of Fuckboy Psychos (Scarlett Force 1)
I’ve even snagged one of those fancy wine bottles for myself (thank you, fake ID).
I definitely don’t expect to run into Aspen Kelly in the personal hygiene aisle.
I pause between the shampoo and the soap, my eyes widening at the sight of him dressed in a gray cashmere sweater and jeans that are sculpted over his ass like they were handcrafted by organic angels.
Well, fuck me, I think as I greedily drink in his tight, perky ass, and his long lean body. Bent over like that, I can just imagine him crawling on his hands and knees to worship my needy cunt …
I shake my head to clear it, tossing my long braid over one shoulder as I make my way down the aisle and pause purposefully next to him, waiting for that moment when he turns his dark eyes my way and my attentions go from lustful to violent.
He doesn’t acknowledge me for several long seconds, rising up to his full height and flicking a disdainful glance my way.
“What did you think would happen if you stood there long enough?” he asks, almost conversationally but with an undertone of pure, unfiltered rage. “That I would greet you warmly and offer to cover your grocery bill?”
He takes note of the items in my cart and lets this disgustingly vile smirk stretch over his pretty mouth.
“Can you even afford the items in there? Or were you planning on rushing the door? I’ve heard your sort of people—that is, poor ones—are good at that kind of thing.”
I don’t even think, I just start moving forward, gaining a bit of speed until the cart slams into Aspen Kelly and makes him grunt. He actually stumbles back, and I slam into him again, knocking him into this pretentious wooden shelf covered in glass jars. They’re full of fancy-pants washing powders and bath salts, that sort of thing. There are several wooden scoops and tiny glass jars with corks meant for parceling it out.
Because rich people just can’t buy laundry detergent in cardboard boxes with little plastic scoops like the rest of us.
I let go of the cart, coming around to grab Aspen by the throat, digging my nails into his skin as he reaches up and takes hold of my wrists—which is exactly what I want.
He walks me backward and slams my back into another wooden shelf, huffing and panting, his eyes wide as he stares me down. He’s stronger than me which is fine—it’s a biological fact that men and women are built differently—but it’s not insurmountable.
Intelligence matters, too.
“What are you promising Lemon?” I ask, allowing him to maintain his grip on my wrists as he presses them hard into the shelf’s rounded edge. He’s shaking now, his teeth gritted, and I can see that I’ve really and truly gotten under his skin. Nice to see the cut on his cheek is still there. “What did you offer her that’s gotten her so twisted up?”
“You think I offered her anything but my cock in her mouth?” he queries back at me, as if he’s genuinely confused by the question. Rage spikes through me, hot and poignant. My original plan was to let someone else walk down this aisle so that they could see this fucker manhandling me. Nothing would please me more than to see him thrown out on his ass. But then the mood shifts, and so does my plan. “Your friend is a mindless idiot with more hormones than brains.”
His eyes shift from mine down to my lips, past that, to my breasts, his breath hitching as his lids droop, and he adjusts his body to press more firmly against mine. I can feel every hard plane of him, can sense the frantic rhythm of his heartbeat, can feel his breath stirring my hair.
Against my own will, my body responds, my nipples beading, my pussy throbbing with need. It doesn’t help that Aspen is tall and pretty with a patrician bearing. His mouth is full and ripe, the top lip slightly fuller and plumper than the bottom. I heard through the grapevine—meaning Jennifer—that his mother was a famous Japanese actress while his father, Mayor Kelly, is an upper-crust East Coast career politician.
When I tried to Google the Kelly family, however, information was limited to the mayor’s recent political exploits with scant mention of the fact that his political adversary—a man named Larron Van Gordon—disappeared during the election a few years back.
As far as his son? Not much except to say that he graduated magna cum laude from his highfalutin boarding school in Europe. Apparently, Aspen also has a brother, but information on him is even more limited.
Far as I could tell, he’s nuts. He was shipped off to a boarding school in the middle of buttfuck nowhere Arkansas called Crescent Prep—a place infamous for taking the black sheep of rich and powerful families and removing them from public view.
