Untamed (Untamed #1)

one

“I
need to get laid.” I tipped my head back so the tequila shot could burn its way down my throat. It was my fifth or sixth of the night, and with the cocktail of pills I’d downed earlier, every cell in my body pulsed to the beat of the music pounding the walls of the club. I was ravenous for contact, humming with arousal, craving a release.

Bottom line, I needed to get off. If only to feel a tiny sliver of…
something
.

“Suck.” Archer leaned across the leather couch of our private VIP section and pressed a lime wedge to my lips. When I parted them, he added, “You know I’m always happy to quench your thirst, Reagan.” His bright blue eyes ignited and his deep voice dripped with innuendo, making the smirk on his chiseled face doubly wicked.

I grimaced at the sharp, sour sting of citrus. Or maybe because for a brief, crazy instant I actually considered his offer.

Archer Huntington Chase III wasn’t an easy temptation to pass up. With his blond, wavy hair, angular features, and a style ripped straight from the pages of GQ, he was every woman’s wet dream. Girls lost their way—and their panties—in the depths of his icy gaze. At the moment, it was glassy and unfocused as he stared back at me, but without a doubt, he was as close to a mythical creature as any twenty-year-old human being could be. Much too good to be true.
Perfect
, in fact.

But perfect wasn’t what I wanted. Not what the REAL me wanted, anyway.

Waving my hand, I said, “We’ve already been down that road before, Arch. One too many times.” If my parents didn’t worship him so damn much, I might’ve even been able to make myself feel something for him. But my sex life was the one thing in my life they couldn’t control. The
only
thing I had some semblance of autonomy over. And tonight, the last thing I wanted was to end up in bed with someone they’d approve of.

Archer wrapped a muscular arm around my shoulder and pulled me to him. “Hey, from what I remember, you and I are always fun together.”

As he brought his mouth to mine, I stiffened. “From what I remember, we are always wasted out of our minds.” Well, actually, I
didn’t
remember that part, but knew it had to be true. Trapped deep inside an inebriated state, I could guarantee there would never be any room for messy emotions. I placed my palms on his chest and gently pushed.

“Well, lucky us, we happen to be wasted right now.” Archer’s smile widened as he raised two fingers at our waitress. “I can’t believe it’s been a full year since we hung out. Remember what happened that insane night we went out to celebrate your graduation last summer?”

I groaned. “You mean,
mourn
my acceptance into Poli-freaking-Sci at Columbia?” My father had forced the major on me. Just like he’d picked every one of my high school electives and was already stuffing Harvard Law School brochures down my throat. “No, I don’t remember anything that went on that entire week, Arch.” Thankfully.

“You know I really miss you, right?” There was something about the tension in his voice that made my chest constrict. I couldn’t handle any kind of deeper meaning behind those words.

“Oh, whatever. It’s not like you’re
ever
hurting for company. You’ll get over me as soon as you zero in on your latest plaything.” His bed, like mine, was never empty. Our hearts and lives, on the other hand…well, we tried not to think about that. That was what the pills and alcohol were for. Colorful, blissful escape.

Speaking of which…

“I know how you can quench my thirst,” I said, leaning in so close I could see the silver flecks in his eyes. My sparkly black-and-gold dress shimmered against his deep gray Armani shirt. “You wanna make me buzz all over?”

“Fuck, yes.” A whoosh of air escaped his lungs. “You smell so damn delicious right now. Tell me what you want, babe.” He licked his lips, nodding.

My eyes dropped to the little baggie of white powder on the table between us. His stash. “Just a tiny, little hit of something extra,” I said, twirling a strand of hair around my finger. My long, thick, golden-brown locks drove him wild.

“Uh-uh. No way.” He grabbed the coke and shoved it back into his pocket. “As much as I’d love nothing more than to take advantage of you, you’re way too fucked up for blow right now.”

I was too fucked up for a lot of things. When did that ever actually matter?

Sticking out my bottom lip, I poked him in the chest. “And you’re no fun at all. No Reagan for you tonight.”

He groaned. “Aww, come on. Don’t you know how much I love you, baby girl?”

“Just as much as I love you,” I said.

Then I laughed. Wildly. Madly. Deeply
. Hysterically
. Until my heart ached. Archer joined me, his shoulder and arm quaking against my body.

Liars. Both of us.

LOVE. What the fuck did either of us know about love?

I didn’t trust love. It had never done anything for me but give false hope, mask manipulation, and break me. I had no delusions about love anymore—I’d lost my innocence four years ago.

And I would never be broken again.

Emptiness filled every part of my body and mind. But who fucking cared? I had other, less conventional, means of fulfillment.

Pop an upper. Shoot some tequila. Fuck a stranger.

Bury shame. Get a 4.0 GPA. Play perfect daughter.

Rinse and repeat.

I was living a pretend life, all artificial happiness and forged feelings. And no one even noticed. Well, except for Archer. But that was only because he was in the same boat.

“You know, you’re gonna miss me when I go back to Harvard next week,” he said. Gloom clouded his eyes, but this time it had nothing to do with me.

Even though he’d already served a two-year sentence of his four-year business program at the top of his class, there would always be a big piece of Archer that wished his father had allowed him take that football scholarship. But, of course, in our world, business and politics trumped sports—trumped every-freaking-thing. Art?
Suffocated
. Freedom and creativity?
Stifled.

“I won’t miss you, Arch,” I replied. “I’ll be too busy with school.” My second year officially started next week, and while I was dreading having to maintain a perfect GPA in courses I had no interest in, I was looking forward to being able to use midterms and study groups as excuses from family dinners. “Plus, I’ll have no time for anyone else but New York City. She and I need to rekindle our affair. It’s going to be dirty, rough, and absolutely amazing.” An entire summer spent with my parents had me desperate to get away. I was ready to grasp onto any sliver of freedom I could get. However
pretend
it might be.

“
REEEEAGAN?!
” I nearly jumped out of my seat when the screech hit my ears. How someone so petite could be loud enough to cut through the drum solo boggled my mind.

“Reagan! Oh, my god! What are you still doing here, love?!” Mika Malone—yes, the famous music exec Mike Malone’s daughter—bounded over from the dance floor, flinging herself onto the couch and conveniently falling into Archer’s lap. Her tiny, black skirt rode up to expose her red lace panties, but she didn’t seem to mind.

She looked up at me and smiled sickly sweet like only a long-time frenemy could. “Didn’t you say you were looking for a hottie to ensure your last Friday night of freedom goes out with a bang? What happened to that plan?”

Translation:
Why are you still sitting here with Archer? I invited him to the most elite club in all of the Meatpacking District for an exclusive preview of a hot new rock band that’s about to blow up. Alone. Because I wanted to impress him with Daddy’s connections so he’d finally agree to screw my brains out. He insisted on bringing you and has refused to leave your side the entire night. I want you out of the picture so he can finally stop ignoring me. Like, yesterday.

“I’m working on it, Mika,” I said, returning her fake smile.

“I actually proposed my services, but Reagan refuses to take me up on the offer.” Archer grinned, his teeth immaculately white and perfectly straight. I cringed inwardly as Mika’s dark brown eyes narrowed in my direction.

Before any of us could speak, our waitress returned. “Here you go! Enjoy!” She set two shot glasses in front of us. Damn it. For the umpteenth time tonight, Archer had forgotten to count Mika in.

“Oh.” She swallowed hard, her gaze lingering on the alcohol that was clearly not meant for her. For a brief instant I didn’t know if she was going to cry or throw something. But she didn’t do either. She stayed terrifyingly silent.

“Mika, Arch wasn’t sure what you liked to drink so he got you a shot of Patron.” I picked up a glass in each hand and held them out to the duo. “Cheers, guys!”

Why in fuck’s name had I agreed to come here again? Right. Archer was providing me with a goody bag of pharmaceuticals I’d need to get through the next semester, and would only agree to trade me for a night out.

Mika looked at me warily, but took the shot. “Thanks.”

“Hey, M&M, why don’t
you
pick a guy for me?” I said. She couldn’t do any worse than me with all the strikeouts this week. Plus, this would show I had no interest in doing anything with Archer and she could have him to herself. Win-win.

“Yes! Brilliant idea!” Mika sat straight up. “Why don’t I introduce you to the lead singer of
No Man’s Land
after the band’s set? His name’s Dash and he’s pure sex on a stick. I say you jump that ass before he’s super famous and riddled with STDs.”

“Whatever.” Archer rolled his eyes. “He’s probably all gonorrhea-d out already.”

“When do they wrap? In another hour or two? My buzz is going to wear off by then.” I wanted someone now. While I was still riding a high. While there was still a chance I could feel something—regardless of how little, how short, how fake.

“Well if you’re not willing to wait for a sexy rock star, why not go for the drooler at five o’clock?” Mika giggled and nodded toward a short, scrawny guy wearing—no fucking way—a sweater vest and oversized black-rimmed glasses. He was trying to keep tempo with the music, but failing miserably. The moment my gaze landed on him, his eyes widened and he stumbled.