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“Flynn,” he counters, smoothing his thumb across my jaw, the skin hot beneath his touch.
He hit me.
I swallow again, and without looking away from his hand on my face, he passes me a glass of orange juice.
“You need to drink this, you're dehydrated, you fainted, it's got everything you need inside that glass,” he eyes the glass then, those dark sapphires locked on where I take the juice from him, bring it to my lips.
His hand stills, his gaze lifting to my mouth, he licks over the sharp definition of his cupid's bow, and when the glass pauses, my hand trembling, he cups the base of it, tilting it up until I taste sharp, fresh juice on my tongue. He lifts it higher and higher, slowly, carefully, watching my throat work it all down like a man possessed, so focused on his task -making sure I swallow the orange juice- that you'd think he's personally getting something out of it.
“Such a good girl,” he hushes under his breath and I almost splutter on the last mouthful.
A drop escaping my lips, dribbling down my chin. His thumb traces it as he releases the empty glass, allowing me to place it on the floor at my side. His gaze still on me. The pad of his thumb catches the drop of juice at the tip of my chin, sweeping it back up towards my lips, he rubs it across my bottom lip, eyes glazed as he studies his own movements. But my eyes remain on his, the entire time I'm watching him as though these things are happening to someone else.
Then his short nail is tapping at my front bottom teeth, and without conscious thought, my mouth is opening, his thumbpushing inside, gliding over my tongue, to the back of my mouth, sweeping across my tastebuds. It's the first time I've ever really smelled him, sandalwood and vanilla, masculine and strong, but creamy vanilla cutting through it all.
My lips close around his thumb as saliva pools in my mouth, and I suck on the digit, tasting his skin, breathing him in, that's when his eyes lift to mine.
Deep, dark, sapphire blue, they flick between my own, and I keep sucking on his thumb, his fingers curling along the length of my jaw. He doesn't even blink, letting me suckle on him like it's the cure to calming me down. Maybe it is.
Heat flames in my cheeks, spreading down my neck, warming my chest because this is myteacher, kind of, either way, he's a member of the college faculty which in turn means he is one hundred million percent off limits. And yet, he doesn't snatch his hand back. I don't spit out his thumb. Continuing to suck on it, cheeks hollowing with my slow, gentle pulls. I can't get enough of the taste of his skin, so warm and thick andrightfor my mouth.
Our gazes are locked on one another and I don't want to be the one to look away first.Flynnis sat down on the hard floor in front of me. Knees bent up, feet spread so he's sort of cocooned around my awkwardly flopped legs. His breathing is faster, and his other hand comes up between us, but I don't look, unable to divert my attention from him, the feeling of his thumb in my mouth, fingers on my jaw, splaying down over the side of my neck.
His hand lifts to my bruised cheek, thumb pressing against it overly hard. I wince, my teeth coming down on his thumb, and he stills, I still, eyes widening just slightly, and then he laughs. This low, rough sounding chuckle, something dark and violent and not safe. He presses on my bruises again, forcing my mind back to Lynx and I want to cry.
“I think you look beautiful in blue,” he rasps, applying more pressure to my bruised face, his other hand still on my jaw, thumb in my mouth. “I love bruises,” he tells me whimsically, like he's not even really speaking these words to me. “I think,” he swallows, Adam's apple bobbing heavily, up and down, in his throat, “I like these more because they're on you.” He swallows again, the movement in his thick, corded neck captivating, “I wonder how pretty you'll look when you really bleed.”
That's what has me snapping back into the room. I'm not even sure what I really hear through the cotton wool feeling in my static ears. I wrench my head back, swatting his hands away as I escape out of his grasp and pounce up to my feet. Head spinning, I grip onto the arm of the chair, grabbing my bag and jacket, and fling myself away from him.
Flynn chuckles darkly as I exit the office without looking back, bootsteps pounding down the wide hall. I shove my hand into my tight jean's pocket, pulling out a little bag of pills as I race toward the library instead of the dorm. I can't face Lynx like this, if he's even there tonight. I'm not sure I can face him anyway, now I'll really have to chase the housing administrator for a room change.
My mind spins, head a mess. I can't apologise for upsetting Lynx if I'm not thinking straight, I want him to know I'm serious when I say I'll stop the drugs, that I'm sorry for doing them last night. For ruining everything. Instead of just enjoying the moment with him.
“We're done with you, Poppy. All of us. We're done.”
But then Flynn's dark chuckle reverberates around my skull and I think of what I just did, with mycounsellor.What he said, how I just… wasn't really there, until suddenly I was.
I pluck out a pill, stuff it in my mouth and dry swallow it down.
I'll stop tomorrow.
Tomorrow I'll stop.
Chapter 25
HENDRIX
Think I understand addiction now.
It's so much harder than I thought to stay away from her.
Poppy moves, breathes, coughs, and I watch her.
Captivated.
Intoxicated.
A drug running through my veins.
