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I blink. Making sure I’m not dreaming. Not hallucinating due to the immense stress of having to stay the fuck away from her.
“Flynn?” she questions on a whisper, like she, too, is questioning reality right now.
Ironic.
‘Stay away from her, Flynn, don’t freak her out with your stalker bullshit.’
Raiden’s words flash through my brain like blistering fry oil and I smile through the feeling of my brain combusting.
“Angel,” I purr, “you fell from the sky for me,” my lips curl sinisterly.
Lilac eyes are the only thing I see, flaring gray then blue, a bright violet hue like a fork of lightning striking my heart, her pupils large and dark and calling me to madness.
My hands are squeezing her biceps as I lift her, throwing her over my shoulder, bracing for the impact of her fists to pound against my spine as I continue down the stairs, not giving a single fuck who sees us.
But there’s nothing.
No struggle, no fight, no words of protest.
It’s almost like her body loses all of its tension as she hangs over my shoulder, muscles going lax.
And then her arms lift, curling around my waist, her fingers locking together, she holds onto me, tight.
“I missed you,” I tell her, my brain short circuiting with her body wrapped around mine. Willingly. “I’ve been praying to the devil to deliver me my fallen angel, guess he was listening after all.”
“I missed you too,” she says, upside down, hanging down the length of my spine, her face nestled in the back of my thigh.
“Yeah?” I rasp, her words infecting my melting brain like an antidote.
“Yes,” she says quietly.
“What were you doing on the stairs?” I ask her, calmer, breathing slowing because she’s not fighting me and this isn’t technically a kidnapping.
I push out of the stairwell, the halls empty. My hand firm on her ass, the other around her thighs.
“I was on my way to see you,” she whispers and for just one second I am still.
My steps pause and I blink, staring down the long, wide hall, think of how far the parking lot is, the spaces in the very fucking back where my car is.
I can feel her breathing, the rise and fall of her chest, the thud of her heart against my lower back. She smells like fucking cream-butter pumpkins, the scent from her shampoo,her,everything about her is intoxicating. And I…
“Why?” I ask, perfectly still, unseeing of the white and green hallway, the closed doors running down either side of it, floor to ceiling glass windows at the very end.
She squirms in my hold, blood probably rushing to her head, her face likely a little red. I think of her blush, the way it works its way down her throat, over her pretty tits, and her heart hammers now, with my silence, my question.
“I- We have a session today.”
“Yeah, but you’ve missed the last seventeen,” I think of all those minutes spent in my office watching her traipse around the halls, her head always down, as though she knew where every camera was stationed and avoided them all.
She says nothing in answer, but I feel her breath heave and it prompts me to move. Closed knife digging into my palm, cock grinding into the zipper of my pants. I’m looking at the doors in the hall as I pass them, unsure what I’m looking for, but I need to see her face when she answers me.
I push into the girls bathroom, shouldering my way in, checking the stalls are empty with a foot to each door, before I bend, placing Poppy’s feet on the white speckled lino. Smoothing my way up her body as she comes to stand, a little wobbly on her feet but I hold her up. My hands secure on her waist, contracting with deep breaths.
My back to the door, I smooth my thumbs over her front, feeling the bumps of her ribs as I grip a little too hard.
I look at her face, taking her in, the bruising gone as though it were never there to mark her pretty face. Yellows finally dissolved from her skin. There are bags beneath her eyes, hollow and icy blue in her light skin.
“Why were you in the stairwell, Poppy?” I ask again.
