“No.” The smile is back, brighter than ever, his eyes glinting with mischief. “But I can pretty much guarantee you’ll be screaming my name soon.”
I return his devilish grin. “Because you’re going to torture me?”
“Oh, you can bet on it.” He puts his hands against the rock, caging me inside his arms. He’s so close I can see the facets of the rock reflected in his eyes, as hard and wild as he is.
When I don’t respond, he tilts his head, sizing me up. The cockiness fades from his gaze for just a moment, and he lowers his voice, as if the rocks are listening in and he doesn’t want to be overheard. “You play a dangerous game, Little Bird.”
I want to tell him no, I don’t. Not with guys. Notever. Dangerous boys and me don’t mix. Mages especially. But something about this place, about my visions, about him…Goddess, there’s a wildness that calls to something deep inside me, an animal begging to be let out of her cage after years of captivity.
And no one brings out the wild girl in me like Baz.
“I’m not the gentle, cuddle-for-hours-afterward type,” he says. “You should probably know that going in.”
“You make it sound like you’re a—”
“Yes. Whatever you’re thinking?” His eyes go fiery hot, and he wraps a hand around my throat, squeezing just enough to get my attention. There’s no more teasing now, only heat. Only passion. Only a promise my core is begging him to keep. Brushing a thumb across my lips, he whispers, “That’sexactlywhat I am, and you’d do well to remember it.”
Holy shit, I’m so wet for him, my clit is already throbbing with every heartbeat, my nipples straining uncomfortably against the fabric of my sports bra, my whole body on fire for his hands, his mouth, his cock.
I force out a laugh, but instead of the cool nonchalance I’m going for, it comes out wobbly and faint. “Um… Am I going to need a safe word for this?”
Baz, unfazed as ever, slides his hand down my backside and grips my thigh, hitching my leg up around his hip. The thick length of his cock presses against my center, and I let out an involuntary gasp.
Back in the classroom, I thought I’d gotten his…ahem… full attention.
Clearly, he was holding back before.
The bastard isseriouslypacking, and now he wants me to know it.
I hate that my body wants him so badly.Needshim so badly.
“Safe word?” His molten gaze sweeps down to my mouth, and he leans in close, the rasp of his breath teasing my lips with a gentle caress that belies his bruising grip on my thigh. “It’s cute that you think you’ll still be able toformwords while I’m fucking you.”
Something escapes my mouth—a squeak? A protest? A prayer? I’ll never know, because in that instant, Baz claims my mouth with another kiss even more possessive than the first, plumbing my depths, demanding access I’m all too eager to grant him.
He’s darkness and shadow, rage and pain, all of it hitting me in a wave that threatens to pull me under.
But it seems he’s also a man of his word, because as much as I want to put an end to this—as much as I know I’m making a terrible mistake—I can’t force my lips to form a single word. Instead, I find myself breaking away just long enough to tear off my sports bra.
Baz palms my breasts, then lowers his mouth to my nipple, grazing it with his teeth as he sucks and teases…
“Last chance, Little Bird,” he says, then moves to the other nipple, flicking it with his tongue as his hand slides down the front of my leggings, seeking my wet heat once again. “You want to change your mind? Now’s the time.”
“No,” I say, fisting his hair and arching my hips to get closer. “I want you to touch me. To—”
“And here’s a wildlife mating ritual you don’t see every day, kids!”
Baz and I break apart in a heartbeat, whipping around to see Emory standing before us, straddling a bike. She’s smirking at us, holding out her phone like she’s the paparazzi and we’re the celeb snap of the century.
“For fuck’s sake, Emory,” Baz says, jumping in front of me to block her view. “Don’t be a dickhead.”
“I’m not the one whoring around the whole Academy,” she says.
“It’s none of your business how I spend my lunch hour, who I spend it with, or what I spend it doing. Now hop back on that bike and fuck off somewhere else, preferably far, far away from me.”
She flashes a glittery smile, then turns it on me. “I wasn’t talking aboutyou, Baz.”
Seriously? Why is it that the girls who refuse to move on from middle school only keep theworstparts of middle school? Why can’t they ditch the backstabbing, name-calling, mind-game-playing bullshit and just, like, draw doodle-hearts in their notebooks and have crushes on boy bands and argue over the best-scented body lotion?
