“Tripp—” I tried.
“Good night, Greer.”
And then he stormed away like I’d cornered him to talk about a nice timeshare in Hell’s armpit.
I stood there for a few long seconds, staring at the empty space where he’d been. It was amazing to me how his presence had made even the massive room feel cozy. And how empty it suddenly felt with him gone.
Ohhhhkay then.
With a deep inhale that turned into a yawn, I moved to the bathroom to clean myself up and change into the oversized shirt he’d given me. When I returned to the bedroom, there was ice water waiting on the bedside table.
I looked toward the door, wondering for the millionth time if I should insist we switch rooms. Or that we both sleep in his. The bed was big enough. We were adults.
He’d had his tongue in me.
But he’d also seemed determined to get away. He hadn’t even used that charming flirtation to jokingly suggest he stay. And I would’ve folded like a cheap card table if he had.
I climbed under the lush covers, expecting my brain to do what it always did. To run a thousand miles an hour. Faster than that, actually, since I now had the night at Gilded to overanalyze.
But with my body still shockingly loose from the mind-altering orgasm, I was asleep within minutes.
Ineed a break.
Or, technically, a break from my break.
I set my laptop down and stood. And then I sat. And then I stood again, that time going to the fridge to pour a glass of cucumber mint water. And then I put the glass into the fridge because the thought of taking a single sip churned my flipping stomach.
My body was jittery. Anxious.
Needy.
I blamed my research.
After class that morning, I’d gone to the library to try to lock in on my paper. It was usually my favorite place, but every drummed pen, muffled cough, and flipped page had grated on me. I’d packed it in to try again in my apartment, but my thoughts kept returning to Tripp and Gilded.
My experiment the night prior had been a failure. It hadn’t shown me that I had no interest in the club beyond naughty curiosity. If anything, it had stoked the flames.
And by stoked, I meant it added a small amount of kindling and gently blew.
And then it doused the fire in gasoline.
And chlorine trifluoride.
I thought that reading up on the specifics might temper some of the obsessing I’d done since waking up in Tripp’s bed that morning. If I treated it like research, it might become as boring as schoolwork.
I was wrong.
Each article led down a different rabbit hole of depravity. Some of it didn’t appeal to me in the slightest. Other things terrified me.
But some intrigued me more than I wanted to admit.
In theory, at least.
In practice was a different unknown.
One that would likely remain that way for a long time since I’d made it clear to Tripp that it was a one-time thing. And he’d been right when he said that exploring Gilded required a level of trust. We hadn’t done anything too extreme—especially considering that no one had actually been watching us—but it wouldn’t have worked with anyone but him. I would still be teetering on the edge of orgasm and insanity.
Drinkless and restless and all the other-lesses,I returned to the living room and closed out of my explicit searches to return my focus to my paper. I lasted all of ten minutes.
