Page 162 of Twisting Beauty

Lorcan’s hand shot out as I passed an alcove, clamping my wrist, dragging me into the shadows.

My back slammed against the cold stone. His eyes burned into mine. Heat flooded low in my belly.

I shouldn’t be feeling this. Not with the deed sitting in my chest. Not with the things I hadn’t told him.

The lie sat between us like a blade I kept palming, and still my body arched toward him, hungry for the hand I should have been pushing away.

His breath scorched my cheek as he bent close. “Fuck, I missed you.”

A sound broke in my throat. I caught it before it could become a moan. “It’s been one period.”

“Too long.” His hiss was raw against my ear. He nudged my scarf down and smirked at the hickey he’d given me against the tree. “Fuck, I like marking you.”

I should have pushed him off. I didn’t.

My pulse hammered as his hand came up under my sweater, cupping my breast.

“Maybe I leave another mark on you.” He scraped his teeth against my pulse as his thumb dragged across my nipple, stealing a groan out of me.

“Miss Lasair.” Deargán’s voice rolled slow and deliberate from down the corridor like the tightening of a noose. “I need you for a moment.”

Lorcan stiffened, his body blocking mine, pressing me harder into the wall, his breath savage in my ear. “You’ll talk to me. Not him.”

“Of course, Professor,” I forced out.

I pushed at Lorcan’s chest.

His fingers trailed down my wrist as I slipped free.

I brushed down my sweater and fixed my scarf, trying to erase the heat of his hands and teeth, before walking out toward Deargán at the end of the corridor.

Deargán’s hand met my back as I reached him.

He guided me down a skinny corridor that emptied of people the farther we went. The ambient chatter of the main hall faded, replaced by the hollow, echoing drip of an old pipe and the hum of the wall sconces. He was walking me somewhere there were no witnesses.

He blocked the narrow passage, pressing me into a row of dented metal lockers with one hand braced against the rusted metal. “Finally. I thought I’d never get you away from him.”

The cognac taste flickered up under my tongue at the sound of his voice.

My body answered the way he had trained it to, and I hated that. I hated that my pulse climbed under his gaze. I hated knowing exactly how easily I could fall into his weight and let him take over.

His hand slipped around the outside of my thigh, brushing the hem of my skirt. “Has he explained the deed?”

I shoved his hand away. “I haven’t asked him.”

“Liath.”

“I’m not going to until I know more.”

He pressed in closer, his breath at my cheek. “This isn’t a game. He is the enemy.”

“There you are.” Lorcan’s voice cracked sharp through the corridor. “We’ll be late for class.”

Deargán’s lips brushed my ear. “I don’t know what he’s told you, but he’s got blood on his hands. You can’t trust him.”

Lorcan stopped beside me, his gaze locked on Deargán’s hand caging me in. “I’d back off, sir. Wouldn’t want anyone reporting a teacher’s hands on a student.”

Deargán’s grip tightened. “Run along, boy. I’m not finished with her.”