Page 47

If I start thinking it’s a date, I’m going to lean against him on the way to school. I’ll let him hold my hand. I’ll start thinking I can have him.

And it can’t happen. I know that. Then why am I sad when he releases my hand to let me into the school, and feel like something is missing?

Wait. Was I holding his hand the whole way here?

He puts his hand to the small of my back as we enter, and I shiver at the contact.

I could easily say that the only reason I feel the touch directly into my core is because no man—male?—has touched me in quite some time, but even I know that it would be a lie.

He’s all I’ve been dreaming about for weeks, so yes, any touch from him sets my body ablaze.

And maybe I’m tired of fighting this sizzling attraction that exists between us.

Maybe.

When we arrive at the door of my classroom, he waits a minute, and then his hand is back at the small of my back, and I have to force myself to move away from him and go to my desk.

He doesn’t go to his, though.

Instead, he walks just behind me, and before I drop my bag next to my desk, his hands wrap around my waist, and just like that, I end up sitting on my desk.

Louis puts his hands on each of my knees and steps between my legs. The movement makes my skirt ride up higher than mid-thigh.

It’s indecent. And so fucking hot.

“What are you thinking about?” Louis asks as he looks down, and then up to look me in the eye.

“Nothing,” I say breathlessly.

“Is that ‘nothing' making you hot or cold?” he asks, amusement coloring his voice.

“What?” I ask instead of answering him. I’m not sure what he means by that question.

His right hand leaves my knee, and with the back of his fingers, he slowly strokes my collarbone and then lower. Lower. And Lower. Until the backs of his fingers caress the top of my left breast.

“Is this for me?” he asks as I look down to see that I’m so turned on that my nipples can be seen pointing through my shirt.

“I’m just cold,” I say, but my breathless voice betrays exactly what is happening to my body.

“Is that so?” Louis asks again as his left hand moves up my right thigh. It’s deliberately slow, as if he’s trying to give me time for me to pull away or to slap his hand.

I do none of that.

I’m tired of fighting this.

“If you’re so cold,” he pauses as his hand climbs higher, and slips just under the hem of my skirt. “Does that mean I won’t find you wet for me if my hand goes higher?”

My breath hitches, and I drop my hand on top of his. I don’t know yet if it’s to stop him or to make him reach my pussy faster.

“Does that mean you’re not dripping in your panties?” he asks, and there’s nothing but hunger in his eyes. “Does that mean you’re not dreaming of what it would feel to have my fingers toy with that sweet cunt of yours?”

His left hand has stopped moving, but his right one is slowly rubbing against my nipple with the back of his fingers. Ever so slowly, he turns that hand to cup my breast through my shirt, and his thumb ends up right where the back of his fingers were a second ago, caressing me in the same way.

This is the sweetest torture.

“Does that mean you don’t think about how my cock would feel inside of you? Or what it would be like to be stretched by my knot? Or how good it would be for you to squeeze it until you came all over my cock?”

Fuck. This is so freaking hot.