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“If you wanted to get physical, all you had to do was say so.”
“Quinton,” she growls.
I back away slowly. “It’s okay. I’ll save it for another day.” I wink at her, and she glares.
It’s funny how much she acts like she hates me, but when we’re alone in her room, and it’s just the two of us, she melts like butter in my hands. In a way, I’m giving us both a reprieve. I get one hour of control, and she gets one hour to let go and pretend we aren’t enemies.
“Nice seeing you, Brittney,” I call over to the librarian, looking past Aspen and straight at Brittney. Her eyes are narrowed like she’s trying to figure me out. She never will, no one can. Not even I know what the hell I’m going to do next. I give her a little wave, which she doesn’t return. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Aspen begging me with her eyes to leave.
It might take some finessing, but I’m determined. I’ll get the answer I need, regardless of whether or not my father wants me to have them.
24
ASPEN
By the time I reach my dorm room, I’m exhausted. I toss my books on the desk and strip out of my clothes and hop into the shower. The water takes forever to get warm, but once it does, I stand beneath the spray for ten minutes, unwinding. I barely made it through PE today, and history had me wanting to gouge my eyes out. Quinton never showed up for PE, and I didn’t want to think about how that made me feel.
Matteo was there, though, and his watchful eyes were on me the entire time. He didn’t say anything, but I know he wanted to. If I could get away with driving a knife straight into his chest, and if I was violent enough to do it, I would.
Giving myself time to relax, I slowly wash my hair and body and shave my legs. By the time I’m finished, the water is cold, and I step out, wrapping a scratchy towel around my body and a second towel around my hair.
I’ve just taken a step into my bedroom when the door flies open, and Quinton stumbles inside, his head bowed and his face hidden. His sudden appearance shocks me, and I stand there staring at his wobbling frame for a full second before I say anything.
“A knock would be appreciated every once in a while,” I say, realizing a moment too late that I’m in nothing more than a towel and that I owe him one hour a week, which I haven’t given him yet. I take a step back, and a shiver that acts more as a warning slithers down my spine.
“I’m pretty sure I’ve told you more than once your mouth will be your biggest downfall,” Quinton sneers, his voice smoky, and when he looks up, I gasp at the sight of his face.
His lip is busted and bleeding, and his normal icy blue eyes are hazy like he’s under the influence of something, which would explain the stumbling.
“What happened?”
He shakes his head. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to, and believe me, you don’t want me to answer this.” Moving with lightning speed, he invades my space. His usual intense woodsy scent filling my lungs, followed by the smell of beer.
“You’ve been drinking,” I squeak out just as his fingers skim the edge of my towel.
“Thank you, captain obvious, now lose the towel so I can fuck you. We’ve only got an hour.”
I blink, trying to figure out when I ever agreed to fuck him. I did say one hour, whatever he wants, but I didn’t think he would jump so fast into wanting sex.
“Look, Quinton,” I start, but he’s got the towel ripped away, his hand over my mouth, and my body pressed into the mattress beneath his before I can get another word out.
I’m held captive by his penetrating gaze.
He smiles down at me, his body pressing into mine roughly. His eyes are blazing; anger and defeat swim deep in the depths. With his hand still firmly over my mouth, all I can do is look at him and feel his rage threatening to spill out onto me.
“I don’t care that you’re a virgin. I don’t care about anything, actually. I’m going to fuck you hard and fast. I don’t want you to say a fucking word when I remove my hand. Do you understand me?”
The muscles in my stomach tighten, and anxious energy works its way through my body. I shake my head and plead with nothing more than my eyes. Quinton’s brows pinch together, his anger mounting.
“What do you mean, no?” He pulls his hand away, though it’s still in the air.
He’s never hit me, and while I don’t think he would, it’s hard to trust him when he’s sober, let alone drunk.
