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His lips trailed down my cheek, my jaw, my neck. His hips began to rock with my rhythm as he fucked my hand slowly, his fingers thrusting in and out of me in time. We were so close to finally having sex.
“Wait. Harlow, stop,” he said, pulling my hand out of his trousers.
I looked him over. “What?”
He looked down at me and I thought I saw a war waging in his eyes.
“Apollo?” I asked.
“I…” He grunted in frustration, pushed away from me and stalked out of the room, tucking himself back in his trousers but not even bothering with his door on his way out.
He’d just left me there, totally hanging, watching his door like I expected him to come rushing back through it with a thousand apologies on his lips. When it became apparent that wasn’t going to happen, I stood up, straightened my clothes, found my top, and decided I wasn’t waiting for him to come back.
I paused in his doorway wondering if Ishouldwait for him, then shook my head before slamming the door behind me. Apollo was nowhere to be seen. He clearly wasn’t going to turn around and come after me. I wanted to say that it was a sign of how well he knew me, but there was a part of me who knew he was just taking the easier road. Then there was an even smaller part of me who felt that he didn’t come back because he didn’t care enough – that he’d never care enough.
“Stop it,” I snapped at myself, heading off the thought that Valen would have come after me. “He wouldn’t have either.”
Neither of them would, and I told myself not to blame them.
Valen and I were done and, even when we weren’t, it was never going to be anything; he had no reason to come back.
Apollo and I were new; we were still working out what a real relationship looked like. He was trying to give me space. Even if he used that space to lose himself in a Magdalen, he thought giving me space was what I needed.
I wanted to not fault him for that. And most of me didn’t.
But there was also a part of me that just wanted to be angry and annoyed and confused and spend a whole lot of my father’s money on useless shit in Bieityn. So that’s what I was going to do.
As I barrelled out of the boys’ dorm building, Marco saw me.
“Oi, oi, missus. Where’s the fire?” he asked, throwing all his lazy charm behind his words and his eyes.
I rolled mine. “Not in the mood, Marco.”
“Haven’t seen the delectable Florence around this weekend.”
“She’s at an art retreat,” I snapped.
“Are ye okay, missus?” he asked, his tone soft and gentle.
I huffed. “No.”
“Can I help?”
I sighed as I thought through the logistics of my plan. “Up for some light chauffeur and escort duty, Marco?”
“And just how much would ye be paying me?” he teased.
I frowned. “With my pleasant company,” I sassed.
He grinned. “Perfect. I’d love to. I’ve got no plans.”
I nodded. “Then take me to your vehicle of choice.”
“Oh, you wouldn’t want that, missus,” he said as he led the way to the boys’ garage. “Saturday evening ride down the hill on me bike would be my choice.”
“Fair. Thanks for the warning. Your second choice of vehicle, then.”
“I just so happen to have the keys to Valk’s Viper,” he said with a mischievous smirk, swinging said keys around his finger.
