AllFreeNovel
Share Us
His rumbled laughter vibrates against my back. He leans down, and his warm breath fans over my neck. "What would you call what you did then?"
My mind is completely blank as his thumb strokes up and down underneath my navel, and I turn my head ever so slightly so my cheek touches the side of his face. Of course he doesn't know that I basically sang for him.
Dear Lord, how long have I wanted to be near this man?
"Dean didn't give me much of a choice," I remark with my eyes still closed. I should be embarrassed by how breathy I sound.
"There is always a choice, MOAB Girl." His lips swipe along my neck, and I whimper.
A goddamn whimper.
What is he doing? There is no question about him sensing my out-of-control pulse where his lips hover over my skin. If I had worn anything but black jeans today, you could, without question, see how he affects me. My panties are soaked, and all I want is for him to continue. Let his hand glide all the way into my jeans and slip a finger deep inside of me.
One of his hands disappears from my stomach and takes my chin between his thumb and forefinger, turning me farther in his direction.
My hand leaves the sink and covers his that's still splayed out on my abs. His fingers spread apart, and I automatically interlace mine with his, Wes mimicking the movement and squeezing my hand.
His mouth hovers over mine, and all I want is for him to press his lips to mine and kiss me.
"Who are you, King?"
No!
This is the one question he shouldn't have asked. Dread fills my veins, and my eyes spring open. He stares down at me with a hooded yet curious gaze.
I drop his hand like he's burned me and step sideways out of his embrace. Pressing myself against the wall, I attempt to get as far away as possible in the small space.
"Don't touch me again!" I sound borderline hysterical. I probably look completely deranged.
His expression hardens, and he shoves his hands into his front pockets. Tilting his head, his stare bores into me, and he drawls, "And why is that?"
I could cry. I want nothing more than to move into his arms again, let him touch me, but instead, I take a deep breath. I don't want to be numb, not when it comes to him, but I have no choice. Do. Not. Feel.
As I exhale, I hiss, "Because I want nothing to do with you."
I pivot on my heels and leave the bathroom. Tears are already welling up, and I'm going to have to explain to Grizz once more why I bolted mid-shift. I grab my purse, which is still sitting on the table in the lounge. As I'm about to exit into the hallway, I hear one word echo after me.
"Liar."
CHAPTERTEN
Liar.
Wes called me a fucking liar—and he's one-hundred-percent right. Fuck!
I'm sitting in my usual seat in the far back of Professor Steward's criminology class, but can't concentrate on a word he's saying—which frustrates me even more. The prof stopped me on my way in and asked where I was last week, a gesture that meant more to me than he could possibly understand. It feels good to be missed. I may not be one of his students, but we've shared several conversations before and after class about his lectures.
A while ago, he offered to put me in touch with the administration department managing the financial aid. I could be a real student, but with no idea how long I'll be around, I declined. I'd hate to let Steward down.
It's been five days sincethe incident. Five days in which Mags has not shut up about not having had a clue that her best friend could sing. One hundred and twenty hours in which Kiwi has told me countless times how proud he is of me. Seven thousand two hundred minutes since I bared my soul to Weston Sheats. Four hundred thirty-two thousand seconds since I felt his hands on me and then pushed him away, declaring I wanted nothing to do with him.
Liar.
I've replayed everything a gazillion times in my head: the sensation of his fingers on my bare stomach, his lips feathering over the sensitive skin on my neck, the almost kiss. In my mind, Wes never asked the question that brought reality crashing down. In my vivid, Technicolor fantasy, he continued the exploration of my body with his mouth and hands. He unbuttoned my jeans and slipped his fingers into my pussy until I was riding his hand. I may even have played said fantasy out myself—with my own fingers. God, when was the last time I did that? I can't remember. But the thought of Wes and—
Great, I'm sitting in class and am about to come from a freaking daydream. My obsession has taken on a whole new level, and I have no idea what to do.
Professor Steward concludes today's lecture, and everyone begins to pack up. I'm trying to steady my breath and hope to fucking God that no one noticed me panting in my seat. Most of the students have gotten used to me being here and nod as they leave the rows in front of mine.
