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“Don’t ever lie to me again.” He nips at the sensitive peak and a burst of pain streaks through me before exploding into something that resembles pleasure. “Understand?”
The potent mix of sensations is confusing.
How can something that hurts feel so good?
When I remain silent, he bites me again and the same feelings ricochet through me.
“Yes!”
With a quick burst of movement, he rolls away before settling at my side like nothing happened. As if he didn’t just open a door and usher me through it. The way he’s able to swiftly switch gears leaves me feeling like I have whiplash. Unlike him, it takes me a handful of seconds to find my bearings. My fingers drift to the buttons on my shirt to refasten them when he knocks my hands away.
“Leave it open.”
I swallow and consider arguing, but the likelihood of it doing any good is slim to none. The best thing I can do is focus on the assignments and get the hell out of here.
Using my elbows, I lever myself into a seated position.
“Should we start with English?” I wince at how low and breathless my voice sounds.
“Sure.” He shrugs. “You’re the one in charge.”
I almost snort. We both know that’s a lie. Austin is the one who holds all the power. I’m nothing more than a plaything to be used at his discretion.
Now that my heart is no longer racing and the synapses in my brain are back to firing, I fish out the assignment Ms. Pettijohn included in today’s bundle before passing it to him.
That’s all it takes for the smugness in his eyes to dissolve.
“Have you finishedThe Kite Runneryet?”
His stoic gaze flickers to me. A shield falls over his eyes, making it impossible to guess his thoughts.
When he fails to respond, I ask, “How far are you into the story?”
“A couple chapters. It’s boring as fuck.”
My mouth falls open. “Really? Once I started, I couldn’t put the book down.”
“What do you want me to say? I’m just not into it.”
I nibble at my lower lip before hesitantly admitting, “I have an idea. Something that might help you.”
He lifts a brow in curiosity.
At least, I think that’s what it is.
It’s tough to tell.
I glance away before forcing out the words. “I thought it might be easier to listen to the book instead of reading it yourself.”
The change in his demeanor is immediate. A crack of anger flashes across his face as he snaps, “You don’t think I know how to read?”
I quickly shake my head as a thick wave of tension rolls over me and my muscles stiffen. “No, of course not. I just thought it would be easier for you to listen to the story, so you don’t have to concentrate on decoding the words.”
“Because I’m slow?”
“I don’t think you’re slow. I think you have a learning disability that makes school more of a challenge. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
“Who said I was ashamed?” he growls, anger growing.
