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It’s tempting to reach out and massage them until she softens.
Midway through the class, her body finally loosens as she jots a few notes and continues to ignore me.
I fucking hate when she does that.
Carina is a lefty. Her other hand rests on her desk as her fingers curl ever so slightly. Her nails are neat and trimmed without polish. I like that she doesn’t wear acrylics or anything fake. She’s unapologetically herself.
I don’t realize that I’ve reached out and wrapped my fingers loosely around hers until her gaze flickers in my direction. She scrutinizes me for a heartbeat or two as air gets clogged in my lungs waiting for her to pull away and leave me hanging.
It’s a surprise when she doesn’t.
When it comes to this girl, I tend to tread carefully and keep my hands to myself. She’s like a chainsaw. The last thing you want to do is lose a limb because you’ve been fucking around.
As soon as Betsworth dismisses us for the day, Carina grabs her stuff and shoves it into her backpack. I do the same. Like hell I’ll allow her to bolt. When she flees the small lecture hall, I’m right on her heels, dogging every step. It’s a surprise when she wraps her fingers around my wrist and bulldozes her way through the crowded corridor. When we come across an empty classroom, she drags me inside.
Once we’re alone, she releases her tight grip. Her palms press into my chest as she propels me backward until my spine hits the wall. Her glare turns ferocious.
Damn if it doesn’t turn me on.
Is that perverse?
Probably.
There’s absolutely nothing normal about my feelings for her.
There never has been.
With most girls, I have to stare down at them.
That’s not the case with Carina.
All right, maybe a little bit. But the height difference isn’t as great as some of the other people I’ve been with. There’s about six inches to separate us instead of a foot or more.
I like the height on her.
I like the long, lean lines of her body. Especially the graceful way she’s able to move them when she dances.
I blink out of those thoughts when she stabs a finger into my chest. “When are we going to sleep together?”
My brows shoot up at the unexpected question.
Is she actually impatient to have sex with me?
Has hell frozen over, and I’m the last to know?
I never actually thought this day would come.
Did I dream about it?
Damn right I did.
Most of the time, I don’t think she can stand me.
Actually, it’s probably way more than that.
The difference here is that she wants me.
Me.
