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She didn’t reply, but I didn’t think she would. I just laid down some deep shit, so I checked my inbox while I was waiting.
Rothchelton University: We are looking forward to—I cursed, clicking on the email.
Congratulations! We are excited to meet you for your admissions interview. We’ll be arriving at Portland and will conduct the meeting at the Chelton Hotel at . . .
I stopped reading, checking the date and time.
They were coming to meet me on Monday.
My grandfather did this. This was his Ivy League school.
Shit.
He was doing it, actually doing it. My uncle was right. My showing up at Carby’s, his execs seeing me, knowing me, recognizing me had all gotten back to him. I’d been hiding, but now, in the twisted and morphed way he thought, he’d think this was me being disrespectful. I let others know where I was, and he’d been informed about me. It happened without him declaring it should be because he wanted to control everything. I only should’ve been seen if he had given me permission and that hadn’t happened.
He did this as retribution. I’d be expected to show, and if I didn’t, he’d use it as a further excuse to do more, trying to rein me in.
I hated him. Hated him.
My phone beeped. Ramsay had texted, but I didn’t read it.
I swung around, heading for her place.
54
RAMSAY
My phone buzzed when I was in bed, trying to sleep.
Scout: I’m outside. Can I come up?
I rolled over, going to my window. I lifted up my curtain and saw his truck parked on the road.
What in the world?
Me: Back door.
I went to meet him, unlocking the door. He came in, and immediately, I could tell something was off with him. He was usually guarded, but this was different. He had snarly energy, a restlessness to him. Edgy.
He looked to where my mom’s room was, but I touched his arm, shaking my head.
The door was locked, and we headed up to my room. He waited until we were inside before asking, “Is your mom here?”
“She just texted. A girl is coming in early for her so she might be rolling in soon. What are you doing here?”
His eyes were on my mouth, darkening.
I didn’t need to ask that question again.
“Scout,” I started.
“I don’t want to talk.” His voice was as rough as his energy. Gruff. “I came here because I need not to talk, not to do anything except feel good. We’ve done that in the past.” He started for me. “Can we do it again?”
My eyes held his the whole time, until he was right in front of me. Barely an inch separating us.
His energy was blanketing me. Taking me over.
I felt on edge.
I felt restless.
I needed to touch him.
I was taking on his needs, but they were mine now, and I nodded, reaching for him. “Yeah.”
His mouth was on mine. Hot. Hungry.
He tasted good.
I wrapped my arms around him, feeling him picking me up.
We went to my door, and I felt him reaching behind me. I heard the click of the lock, the lights went out, and he walked us to my bed.
He lowered me, his mouth never leaving mine.
I could kiss him forever. I realized that as I stretched out under him, savoring this connection.
His tongue slid inside, tasting me back, and he took his time, which was a dichotomy from his earlier almost frenzied air about him.
“Scout.” I groaned as his mouth left mine, sliding down my throat.
His hands slid around my back, lifting me up so I was tipped more fully against him. We paused, holding in that position, relishing the almost hug before he let me back down. His hand moved to my stomach, resting there before sliding inside my shorts and going under my thong.
He feathered kisses down my throat at the same time he circled me.
I held still, my eyes closed, loving how that felt. So good. So nice.
He slid inside, his thumb moving to my clit at the same time, and he began working me. Sliding in and out. Rubbing. Circling. Pressing. At the same time he was tasting me, moving down to my chest, nuzzling aside my shirt until he could taste one of my breasts.
I reached up, grasping the back of his head as I was buckling under his hand below.
Sensations were building, rising in me. Pleasure was coating my insides.
I didn’t know why this guy. Why he had the ability to make me feel like this, but he did. I could become addicted to this, just this, how he could make me soar inside.
I was going to come. I wasn’t ready. I gasped, trying to push him back. “Scout, no—”
His finger slid back inside, going deep, and holding. He lifted his head up. “You okay?”
I was panting, my chest lifting up and down. “It’s too soon. I want to—”
