by Layla Frost
That should’ve been a clue, but I was too detached to pick up on it until he began speaking. “Tonight alone, you’ve accused me of having women milling about, cheating on my fictional wife, and,” he released me and raised his hands to make air quotes, “‘banging my way through my students. ’” His arm locked back around me. “Whatever commitaphobe-humps-everything-that-moves propaganda you’re buying into is bullshit. Not every man fears settling down. We’re not perpetual frat bros,” he sneered. “I’m not going to go into detail because I sure as hell don’t want to hear the details of your past, but I’ve had relationships. They end because they weren’t right. I don’t cheat. Cowards who don’t appreciate what they have or don’t have the balls to go for what they want cheat. And this is what I want. Understand?”
“I—”
“Understand?”
“We’re not—”
“We damn sure are.”
“You’re insane.”
“Do you understand?” he bit out, fisting my hair.
“Yes.”
“Good.” His fingers went back to playing with the strands. “Just trust me. Let me take care of you. Okay?”
I nodded, closing my eyes and relaxing into him. We were quiet for long moments before I worked up the nerve to mutter, “It was your cups.”
“My cups?”
“They’re nice.”
“They’re cups.”
I sat up enough to meet his gaze. “You know when businesses set up tables around campus? Like, the credit card vultures or the job fairs? Usually they hand out pens or frisbees or whatever. Sometimes they have cups. So far, I have plastic cups from three credit cards, two banks, and some religion that may or may not be a cult. I had one from a telemarketing company that was trying to recruit students, but it melted in the dishwasher and stunk up the apartment. I think the company got shut down for shady practices, so I’m not surprised they cheaped out on their material.” The dangerous vibe emanating from Damien hit me suddenly, though I wasn’t sure why he was pissed. “Anyway, you’ve got nice ones. Matching sets,” I offered, like that cleared things up.
The ticking muscle on his clenched jaw went wild, but his eyes weren’t storming midnight skies to match the anger of his body language. They were warm as he tucked my hair behind my ear. “Surprisingly, they don’t offer a ‘Lonely Bachelor Bundle’ with one of every glass. I have matching sets because that’s how they come.” He tilted his head toward the blue glass on the side table. “And because I have a busybody mother and a busier-body sister who insist I can’t only have a couple coffee mugs, pilsner glasses, and scotch tumblers.”
“That’s sweet of them,” I whispered, a surprising pang clenching my stomach. It wasn’t envy, per-se, more of… what could’ve been. Should’ve been.
“It is.” Reaching over, he turned off the lamp and rolled over so his front was pressed to my back. Like last time we slept together, he cupped my breast in one hand and rested the other at the base of my throat. It was a possessive hold, but also protective. I felt surrounded by him. Safe.
He’s not the only one who’s insane. I’ve obviously lost my mind.
“Why do you have me sleep on this side?” I asked, fighting sleep.
“What do you mean?”
“I thought this was the side of the bed you usually sleep on.”
“It is. And when I sleep there after you, it smells like you.” He paused before adding, “Not that it matters since you’ll be there now.”
My stomach went all gooey and flipped. “Oh.”
Damien’s fingers stroked along my collarbone. It was even more calming than when he played with my hair, and my lids got too heavy to stay open, even though I didn’t want the night to be over.
“Sleep,” he said. “You’ve got classes tomorrow, and one of your professors is an asshole.”
“Nah,” I muttered groggily, quickly losing the fight against sleep. “He’s not so bad.”
Chapter Twenty-two
* * *
Drowning
Eden
Oh shit.
Oh shit.
Shit, shit, shit.
What was I thinking?
Oh, right, I was thinking about his dick, finally getting to come, and having awesome sex that ended up being the best of my life.
Hmm, maybe this is all worth it then.
Walking down the hallway toward political theory, my stomach flipped and churned. It wasn’t entirely unpleasant, though. It was like waiting in line for a roller coaster and being filled with nerves, anticipation, and adrenaline.
Only it wasn’t a coaster I’d ridden the night before.
That morning, I’d woken with Damien’s mouth between my legs and an orgasm already building. Before it could explode, he’d sexually manipulated me into showering with him, where he’d again played and teased until I’d begged, though he hadn’t relented.
After we’d dressed, he’d sat me on the kitchen island with a cup of perfectly beige coffee and some Motrin while he’d made breakfast. A breakfast I’d eaten while sitting on his lap. Maybe it was because I’d been so turned on and desperate for the feel of him, but sitting there hadn’t felt as ridiculous as I’d expected.
I’d liked it. A lot.
As soon as I’d taken my last bite, Damien had roughly tugged my pants down then put me on the table to eat me while he’d stroked his cock. I’d come hard—twice—before he’d stood to come on my pussy.
I took that to mean he’d also liked it. A lot.
And it’d proved he really did know my body better than I did, because as badly as I’d wanted to have sex, the tenderness from the previous night had grown increasingly more uncomfortable until the pain meds he’d given me kicked in. Sex would’ve hurt, and not in the good way.
By the time we’d finished, he was running late, and I’d barely had enough time to stop home to get ready before rushing to my first class.
Thankfully, my classes had been too demanding for me to obsess and panic, but as I approached Damien’s classroom, the floodgates opened and my thoughts raced.
I didn’t want things to return to how they’d been. I could deal with avoiding one another again. Actually, that would be the best option. But I couldn’t face his cold indifference. Even if I knew it was an act, his previous apathy would kill when I was already flayed open and vulnerable.
Steeling my spine, I hoped for the best but mentally prepped for the worst as I walked into the room and headed for my seat. Damien’s attention was on his desk as he shuffled around some papers. He didn’t lift his head, but I could feel his eyes on me. There was the slightest change in his body language, but since I didn’t want to get caught staring, I didn’t have time to figure out what it was.
How many times has he watched me without me knowing?
A sick thrill went through me, its path leading directly to my clit.
I took my seat, barely suppressing a hiss as my sore ass cheeks made contact with the unyielding plastic. Chancing a peek at Damien, I lost my breath.
His eyes were locked on me, a wicked smirk pulling at his lips as he watched my unmistakable discomfort.
I wonder if seeing me in pain made him hard?
The sick thrill became a visible shudder, goosebumps spreading along my suddenly overheated skin.
God, we’re dysfunctional.
Unable to look at him again, I got ready for class and hid my red face behind my laptop.
Brooks dropped his things next to me. “Hey.” When I looked his way, his smile faltered. “You feeling okay? You’re a little…” He gestured to his face.
“I thought I was late, so I hauled ass,” I lied.
He bought it, nodding in commiseration. “I cut it close and had to run through Shitstorm Hall,” he said, referring to the region at the far corner of the building that’d been under construction for as long as I’d been there.
The urban legends ranged from haunted to murder site, with a quick stop at teacher hook-up zone. I
liked to think it was a simple case of asbestos-laced black mold, but I was just a realist like that.
Before I could say anything, Damien stood, drawing everyone’s attention.
I braced, but other than a sharp look, he didn’t say anything to me as he began his lesson.
For the most part, class was the same as always. He mostly ignored me. I mostly ignored everyone. The only switch-up was that he called on me to answer a question that didn’t include any baiting or taunting.
Class wrapped early and a sense of relief washed over me, loosening the tight knot between my shoulders.
Pulling my backpack onto my lap, I packed my laptop. When I looked up again, I was eyelevel to a crotch.
A familiar one.
I let my gaze linger longer than I should’ve before slowly moving it up.
His expression was blank. “I need to reschedule our IS meeting.”
We don’t have a meeting scheduled.
“Okay,” I said, confused.
Brooks stood when I did. “I’ve gotta run, otherwise I’ll be going through Shitstorm again. See you.”
I shot him a forced smile that I hoped didn’t broadcast the off the charts level of uncomfortableness I felt. “Bye.”
Brooks started for the door at the same time Damien returned to the front.
“Get down here,” he ordered.
“We don’t have a meeting this week,” I pointed out, not moving.
“Get down here,” he repeated.
“Why?”
“Because I’m going to kiss you. If we’re up there, anyone walking past can see. Here is out of view. I don’t give a damn either way, but since you do, I suggest you get your perfect ass here, now.”
My head whipped around to check that no one was near the door to hear what he’d said. Confirming the coast was clear, I turned and glared. “We’re not doing this at school.”
“The hell we’re not.”
“No—”
He only took one step, but it was enough. I scurried down the steps, knowing full well he wouldn’t hesitate to kiss me wherever and whenever he wanted.
As soon as I was within reach, he pulled my rigid body close and kissed me, quick but hot enough that I was leaning into him, needy for more. He ended it and stepped away, though he kept his hands on my hips. “So will you?”
I mentally ran through our conversation but came up empty. “Will I what?”
“Will you be seeing Crosby?” His jaw was clenched, his eyes dark and narrowed.
He’s jealous.
It was mean. Immature. Stupid and childish and unnecessary.
And dangerous.
I shrugged. “I assume so.”
His fingertips dug in, and it took everything in me to hold in the smile and moan that threatened to push through. He glowered, crazed and ready to roar like a poked bear, but before he could, the phone on the wall rang.
Taking advantage of the distraction, I pulled away and took a step back.
A big one.
Which was also a mistake.
A big one.
Damien looked incensed—a wild animal ready to attack.
“Truce,” I blurted.
“No.”
“I have a class starting in a few minutes,” I reminded him.
“And you have a lesson to learn now.”
“Which is?”
He crossed his arms, momentarily distracting me with his broad chest and impressive build. “You won’t be seeing Crosby.”
My teasing forgotten, I crossed my own arms. “That’s not your decision.”
“It is.”
“You don’t get to control who I spend time with.”
He smiled, cold and wicked. “You gave me you last night, angel. That means I control everything you do.”
“In bed, maybe,” I whispered, my cheeks getting warm.
“You know that’s not how this works.” I opened my mouth, but he continued, adding, “And you know you like it.”
“I don’t.”
“Such nasty lies out of such a sweet, fuckable mouth.” He took another step forward just as noise filled the hallway. “Should I prove how much you like it? How quickly you’d get off if I shoved my fingers into your tight pussy and finger fucked you right now?”
Shaking my head frantically, I kept an ear out for anyone around.
“I can see your hard nipples through your shirt. You’re wet right now, aren’t you?”
I was. My panties were drenched, and I didn’t need to look down to see that my nipples were tight, making my bralette a pointless torture device, the lace scrapping painfully at my oversensitive peaks.
“How wet are you?” he prodded.
Swallowing hard, I whispered, “Soaked.”
“Who’s in control, Eden?”
“You are, Professor Caine.”
A guttural noise traveled through him, burrowing itself into my memory.
My go-to list of fictional lovers have nothing on that noise. I could come from just that on repeat.
Slowly and purposefully, he pushed the heel of his palm into his hard-on before adjusting himself. I caught a glimpse as he freed part of it, positioning it so his waistband held the thick length covertly against his belly rather than noticeably down his thigh. “Be at my place when I get home. Now go.”
I practically ran up the stairs before pausing at the door. “And if I’m not?”
Damien didn’t hesitate, his answer matter of fact. “I’ll find you and bring you back where you belong.”
*******
Damien
I wasn’t surprised to see Eden’s car in my driveway when I got home from work, and it had nothing to do with my threat. She’d have been there anyway because she was almost as desperate for it as I was.
Lack of surprise didn’t mean I wasn’t damn happy, though.
Sleeping with her in my arms was addicting. As was showering with her, eating with her on my lap, and just eating her. None of it was as addicting as hearing her talk. Seeing the fire in her eyes, the passion in her voice, and the brilliance in her words. Just the thought of playing devil’s advocate to get her reaction made me hard.
As I pulled my car into my driveway, I almost parked next to hers, but changed my mind and blocked her in.
Because before I could feed my girl, I needed to punish her. And with what I had in mind, she could actually try to run.
Try being the operative word.
Getting out, I slammed my door hard enough for her to hear. I could picture her jumping, which made my dick jump, too. My dick, brain, heart, and soul all wanted to get to her, but when I climbed onto my porch, I stopped to grab the mail, taking my time to flip through it.
After a minute, I heard movement inside. Another minute, and I saw the curtain shift before more rustling.
She’s pacing.
I bit back a grin and choked on a groan.
The longer I waited, the more her anticipation would grow. Her nervousness.
Her desire.
When I didn’t think either of us could take any more, I opened the door.
Eden froze midstride, her eyes wide—a graceful doe caught in the headlights. “I’m sorry.”
I didn’t speak as I kicked off my shoes.
“I shouldn’t have said that stuff earlier,” she continued.
I shuffled through the mail I’d already sorted, pretending to read pieces.
“That was immature of me.”
Tossing the mail on the table, I set my stuff down.
“I meant that I’d see Brooks because we were in the same class and friends,” she explained.
I turned away from her.
She added, “It was childish of me to play games.”
Clenching my jaw, I worked to calm the jealousy that hit my gut.
“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Eden snapped. “I’m sorry, okay? Just punish me already.”
I turned in time to see her shock and regret.
And want.
I
t was the want that fueled me.
Her droplets of darkness calling out to my ocean.
I tilted my head. “You want me to punish you?”
She flipped her hand out. “You’re gonna do it anyway. I might as well deal with it.”
Her words were mostly a lie. I was going to do it anyway, but she wouldn’t deal with it.
She wanted it.
No, she needed it.
But there was something else in her expression and body language I needed to ask her about.
Later.
“Upstairs, Eden. Naked and bent over the front of the bed, arms stretched in front of you. I want to see your pussy as soon as I walk in the door. Understand?”
“Yes, Professor Caine.”
“Go.”
I barely finished the single syllable when she took off up the stairs, her bare feet thumping softly on the hardwood.
She’s barefoot.
Glancing down, I saw her boots pressed against the wall, lined up with my shoes. I took a few steps into the living room.
Her backpack was on my couch. There was a small stack of notebooks and folders on the coffee table, and her laptop was opened to a Word doc. A glass of water was on a folded paper she’d used as a makeshift coaster.
Mentally planning, I turned and took the stairs two at a time. I slowed my steps as I entered my room.
Eden was naked and bent as I’d directed, but it’d been her own choice to spread her feet to shoulder width, ensuring I got the view of her pretty pussy.
My girl is thorough.
An apology or an offering?
Or maybe a distraction.
Opening the closet, I grabbed what I was looking for right away, though I stood there longer, rearranging and planning. Her breaths hitched and quickened at every noise until she was practically panting.
“Eyes closed, Miss Wilder.” I glanced over my shoulder to see her eyes clenched shut, her lips moving as she whispered to herself.
Moving behind her, I gripped her hips and pulled her close. Even through my boxers and slacks, I could feel her heat. I released her and grabbed my belt, purposefully rattling it.
She gasped, her muscles visibly tightening as she shifted, though she didn’t move away.
