Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 104050 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 520(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104050 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 520(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
She stabs a finger at me. “You made me feel like shit, Liam. Like I was the side piece and she was the main event. Is that what I am to you? The practice run?”
The words hit harder than I expect. For a second, I just stand there, the walls closing in—hardcover books, the diplomas, the faint stink of ten thousand student papers ground into the carpet. I watch the sunlight crawl up her bare thigh, watch her fidget and flush, and realize I’m the only one in the room who still believes there’s a right way out of this.
“Simone,” I say, and my voice cracks, just a little. “It wasn’t what you think. Claire and I aren’t together. We never were.”
She laughs, high and bright, pure derision. “She was all over you, Liam. I saw. You were holding her like you couldn’t wait to get home and fuck her. And now you want to say it was nothing?”
I reach for the window, twist the wand on the blinds until the light fractures into slashes. “It’s complicated,” I say, but that’s not enough. Simone deserves more.
She moves, prowling between desk and wall, eyes following me. “No,” she says. “Explain. Why did you drag me out of my dorm, why did you care if I was with Dylan, why do you even give a shit who I fuck if you’re out there screwing someone else?”
There’s no way to make this sound good, but I try anyway. “Claire’s a friend. We dated last year—briefly. She’s not interested in books, or actually, in anything I actually care about.” I pause, hating the weak note in my own voice. “I called her last week because I was trying to convince myself I could move on from you.”
Simone rolls her eyes so hard her whole head goes with it. “So you’re just a liar,” she says. “That’s better than being a whore, I guess. At least then you’d be honest.”
I finally close the distance between us, blocking her in near the window. “Simone, listen to me. I haven’t slept since I saw you with that asshole jock. He doesn’t deserve you. No one does. Especially not me.”
Her hands drop, the posture faltering. Her mouth softens, just a fraction. “I went out with Dylan because I thought you didn’t care,” she says, voice small now. “You said that this thing between us was just for fun. That we’re adults, nothing serious. So I tried to play along.”
I want to touch her, but I don’t. “I lied. I care. I care so fucking much I can’t stand it.”
We stand in the quiet, both of us a little stunned by the admission. The sunlight stripes her cheeks and neck, drawing lines I want to erase with my hands. I don’t know who moves first, but suddenly her mouth is on mine, angry and hot, and I’m pressing her against the wall of books, one arm braced to keep from breaking her, the other tangled in her golden locks. She feels so good, so right in my arms, and my heart leaps and then falls in my chest.
She bites my lip, hard, and I groan into her mouth.
“You’re such an asshole,” she says, and pulls me closer.
I taste her anger, the desperation under the bravado. Her fingers dig into my shirt, pulling me tight to her chest. I feel the heat radiating from her skin, the way her thighs press to mine, the pulse in her neck jumping under my tongue as I trail kisses down her throat.
“You’re all I think about, Simone,” I mutter, words melting into her clavicle.
She pushes me away, only to slap me across the face, not hard but sharp enough to make my ears ring.
“I hate you,” she says, and then she kisses me again, deeper, with a violence that feels like drowning.
The office is hot now, the air a haze of dust and pheromones. Somewhere in the hallway a phone rings, but neither of us cares. My hands roam under her shirt, finding bare skin, the rise and fall of her ribs. I want to ruin her, claim her, tattoo myself into her memory so she’ll never be able to fuck another guy without tasting me first.
Her breath is ragged. She tears at my buttons, popping two before giving up and clawing the shirt off over my head. I barely get her t-shirt off before she’s in my lap, straddling me in the rickety old office chair, her skirt riding up so high I can see the damp spot on her panties.
I’m hard, so hard it’s stupid, and she grinds against me, mouth at my ear.
“You’re not allowed to fuck anyone else,” she whispers. “Ever.”
“Not even if you want me to?” I tease, but it comes out desperate.
She bites my jaw, then pulls back, staring at me. Her eyes are wild, but there’s something soft in them, too. “Why do you even want me?”