Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 69734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
“Multimedia project. A collage, I guess. With other stuff, too.”
At first, I think he’s just blowing smoke up my ass and really has no idea or plan, but then he says, “I need one of those little canvases.” He holds his hands in the shape of a square the size of the little painting of us that he stole from me.
Oh. Damn. Does that mean something?
No, probably not. I’m reading too much into it. But it’s getting hard to stand up straight with him so close. I sway on my feet.
I hate this loss of control. I hate trying to navigate a relationship with my most difficult student when all I can think about is tearing his clothes off. All I want is to feel his hands on me.
I’m shaking now.
“Okay. Great,” I hope I sound as bright as I’m trying to sound.
I circle around behind my large canvases to find a stretched four-inch frame for him. Of course, he follows me.
When I turn to hand it to him, he’s right there.
I blink back my tears of frustration. Not with him. Not with the situation. I can handle all of this. What I can’t handle is this complete loss of control over my own body. The way my wolf is pushing through and making me feel like I’m going to split in two.
Asher catches me by the nape. His large hand holds me steady, but instead of bringing relief, his support just makes me want to cry even more. I blink hard against the rush of tears.
This isn’t a person I can rely on.
I may want to trust him, and he may be physically safe for me, but I’m not emotionally safe with this guy. Not even remotely.
I’m still alone, still a fish out of water, just like in college only now reversed.
Asher’s brows slam down. He doesn’t take the canvas from me, but instead cradles my face with both hands.
A tear streaks my cheek.
He thumbs it away and shakes his head slowly in a silent soothing.
I want to pull away, but I’m incapable. It feels too good to be touched by him. Every place he’s in contact with, my skin feels electrified. I drink in his essence.
He drags me closer and presses his lips silently to the top of my head. “It’s okay.” He barely breathes the words against my hair. No one would hear it.
His gaze flicks toward the window.
I whirl, but no one is out there. He was just keeping watch for us. For me.
I’m the one who would suffer if we were caught.
“Thanks,” he says in a normal voice, taking the canvas from my shaking fingers.
My head wobbles as I try to say “sure.” I clear my throat. “Let me know if you need anything else.”
“Oh, I will need more.” It sounds like a threat.
My pussy contracts. I’m lightheaded again. I walk quickly away, careening a bit like a drunken sailor, then righting myself.
I don’t know how I’m going to make it through the rest of the semester. If I were smart, I would pack up and leave town right now.
Screw the job.
Except I already see the brick wall I’m speeding toward. A huge, horrible crash is inevitable for me. And I don’t even know which of the looming walls on all sides I hope to hit. All I can wish for is that it doesn’t destroy me entirely.
Chapter Sixteen
Asher
Once more, I’m shaken by Lotta’s tears, and my teammates take the brunt of it.
Coach Jamison blows the whistle at me when I knock Seb ten feet into the air.
Why was she crying? Last time I was sure it wasn’t something I’d done. I gave her what she needed, she just didn’t want to need it.
This time, though, a terrible niggling feeling tells me it’s because I’ve been a bastard to her. Is it possible she does care how I feel about her?
That it hurts her when I’m cruel?
I somehow thought the tiny half-pint of authority didn’t give a fuck about me or the fact that I hate her. I thought she didn’t give a fuck about what she’d done because she left town without an explanation. She stayed away for over four years.
Here I’ve been relentlessly punishing her and not believing it had any effect.
Seb is usually laid-back, but he doesn’t appreciate landing on his back from such a height. He jumps up with a growl and tries to tackle me. I plow into him at the same time, and our bodies collide with a loud crack.
“Dude, what’s your problem?”
I roll my shoulders under the pads and snap my head to make my neck crack. “Nothing. Sorry, man.”
After practice, I shower. Knowing Lotta’s in the building makes showering with the guys insufferable. I have to force myself not to think of her. Not to remember that she’s close by. That I could easily pick up that tight little body of hers, pin her against a wall, and show her how much agony she puts me in.