That Infuriating Feeling: An Academic Rivals to Lovers Novel (Chasing Feelings Book 2)

Chapter 21

June, Saturday, 5 Weeks Before the Semester is Out

I was stressed out. My workload was, a bit to my surprise, quickly defeating me, along with my debilitating loser tendencies and the fact that it was November and I’d hardly made any progress on my mission to feel better about my life. There was no longer time to read and much less time to suddenly grow an amiable personality and attract a group of friends. I’d been in my room all morning, switching between doing schoolwork and thinking of ways to salvage myself.

Fruitless, both of those efforts.

As I ran through lists and lists of possible solutions, the answer became increasingly obvious to me. The most shameful, embarrassing, horrifying answer. But it was clear. The only thing that would put me in a better mood today would be…

Oh god.

The only thing that would put me in a better mood today would be a certain scenario involving Oliver’s oversized fingers and my vagina.

Yep. That’d do it. Surely, that would fix everything.

I checked the clock. 3:32 p.m. Pulling at the waistband of my sweats, I tugged them off and began digging through my closet in search of something to wear. Seven minutes later, I stood in front of the mirror on the wall, shifting my dress around. It was black, long-sleeved, and fitted everywhere except for the loose skirt which reached my mid-thighs. Easy access. I paired it with combat boots.

I stared at my reflection, twiddling the ends of my long hair, watching closely between my bare legs to ensure I wasn’t actually shitting myself as I felt I was. I looked hot as hell, but oh god, what the fuck was I doing? Was I really about to go to the library and beg my enemy to finger me?

No.

I pointed at myself in the mirror.

“No.”

He was going to beg me to let him finger me. Yeah. That felt a little better. I wasn’t weak and desperate. I was strong and totally in control. I cleared my throat. Totally, totally in control.

Fuck.

More eyeliner.

I needed more eyeliner.

I scrambled to pull out my makeup bag and darkened my eyes because surely that would help this situation. I dabbed on some peach lip gloss, tousled my hair, and stepped back to observe myself.

Okay…so now I looked fucking emo.

“That’s fine, right?”I said aloud. “He’s like…into metal and stuff. I think it kind of works for me.”

Alana didn’t answer, so I rolled my eyes, grabbed my things, and swung out the door.

◆◆◆

Oliver and I had been working in silence for about an hour. He’d arrived after me today, so I was already seated when he came in and took his spot. In other words, he didn’t notice my outfit.

I was secretly grateful for our stupid joke with the skirt because simply getting dressed and kissing my pride goodbye was much easier than having to actually make a move or admit aloud that I wanted him. But what was I supposed to do if he didn’t notice the stupid dress? I was going to have to draw his attention to it somehow. Maybe if I just started talking, it would come up or something.

“That’s a horrible opening sentence,” I said, looking at his latest paragraph on our shared document from my screen. “It’s too specific. General, specific, general, Oliver. I’ve told you this.”

The side of his mouth quirked up, his eyes remaining on his computer as his fingers typed away. “I know,” he said quietly. “I just wanted to hear you correct me.”

I sighed as I began rewriting it myself. “You are such a dick.”

“And you are a brat.” His gaze flicked up to me, and I caught it. “A brat who looks very pretty today.”

I shifted in my seat, squeezing my thighs together in case he happened to hear the way my clit absolutely sang at that declaration. Maybe he did notice my outfit after all. “You think so?” My hands started to shake, and I was suddenly very aware of the fact that my legs were exposed.

He nodded. “Did I tell you how pretty you looked last week at my house?”

I shook my head.

He donned that cocky smirk I was so familiar with. “I loved that you wore a skirt for me.”

I slammed my hands on the table, my body tensing up at that. Had he noticed my outfit or not? Was he hinting at it? I couldn’t tell, and the nerves would not stop building in my gut. “I did not wear a skirt for you. It was a fucking family party.” Heat rose inside me, embarrassment staining my cheeks. “Doesn’t matter anyway, because you totally pussied out.”

Oliver’s face went dark. “Excuse me?”

Good. Maybe if I could piss him off enough, he’d punish me without me having to ask for it. Right. He was going to beg to make me come. Not the other way around.

“You had me in a skirt in your bed.” I lifted a shoulder. “Yet I remain untouched, Oliver.”

He paused, and then he grinned. Why the hell was he grinning? I forced myself to remain calm though it was nearly impossible.

“You’re just begging for it, aren’t you?” he said smoothly.

My eyes gaped. I wanted to stomp my foot like a guilty child and scream nu-uh! Obviously, I didn’t do that. Instead, I shook my head and returned to his shitty paragraph on our shitty document. “In your dreams.”

“No, Juni.” My eyes flicked back up to catch the obnoxiously smug look on his face as he said, “In yours.”

Rage bubbled between my ribs, snaking to the ends of all my twenty digits. The fire beneath my skin forced me to snatch a pen off the table and throw it right toward the window behind his stupid head. He moved out of the way easily, and it bounced off the glass and onto the floor. Oliver chuckled as he bent down to pick it up.

Oh, fuck.

Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck.

He was under the table. He was going to see my bare legs.

Shit!

He couldn’t see them now, not after what he’d just said to me. My breathing rattled my bones as I waited for him to return his head to the surface. He leaned up slowly, silently, eyeing the pen. He held it up in his fingers, propping his elbow on the desk.

“Juni. Would you come take this pen from me?” His voice was deep and slow like he was brewing something. He’d definitely noticed.

“No.” I refused to stand up and confirm that I was, in fact, wearing this fucking dress and that I was, in fact, begging for it.

His stare seared into mine, his white teeth on display and openly mocking me as he calmly said, “Okay.”

He put the pen back down and returned to working on his computer. My mouth dropped open. Fuck this guy! What the hell did I have to do to get him to finger me without actually asking him to finger me? I couldn’t stand his insinuations, but somehow, his lack of action was much worse.

“Pussying out again, then,” I quipped. I put my head down and returned to the document in front of me.

He sighed amusedly. “Juni, you have five seconds to get between those bookshelves, or I’m dragging you there myself.”

Oh, shit.

Did that work?

I couldn’t stand his insinuations, his lack of action, or his action, apparently, because this was so much more stressful than I imagined it would be. I locked myself to my chair. “Funny, Oliver.”

“Five.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Four.

“You’re bluffing.”

“Three.”

I crossed my arms and legs tightly.

“Two.”

I remained firm in my position.

“One.” He closed his laptop and stood from his seat.

I watched him approach. “You wouldn’t.”

“Time’s up, Juni.” He placed a hand on the back of my chair and the other on the table, leaning over me, his nose tickling mine. I immediately melted into my seat.

“You’re not really going to drag me,” I whispered.

“No,” he teased. “No, no, no. You’re going to go willingly because you want me to make you come.”

I lurched back. “I do not!”

He grabbed the back of my neck, tugging my lips closer to his. “Would it make you feel less ashamed to be able to say I dragged you?” he murmured. “I’d be happy to help protect that little ego of yours if it meant I could watch you come undone.”

I didn’t have an answer to that, nor could I help but crash my mouth to his, his soft tongue guiding me in and his teeth scraping at my lips. My body went limp as I followed him aimlessly. He backed me up into the farthest corner of the bookshelves, his lips fused to mine and his hands grabbing every inch of me.

“Good job, Juni,” he whispered in my ear as my back hit the shelves. “I knew you could do it.”

Fucking. Asshole. I shoved at his chest, but he quickly seized my wrists and pressed against me harder, licking up the side of my neck. I moaned at the feel of his wet, pierced tongue, damning my throat for releasing such a noise for him.

As he pulled back, that stupid strand of hair fell in front of his face, and I practically came at the sight of it. Fuck that stupid fucking hair. I wanted to watch it swing while he railed me. I wanted to hang all over him, to squeeze him, to use him as a bed and sprawl on him. And, fuck, I hated myself for it.

He kissed me deeply, trailing a hand between my legs. His touch sent a shudder up my spine, making my hips grind into him. One of his fingers hooked into my thong, and he smiled against my lips, perhaps at the fact that I was wearing nothing more than a literal string under a short, flowy dress. He began rubbing my pussy slowly, spreading wetness between my thighs. Fuck, this was embarrassing, but I needed it. I lifted my knee and hooked my leg around his hip to give him easier access.

“You’re such an asshole,” I whispered on his tongue.

“If I’m such an asshole, why are you so wet for me?”

He slid his fingers in, and I whimpered. His palm fell to my clit, applying pressure that had my body sinking into the sensation and my eyes rolling back. He chuckled into my mouth as he rubbed every perfect spot, hooking to hit me exactly where I needed him to. A long-lost feeling began building up my legs and to my chest, stacking throughout my body, begging to be released far more quickly than I would’ve liked to admit.

And then he…stopped.

He removed his hand from between my legs and reached around to grab my ass, his wet fingers digging into my flesh. The sensation that had been building drained back down to my toes.

“Oliver, that is so not fair.”

“You told me you don’t want me to make you come.” He kissed me with an annoying smile on his face, though I practically missed it as my mouth was fully hanging open in shock. “I would never forgo consent, Juni. But don’t worry. We can stay like this as long as you want.”

Furious, I pulled his lips to mine once again, devouring him entirely, consuming every bit of him I could get. Again, he drove his fingers into me, more enthusiastically this time, and I squealed. My legs trembled, and my hands clamped his shoulders to keep me up. He dug into me until I was heaving, desperate once again for release.

“Your legs are shaking, Juni. That doesn’t seem healthy. I should stop.” He began to drag his fingers out.

“No!” The protest vocalized of its own accord, my good sense having nothing to do with it.

He touched his nose to mine, his lips a breath away. “Tell me you want it.”

I shook my head.

“Tell me you want me to make you come.”

Again, I shook my head, biting my lips together as hard as I could.

He nodded and began to retreat, his mouth set in a complacent curve as he backed up slowly. My hand shot out to grab his shirt. Oliver looked down at my fingers clutching the fabric before catching my eye, his smirk growing.

“I want…” I forced down the lump in my throat. “I want you to make me come.”

“Say my name,” he murmured.

My lips hung in an O-shape for a few moments before finally spitting it out. “Oliver.”

In an instant, his fingers slid back in fully, and I yelped. He slapped his free hand over my mouth and snatched my face, ensuring I looked straight into his eyes. “Soon, I’ll be listening to you scream for me.” I jerked in his hold, whimpering into his palm. “You hear me, Juni? I’ll be listening to every little sound you make for me.”

We smashed against the wall of books as he pushed in and out with soft but strong precision. He placed his mouth on mine, muffling my cries in his tongue. My mind was completely blank, save the bits of focus it held on the sensations he was provoking, as his rhythm had my knees buckling. I was close again.

His lips pulled back only the slightest bit, and I tried hard to keep myself silent, bucking and breathing in his direction. We were far too close to each other, in much too intimate of a tangle. What I was about to do was going to boost his ego through the fucking roof, even more than this entire interaction already had.

“It’s just me. You can do it for me,” he said almost kindly, almost as if he were letting our games fall to the wayside to make room for a more gentle nature I didn’t know he had. “Show me what it looks like when you come undone for me.”

I whined. I really couldn’t hold it any longer.

“Show me, June. Show me.”

My lips pressed into his as what could only be described as absolute euphoria washed over me. This asshole was giving me the most delicious orgasm I’d ever had. He tightened his hold, and I rode his stupid, pencil-pushing fingers until my entire body shook in his embrace. My screams would’ve set off a school-wide emergency shutdown had they not been quieted by his lips.

As I finally calmed down, my heavy breathing became painfully obvious to me. My eyebrows twisted, and I adjusted my gaze to find him looming, looking. Fuck, it was mortifying. My initial reaction was to wriggle free from his hold, but when I tried to move, he readjusted his grip to keep me in place. His eyebrows sank with what looked a bit like concern. He pulled his fingers from me slowly.

Ah, right. I probably should’ve waited for that before trying to run away.

I waited for his ridicule, his egotistical smirk, anything to rub in my face what had just happened. None of that came. His stare fell so heavily on me, I thought he was going to have me as a meal. I suppose he did, in a way, because he sucked his fingers clean as he looked down at my lips. His arms then formed a hug around me which slowly inched me closer to him. My body went rigid. I thought he might be bringing me up for a kiss, but when my face reached his, he pressed his mouth not to mine, but to my forehead. The gentle contact made me twitch.

Without a word, he walked me to the table, stacked my papers, and tucked them neatly into my folder, which he placed in my backpack along with my laptop. He dragged my hair off my shoulder as he held the bag strap up for me to stick my arm through. I shrugged it on. Placing himself behind me, he leaned down one last time to kiss the side of my head.

“Go get some rest,” he whispered.

I whirled around quickly to face him. Rest? What the hell was his angle? How could he do that to me and then send me on my way? How could he steal that from me without so much as a crack in his composure?

Whatever. Fucking asshole. “You better go wash your hands, you creep.”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he lifted a finger he’d used on me and spread it over his gums as if it were coated in the last bit of cocaine before sucking the tip with a loud smacking noise. I shot him the fiercest glare I could muster and spun off.