Chapter 36
Chapter Thirty-Six
Olivia POV
W ell, that was that. I had experienced what it was like to kiss Breslin Cooper. And while it had its moments . . . I sucked in a breath as a fluttering, spinning warmth surged through my veins. Oh, and it had its moments all right.
I threw my arms around his neck and kissed him like I would drown and die without his mouth on mine. He didn't fight it. His lips thinned and opened. I clutched the back of his head and pulled him closer. His tongue darted into my mouth, stroking, deepening, striking flint against steel . . .
A torrential heat welled inside me. It surged through my limbs as I clutched him tighter. His shirt bunched beneath my fingertips. And I couldn't help but want to know what it would be like to feel every inch of his skin against mine.
Ahem. I’m sure that was all I needed to “get him out of my system.” Yep. If you could measure how “over him” I was, it’d be a five out of a possible, well, five.
And if that were true, why'd I turn down Tanner's invitation? Oh, right. Tanner.
I let myself into my dorm. Fatigue weighting every step, my sole focus was to collapse into bed and sleep the waning bit of Sunday away. Maybe I can pretend it was all a dream.
Hilda glanced up from the table. She met my gaze briefly then quickly glanced away. Oh. Right. Her . I pressed my mouth shut and walked past her to my room.
My brain instantly alight with the many things I wanted to gripe and shout at my oldest friend, I collapsed onto the bed. The memory of Hilda's 'accusations' echoed vaguely in my head. I could hear the tone, but I couldn't make out the words. I didn't want to.
It wasn't like we hadn't fought before. It was just that, well, so many times, we viewed the world the same way. Not like Dublin, whom, it was probably sixty-forty we were on the same planet most of the time. Sixty percent of the time, I was pretty certain Dubby and I existed in alternate universes. But it was her sarcastic sense of humor that I could relate to.
I didn't love having this strange cavern between me and one of my best friends. But, I also didn't know what I could do to change things. I tossed one way and tried to stop my mind from racing.
I lied to the police, well, a deputy sheriff. Also, an ER doctor, Breslin's coach—someone my brother knows and respects. And told all of these adult men that Breslin and I had slept together. Vigorously. Multiple times.
I flipped over to the other side, pulled a pillow over my head, and screamed.
“If I'm going to do the time. Might as well do the crime?”
Ugh! I sat up and buried my face in my hands. I was, no doubt, as red as a tomato. How bad would this be? Would one of them . . . say anything?
“What about Breslin?” Would he feel obligated . . . in some way? I shook my head. “For what?” I snuggled back under the covers. You're being ridiculous. Four grown men will not take out an ad in The Vanquished advertising that Liv and Breslin are “together”. This won't even be a thing . . .
I flipped over, again, pulled the covers up to my chin. The faint scent of sandalwood reached my senses. I think I smiled as I finally drifted off to sleep.
A knock on my door cut through the silence of the dorm. I sighed and set down my ereader, and strode to the door. It opened. Coop's smug, smirking features leaned down to eye level. I didn't have time to blink before his mouth seized mine. Firm and salty-sweet. He kissed his way from my lips to my jaw, then down to my neck.
He pressed something into my hand as he lifted me from the ground. I wrapped my legs around his waist. I slipped my arms over his shoulders and held on. A few steps and then my bed rose up to meet me.
And oh, God, he was completely naked, hovering over me. He grasped my hand. Warm, thin plastic crinkled within my palm. I looked at the package. “For her pleasure” written in bold, red letters.
I gasped and he purred in my ear. “It's day four.” And suddenly, my clothes disappeared. And every inch of his glorious male body pressed against me. My skin thrummed and tingled. I wanted to be closer . . .
I sat up, sweaty and damp. The world was complete darkness. An ache burned deep in my abdomen. My phone on the nightstand said it was Monday morning—a bit past 1am. Nowhere close to day four. Gah! I shook away the thought.
The rest of me wasn't so easily distracted. I really couldn’t quell the visions, the experience, the memories. An ache deep within my body cried out. I needed his touch.
I remembered . . .
The scrape of his jeans against my inner thigh. His lips thick and sweet, caressing mine. The rough hewn of his palm against the skin at my waist. He slid it up to brush the so-sensitive swell of my breast.
His lips would have left mine, kissing and nipping the sensitive flesh of my neck. His hot breath would send millions of shivers through me, electrifying every cell in my body. The tips of my fingers touched my cheek and slid over my jaw. They painted the path Breslin's mouth would take. And I could just pretend like I knew. Like I'd had enough experience to do anything other than imagine . . .
He would take his time, teasing me, with his deep, sexy voice humming in my ear. His teeth grazing my skin. He'd nip his way down to my chest. His palm had already settled over my breast. My breath hitched as I traced a teasing circle into the soft, pliant flesh of my areola. I could imagine the bratty, satisfied twist of his lips as he watched my nipples tighten into aroused little buds.
Showing him how desperately I wanted him. All of him.
I wet my fingers and closed my eyes—pretending it was his tongue lapping at the peak of my breast. Tender became aching. And then the simmering pool of desire in my abdomen began to churn. It whirled and swirled around a tightening apex. Longing. Need. The core of my femininity twitched. I groaned. It craved his touch.
My fingers slipped against my needy, desperate clit. The delicious friction sang through my body—an erotic note. An intense melody marked with refrains of tighten and release.
Breslin and his alpha male-ness would need to spread me. Press his tongue into my folds and taste me. Tease me. Hear me moan and plead his name . . . before he claimed me.
“Uhn!” The heat swirled faster. My fingers worked my nub as I imagined him settling over me again. This time fully nude. His length would find my center, wet and willing and welcoming.
I gasped. The pool in my stomach swelled, demanding more. More pressure, more heat. My body in blissful agony as every part of me reached for its release. I imagined his proud erection penetrating my sex, stretching me. Filling me in a way . . . I hadn't been before.
I turned my head and moaned into my pillow. He'd twine our hands together with a soft look in his eyes; draw his cock out to the tip before gliding back inside. Me. My body. His shaft connecting us in an erotic dance. Pressing and soaring. Plunging and tightening. Ebbing and longing.
The Breslin in my fevered dream held my gaze as he sought to pleasure me. Slipping slick circles onto my clit. Plunging, thrusting deep inside until every inch of me was strung tight, aching with anticipation. The apex of the swirling heat—ignited. My body surged. Crested. Orgasmic sparks and fluttering stars rushed through me. I shuddered and convulsed. A wonderful sense of satisfaction seeped into my skin.
I curled up in my blanket, wishing it was his arms . . . and fell asleep.
Monday morning arrived the way my arch nemesis always would—unwanted and with that smug, knowing, almost maniacally cheerful grin that says: I don't need coffee to wake up, and I definitely didn't bring you any.
I whimpered and smacked the alarm on my phone. Whose idea was Monday morning, anyway? Shouldn't we ease into the day back from the weekend? Start at noon . . . I'd even stay later on Fridays. No, that was a lie. And then the whole week begins to erode. Yes, Monday morning was the last outpost championing order and rationality despite the constant threat of chaos.
Didn't mean I had to like it. I pulled my pillow over my head and sealed my eyes shut.
Breslin's lips left mine, kissing and nipping the sensitive flesh of my neck. His hot breath sent millions of shivers through my skin, my body . . .
I shot up from the bed. No no no, I was not going to indulge that . . . that insanity. The whole experience, situation, and any softer emotions than admiration of Coop's baseball prowess—needed to be buried and dead. An unmarked grave in the backyard like the ones for all the pet goldfish my brother and I lost over the years.
God, I was an idiot. And that stupidly handsome smirky face of his as he'd held up that condom. And suggested . . .
Breslin's deep, sexy voice hummed in my ear as his teeth grazed my skin. He nipped a path down to my chest. His palm settled over my breast as his lips twisted into a bratty, satisfied grin as he thumbed my nipple, rubbing light, teasing circles into the tender buds.
My cheeks burned. I could tell without looking, I'd turned into a tomato. I buried my face in my hands. Sexy, smirking, playful, concussed Breslin Cooper was dangerous and devastating to behold.
I just needed to stay far away from him. Emotionally far. I couldn't physically . . . Yeah, I was still a tomato.
A tomato who needed to get dressed and grab coffee before she was late to her first class. Monday morning had won again.
By the time I gave up on my hair looking decent and put it in a ponytail, I only had time for instant coffee with a splash of creamer. I poured myself into the back row of my world history class and wished I had toothpicks to keep my eyes open.
I caught my mind wandering to the events of the weekend. And if a person could actively build mental walls, I would have done so right then. No. I told myself. Don’t think about it .
And every time I found myself picturing his face, I punished my brain with reading world history facts and figures in the back of the textbook chapter. Do you know how many tons of Manganese are exported from the Netherlands every year? Really, why was this in a world history book? World Geography would have made more sense . . .
I made an absolute idiot out of myself. No, don’t think. It’s fine. It was just the coaches. And Coop. And he won’t say anything. Or else.
Why did I even get involved?
His lips were sweet and salty with the tang of bitter hops lacing the rapid puffs of his breath. Thick and whisper-soft, his mouth caressed mine.
No. Those memories are strictly off limits. Never again. Or I mean it, I’ll subject you to the full text of War and Peace in a weekend. I won’t . . . think about him.
I can’t. It was a fluke. A, um, forced proximity Stockholm Syndrome thing. I’m definitely not now and never will be in love with Breslin Michael Cooper.
In love with? I forced the thought from my brain. La la la la la. Of all the stupid hormonal—he doesn’t even remember. Remember?
Yeah. He doesn’t. So you won’t either. Just forget it. We should . . . go on a date with someone else. That will work. Anyone else. Ok, not anyone.
But, uh, Tanner asked me to lunch. That sounds harmless and promising, right? Ok, objective of the day: plan a date with someone. Tanner. Yes, definitely Tanner.
Good plan.
“Hey, you ok?”
I turned my head and looked at the person next to me. A gentle face behind oversized glasses. “Uh, yeah, sure. Fine. Um, why?”
“You plugged your ears a few minutes ago and started rocking back and forth in your chair.”
Maybe one reason I wasn’t at the top of most guys dating calendars? Probably. Gah.
“This unit is a far cry from fascinating. But you seem a little . . . frazzled. You know we have mental health coaches available to us on campus if you’re feeling overwhelmed.”
Overwhelmed? Was I feeling overwhelmed? Underwhelmed? Apparently, no matter what I could tell myself, I was alarming strangers in my class. Maybe this was a warning sign?
I smiled and thanked her for her concern. Just need to focus on a date with Tanner. Yep, that would solve everything.