Chapter Seven
Asher
The fire in my office flickers and crackles as steam bursts from the wood, disrupting the silence. I look up at the clock and almost groan when I see it’s nine p.m. and I still have three more papers to go. Usually, I would fly through them, but right now, I could cut through the tension in the room with a knife, and my brain can think of nothing but how much I want to fuck her.
Evelyn. She’s sitting on the other side of the couch, a pen paused on the plump curve of her lips as she reads over a paper. Her knuckles are completely bruise free now, but the memory of them still seethes at my core, demanding retribution for her pain.
But I haven’t asked her again who did it. I haven’t spoken to her much beyond the cold, clinical professionalism I’ve forced between us.
The night Cameron patched her up, a rift tore open between Evelyn and I, and it’s still there, bleeding crimson in the space between my need for her. Because Cameron was right. I can’t do this. I can’t fuck her or drag her onto my lap, pressing her flush against me. I can’t do any of that because she’s my student, my TA.
She is forbidden fruit that I cannot, no, that I will not pick.
But resisting her is easier said than done. It’s like she lives under my skin, her essence in my blood, a quiet whisper of Evelyn, Evelyn, Evelyn. I’m hard constantly, no matter how many times I jack off, no matter whose face I try to replace hers with, and I can no longer get it up for anyone but the image of her.
I grit my teeth and shift, breathing through the desire. That’s when I see a blue line of acrylic smudged near her eye and a bit coating her long blond hair, as if she swiped the strands out of her eyes with paint on her hands.
I narrow my eyes. “Is that paint?”
She turns, her wide eyes open, her words a breathy whisper. Fuck, it’s like she’s testing me on purpose, daring me to swipe away that line in the sand.
“What?”
I point to the line. “You have paint on you. And in your hair.”
A blush stains her cheeks. “Oh, I must have missed that.”
“You paint?”
She nods and that prowling beast under my skin claws at my inside, hungry for more. It’s the first new taste of her it’s had in weeks. The first new morsel of information and that taste is enough to snap the thread of control I’ve been keeping on my questions. On my want to know her.
It breaks. The beast pounces.
“Can I see?” I push the papers away and lean forward.
She shakes her head firmly. “No way. Not a chance.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t show anyone my art.”
“Well, I can be the first.”
“No.”
“Yes.” I capture her eyes with mine, telling her silently to submit but the little vixen never makes it easy for me.
Instead of submitting, her eyes grow hard, the brown deepening to bark. “So, after ignoring me for weeks, you now want to demand I show you my work? No way.”
“I haven’t ignored you.”
“You’ve been different.”
She narrows her eyes, daring me to argue but I don’t. I can’t, because its true. I’ve been putting distance between us but it’s not because I want to. It’s because I have to.
“I’m sorry.” I take her hand, my body moving before I have a chance to think and her breath shatters, catching. “I’ve been … it’s complicated. But I am sorry.”
Her hair falls over her face in a curtain of cornflour blonde, and I stroke it back, my actions not my own as my fist carves to follow her jaw, to trace the path to her beck. She leans in, and I do too, our eyes wide open and firmly on each other. The minty warmth of her breath mingles in the space between us, that small gap of reason waiting to be broken. The tension in the room has thickened to a paste, palpable as our lips hover, ghosting over each other.
And then the hearth cracks, and the burst of noise shatters the moment.
Her eyes widen, horrified. She jerks her bag over her shoulder and stands. “I’m sorry, I need to go.”
“No, Evelyn, wait.” I reach for her hand, to do what with I have no idea, but I’ll never find out because she flees before I can touch her. She flees before I can really understand what’s staring me right in the face.