Chapter 26
Chapter twenty-six
Laurel
The next day I’m in my favorite class, art history.
Chin propped in my palm, I stare at the projection screen at the front of the room, barely registering the golden haze of Botticelli’s Primavera.
The lights are dimmed, the faint hum of the projector mixing with the lazy whir of the ceiling fans overhead, the kind that move air more for show than comfort.
Even in fall, there’s moisture in the air, a damp humidity that clings to my skin and curls the edges of the paper where I’m doing a poor job of taking notes.
I should be thinking about brushwork, symbolism, and the Uffizi Gallery.
I’m not.
I’m thinking about Carrson.
About the way his mouth felt on my skin. About how his hands moved like he already knew what I needed. About how I came apart beneath him, and how he watched like it undid him too.
Now that it’s the light of day, questions rush in. What was that? Was it just sex? Something more? Are we going to do it again?
God. I hope we do it again.
I sigh and shift in my seat, restless. Sore in places I didn’t know could ache. Not a bad kind of pain. The kind that lingers sweetly. A reminder that he touched me like he meant it.
I smile before I catch myself.
A body drops into the chair next to me. Before I can glance over, a low, smoky voice asks, “What are you grinning about, little mouse?”
Carrson.
Here.
In my real life.
What the hell?
He stretches beside me like it’s the most natural thing in the world, his thigh brushing mine just enough to be deliberate. A spark radiates out from the place where we touch and travels straight to my chest, lighting it up.
He grins at my stunned expression. Then he laughs. A real laugh. Rich and full and careless. Loud enough to make heads turn our way.
“Shh!” I elbow him, mortified.
“You should see your face,” he whispers, smiling with his eyes bright. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“What’re you doing here?” I hiss, my voice somewhere between thrilled and panicked.
“Someone told me this class was fascinating.” He widens his eyes with exaggerated innocence.
I squint at him. “Really?”
He shrugs, trying for casual, but there’s something almost shy about it, like even he doesn’t fully buy the excuse. “Why? Are you that surprised?”
“Honestly? Yeah.” I raise my eyebrows. “I never see you outside Ashford House. You don’t usually slum it with us mere mortals.”
“If you’re calling me a god…” He leans in, close enough that the heat of his body does strange, wonderful things to mine. His mouth quirks. “Then I approve.”
I snort, roll my eyes, and try not to grin.
Fail.
He grins back, just as helpless.
We’re idiots. Two absolute idiots, smiling at each other.
“What are you doing here, really?” I demand, tilting my head.
He shrugs like it’s nothing, but there’s a rare, faint blush on his cheeks. “What,” he asks, slightly defensive. “I can’t visit my own Bonded?”
I give him a look.
His mouth twitches like he’s trying not to smile.
His expression shifts, a flicker of bewilderment.
He glances around the lecture hall like he doesn’t quite know what he’s doing here either.
Like his own actions have caught him by surprise.
“I, uh…,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck.
“I wanted to see you. Make sure you’re okay. ”
That.
That right there.
That gets me.
My heart trips again, but for an entirely different reason.
“I am,” I say quietly, truthfully. “You?”
The smirk returns. “Oh, I’m thriving. However, I was wondering…” His voice lowers, playful now. “How’d you sleep last night, Laurel?” His words roll slowly, drawling, like honey dripping off a spoon, all soft edges and drawn-out vowels that turn even my name into something illicit.
Heat floods my cheeks. “Um—I—uh—” Great. I’ve forgotten how to form words.
“Yes?” He leans a little closer.
“Not so well.” I drop my eyes to my lap.
“Why not?” he asks, not even bothering to hide his glee.
“I was woken up very early this morning…” I trail off because of course he knows.
It comes back to me how, as dawn lightened the room, I woke already climaxing with his head between my legs, with his mouth and tongue on me, in me, and oh my god, it was…
“Tell me more,” he whispers, but his voice has gone husky, his eyes darkened.
I glare at him, which only makes him grin wider. That smug, glorious grin.
“You’ve woken me up in a lot of different ways,” I say under my breath.
“And?”
“Most of them unpleasant.” I’m blushing, I know I am. So hard.
His brows lift, amused. “But that one?”
I swallow. In the softest whisper, I answer, “The one where I moaned your name? That was my favorite.”
His lips part like he might say something cocky, but what comes out is just a low, satisfied hum that goes straight to my core, that does sinful things to my body. “Mmm. Mine too.”
I lean in, helpless, drawn to his flame.
“Ms. Turner.”
The voice cracks through the air like thunder.
I jolt upright, heat flooding my face as the professor’s tone, sharp and unmistakably annoyed, shatters the quiet bubble around us.
“Please keep conversation to a minimum,” she says coolly.
“I—yes, ma’am. I’m sorry.” I sit up straight, blinking hard, as the classroom snaps back into focus.
Is it my imagination, or does my professor pale a little when she sees who I’m sitting with?
Like she knows exactly who he is and is afraid of him?
I follow the direction of her gaze, but Carrson isn’t paying her any attention.
He’s too busy watching me, his eyes full of mischief. Not at all sorry he got me in trouble.
For the last twenty minutes of class, I face forward and try to focus on the muted grace of Renaissance oil paint, but it’s difficult with Carrson right beside me with his thigh still resting firmly against mine.
He’s in my space, in my head, in my freaking pulse.
When the lecture ends and the lights flick on, I shoot to my feet like my chair’s on fire. Carrson slowly rises, unfolding with way more grace than I did.
Silently, he follows me out to the courtyard.
The autumn sun is a high bright ball in the sky that provides little warmth.
I shiver and pull my sweater sleeves down to cover my hands.
Spanish moss sways from the oak limbs along the quad, and somewhere in the distance a single cicada sings like it doesn’t know that summer is long gone.
Students flow around us, making their way to the library or student center.
A few do double takes when they see Carrson.
Some call out greetings, which he answers with a distracted smile and a wave, but his eyes never leave me.
He clears his throat. “So…”
I glance over.
He looks a little lost. Not dramatically so. Just like he showed up without a plan and doesn’t quite know what to do next. Like instinct brought him here, and now he’s standing in the sunlight beside a girl who won’t stop smiling at him.
I kind of love it.
“You followed me to class,” I say, bouncing on my toes.
His eyes flick to mine. “I didn’t follow, I just decided to…broaden my mind. That’s different.”
“Oh, so now you’re a scholar?”
“I’m a man of many talents.” He smirks, cocky, unapologetic. “You experienced several of them last night.”
I choke on a laugh, my cheeks flushing. A warm tingle coils low in my stomach. “Wow. Modest, too.”
His phone buzzes. He frowns and pulls it out. I brace for him to say good-bye, but he barely glances at it, just mutes the call and slips it back into his pocket.
“Do you need to go?” I ask, hope blooming that he might stay.
“In a little while, but first I thought I could take you to coffee.” Again he has that hint of awkwardness, of hesitation, when he adds, “If you want to.”
“Coffee sounds amazing.” I give him my brightest smile.
We turn to go, but a young woman stands before us. A Sister I’ve met before. She twists a strand of blonde hair nervously around her finger, her gaze focused on Carrson. The silence stretches until her cheeks turn red.
Feeling bad for her I offer a soft, “Hi Hannah.”
She sends me a grateful smile, “Hey Laurel.”
She swallows, then addresses Carrson. “I’m sorry to interrupt your time with your Bonded, but it’s just that I hardly ever see you outside of Ashford House.”
Carrson shoots me a glare for the smug told you so look I give him.
“I leave sometimes,” he mutters, petulant.
“I wanted to say thank you,” Hannah continues. “For what you did with Sampson. Fighting him so Mason and I could be together.”
“Wait.” I swivel toward Carrson. “That’s why you fought him?”
Before he can answer, Hannah gushes, “He sure did. Mason and Sampson both wanted to bond me, but I’ve loved Mason forever. Sampson is just so…” she shudders. “Mason’s blood calls to me. It sings. That’s why I’ll never forget what you did, fighting as Mason’s proxy.”
Carrson shifts, uncomfortable. He waves his hand. “It’s fine. Really. No big deal.”
“It is,” Hannah insists. “We’re lucky to have you, Carrson. That’s all I wanted to say. Just…thank you.”
She flashes another smile, pulls her orange sweater a little tighter, and slips away.
I swivel back to Carrson, grinning so wide it almost hurts.
“Awww,” I tease. “Carrson Ashford, selfless hero, champion of true love. Who knew?”
He rolls his eyes, the tips of his ears reddening. “Stop.”
I laugh, enjoying seeing him off-balance, a rare sight. Together, we start walking. “What made you step in?” I ask, curious.
He shrugs, “I don’t know. I’ve been thinking a lot about choice recently. When Mason and Hannah came to me it hit me. How rarely we get to choose around here. I wanted to give them that option.”
I glance toward a nearby chimney, smoke curling gray into the sky. The scent of woodsmoke clings to the autumn air.
“Free will,” I murmur. “That’s what you’re talking about.”
He gives me a sidelong glance, smiles, “Leave it to you to make it academic, but yes.”