CHAPTER 67
Troy
I KNEW SHE’D kill me. I just didn’t expect it so soon.
Death, life, the insanity that lies between skipped my mind when Ana put her lips on mine two days ago for the first time.
It’s odd, not knowing what blinking felt like before feeling her kiss.
Not knowing what it felt like before every blink replaced with the sight of her face. On mine. Little by little turning me into hers.
In fact, I can confirm my death by the revelation where I’m standing in my father’s kitchen while he’s working aggressively at his laptop on an island barstool—both of us in the same room—and the idiotic smile underneath my lips still won’t fade.
Kyle, Karl’s friend I’m begrudgingly still assigned as a personal chauffeur to, is also relaxed on a few seats from my dad, while we wait for my younger brother to gather his things for their hockey practice tonight.
“Ha, man,” Kyle belts out, snickering at something from his phone screen, “that never gets old!”
His phone that rests against a cantaloupe.
Dad tensely lifts from his seat, striding toward the fridge. Searching through it, he peeks out with brows pulled together. “Where’s the cantaloupe?” he asks.
I shoot my index finger from my own phone and in the direction of a laughing Kyle who’s still lost in his device.
“Kyle, give me that.” My dad marches toward Kyle, his patience seemingly much less than usual today.
“Oh, sure thing Mr. L.”
Without warning, Kyle chugs the hefty fruit at him before the melon cracks against the marbled tiles, chunks of cantaloupe splattering all over the floor and over the ankles of my dad’s navy slacks.
“I’m on it, Mr. L.” Kyle salutes, swinging off his barstool so quickly that it slams onto the floor, grabbing the nearest towel that hangs from the gold pot filler.
“No,” Dad sharpens, his eyes jumping with fear for a funny change, gesturing Kyle to stay in place. “Just sit there.”
“Camila!” my father yells after his butler.
And what do you know? Kyle’s quickly becoming my hero.
_________
After I’ve dropped Karl and Kyle off at the rink, I head to the University, before pulling into the business parking structure for my economics lecture.
The prospect of the night class would’ve been a total snoozefest, but instead it’s pinching every nerve in my body at the moment because of another student attending the same boring class. A student who’s tall, blue-eyed, quick-mouthed, perfectly strange; her name rhymes with “Ana”.
Weeks of this course have gone by, all its sessions her and I seated away from the other.
So the thought eats at me, wondering if she’ll sit next to me. If I’ll sit next to her. If we’ll sit next to each other. Tonight.
God, I’m nervous.
Nervous to sit next to the girl after doing much, much worse things to her than that.
Not even 24 hours ago.
Lights dimmer than usual when I pass through the lecture hall, crowds of students lazily rushing toward their seats, over the chaos, at the end of the top back row, I find those blue eyes I’d recognize from fucking space.
When she spots me too, the smallest flicker in her gaze hits my heart. Not possible, I think to myself, already moving toward her, also not possible for me to make wise decisions it seems, ever since our collapse.
Resting my notebook and keys on the tiny table connected to the arm of the chair, I slip into the always-uncomfortable auditorium’s plastic seat and next to Ana’s.
“The one place you’re always on time for,” I chuckle.
“Ha-ha,” she says with an eye-roll.
Professor Edwards calls for decorum, receiving it a minute past what he probably hoped for, his brows deeply pulled together, wanting to seem mad, though the rosy cheeks the older guy always has tending to show the very opposite.
Ana, taking the course that isn’t in her core curriculum or major part of her major, yet deep into the lecture, jotting notes like this is the most important thing on the planet that we need to be learning, brings the gushiest smile to my face.
Some things really never change.
I, on the other hand, was focusing just fine until I started noticing her. Which never really had a start or an end, I suppose.
Half-way into the four-hour class, and my restlessness kicks in.
The lights are dimmer. The air feels heavier. She—how the actual fuck—looks even prettier.
Our professor flicks the overhead projector on to run through some formulas, switching the room’s lights off completely now, all but the small glow from the device brightening the hall.
And the side of Ana’s leg bumps against mine as she pulls her back into her seat, still, by some miracle, paying attention to the equations our professor’s mapping over the board to the side.
When the strong scent of strawberry runs over my cheeks, leaning a bit toward her, feeling it coming through her hair, the pen sandwiched between my fingers hits the blank page, my gaze back on her.
Not remembering a time where my self-control felt so untethered, this weak, not even as a teenager, I lean in, moving over her ear, feeling her shiver. “How are you still paying attention?”
“Shhh,” Ana hisses, turning to scold me with a finger puckered up to her mouth.
Which drops my gaze to her mouth.
Which gives me an idea, more like a temptation to test her level of quietness.
Looking at her while she’s still watching me, confused by the teasing curve of my mouth, I slide my hand under my seat’s table to the edge of her dress, feeling her knees buck at the touch.
“Are you insane?” she snaps, her voice low so that no one hears her, though she doesn’t move my hand away.
Interesting.
“Everyone will hear us,” she adds.
“Then we have to be really quiet,” I point out, loving the irritated and turned on look she gives me more than I should. “Now spread your legs for me.”
Her mouth parts like she can’t believe her ears.
“Unless you don’t want to,” I say just to be sure she wants this.
But as my fingers start to crawl away from her skin, I feel her slowly, very slowly open her legs for me.
“Good girl,” I whisper into her ear, watching her squeeze her lips together.
She flicks the most innocent glance away from us like all is well and no one’s watching us, the move so stinking cute I forget where my hand is and where it was about to go until her eyes land back on the lecture.
As Ana’s jotting down more notes, her eyes flicking back and forth between the board and her booklet, I push the thin lace aside, smirking when her pen falls out her grip and her back jumps against the seat.
Quickly adjusting herself and holding onto the ink again, she tries to focus on the lecture, meanwhile the fabric of her thong keeps bumping into my fingers.
“Take these off,” I order, while rubbing over her clit. “They’re in my way.”
She listens, though her eyes never leave the board even when she hands me the thin fabric, as if looking at me or my hand that’s tucked underneath her dress would ruin her train of thought.
The idea buzzes through my neck as I slide her sticky thong into my sweatshirt pocket, groaning at how she coats my entire hand when I’ve barely done anything to her yet.
“Baby, this is the wettest you’ve been so far,” I whisper, taking the edge of her ear between my teeth, softly biting over it. “You like the idea of being fucked in a room full of people, is that it?”
I see it.
The wild look on her face that wants to throw her pen across the room and let go.
Her hands that clench into tight fists when my knuckles rub up and down her hot clit.
Her hand that she unravels just to roughly squeeze my thigh like that’s her taking the edge off on how bad she wants to make a little noise. Knowing how bad she wants to release all her tension, to look down, seeing the moan trapped in the column of her throat.
No one—and I literally mean, no one—is seated in our row, and the rest of them are filled with students who are either asleep, paying attention to the equations, or off in their own world, so I tap over Ana’s wrist and tell her, “Look at my hand.”
Her lips parted, she turns her face to glance at me as I slide my hand from underneath her dress, lifting my fingers to my mouth, licking them clean before they disappear again into the fabric.
Not once does Ana tear her gaze away from my movements, so that’s when I lift her dress until they rest above the apex of her thighs, smirking when I finally hear her moan softly.
“Yes, baby,” I encourage. “Look at yourself.”
I can feel it, her start to let go, hips grinding into her seat, into my fingers as two slide right into her, and when her pussy immediately latches onto them, greedy, I smirk.
She drops her pen, slides her notebook to the edge of her desk, and shamelessly stares at my hand that’s finger fucking her tight core.
Watching my fingers pump in and out, curling on each thrust, her legs start to shake, feeling the orgasm rip through her as the lights flicker on and Professor Edwards calls her name.
Because Ana’s arm flew in the air at some point, probably the same moment when I hit the spot I’ve quickly learned to be her favorite and she squealed over the moan that ripped from her throat.
“Yes, Ana!” our professor shouts with glee. “Come, and demonstrate the problem for the class!”
“She’s coming!” I answer for her. “Her foot’s just asleep. One second.”
Before I even manage to sit back, an impressive weight slams over my feet, making me choke out a hoarse cough.
Ana stares at me—death and payback glazed all over those hazy blue eyes—as she flattens the edges of her wrinkled dress, heat jolting my whole nervous system when she hovers her lips by my ear.
“You’ll pay for that,” she whispers most likely at my cruelly-timed double entendre.
It was worth it.
Worth her cheeks tinging with the brightest red.
Worth her eyes glistening with selfish desire.
Worth watching her walk down the stairs to the board, knowing just how slick her thighs feel right underneath that dress.
Even worth the vengeful glare she gave me from across the lecture hall after managing to complete the problem flawlessly despite the heated distraction.
Yup, she’s going to kill me.