24. Did I hit a nerve? #2
“Why you…” He echoes the words like he’s tasting them.
“I don’t know. It wasn’t a choice. It was instinct.
I heard your voice, and it diminished every other sound.
Smelled your skin and knew it was the only scent I ever wanted to breathe in.
I saw how guarded your eyes were and knew I wanted them every day, blown wide with lust or narrowed with anger. Either way, I wanted them on me.”
My breath catches.
“That’s intense for someone who doesn’t feel emotion.” I lean my head back against him, hearing the steady beat of his heart under my ear, the light breeze carrying the scent of his skin.
His breath tickles my neck. “I feel plenty. Just not the kind people write poems about.”
“Like?”
“Boredom, disgust.”
I let out a short laugh. “Well, that’s grim.”
“Why?”
I turn my head, our lips almost touching. “Because every single one of those shows up when something is wrong, reactions to pain. Don’t you feel love? Sadness? Surprise? Fear?”
“I’m capable of it, maybe at one point I felt those emotions, but I don’t remember if that’s true.” He pauses for a long moment. “Except surprise. That’s a new one.”
“With what?”
“You.”
“Me?” I point to myself. “I surprise you?” My voice has gone up an octave.
“Yes, your presence. I didn’t think someone like you existed.”
Someone like you, I repeat in my head, and I almost laugh.
I’m not exactly a rare species. I’m not the girl with a five-year plan.
I’m not Vee with her grades and the love she gives so willingly, never expecting anything in return.
I’m not Roxy with ambition spilling out of her like she was born knowing where she’s headed.
So what does he mean by that? I study him. With Oliver, it’s never simple. Maybe he means the part of me that doesn’t always do the safe thing. The part that should’ve run the first time he looked at me like that and didn’t.
“It was solidified when you destroyed my car and subscribed me to get multiple emails, texts, and calls all day.”
I hide my laugh with a cough. “Destroyed is an overexaggeration.”
“Ten grand to fix.”
“I…I’m not paying for it. You gave me every right. I was pushed to it; anyone in my position would have done that,” I defend.
He chuckles so low I barely hear. “Never would make you do that, Dollface. But I don’t think every girl would destroy a car.”
“How did you figure out about the subscriptions?”
I thought I was sneaky with it. Guess not.
“I have my ways. Your money should be back in your account, since I canceled them all and deleted any mention of their existence.”
“Not fair.”
He kisses me quickly, turning his head to look out toward the water.
“Can I ask about your family?”
“Not tonight.” His fingers slide, lazy and possessive, up my exposed thigh. I push down my disappointment, transfixed by the motion of his hand.
“What’s your major?”
“Philosophy. Then law school.”
“…Law?” I echo.
I climb off his lap, circling behind him. I start to pace. My brain is short-circuiting. Law school. This man, who’s threatened, corners, pushed every boundary—he wants to represent justice? The irony.
I can feel him watching me, but he doesn’t move. “Stop pacing. You’re giving me a headache.”
I spin to face him. “Law school. For what?”
“To be a lawyer,” he says, as if I’m slow. “Why else would I go?”
“But, but…” I stutter. “You? Law? But you’re not exactly that great a person.”
He tilts his head, his voice turning cold. “Is that a requirement? Because if so, I must’ve missed the application’s fine print.”
He moves slowly, coming to stand before me.
His hand closes around my neck before I can react.
My chest collides with his as he pulls me forward.
“Maybe I’m not a good person. But this freaking out every time you find out information about me is getting on my last nerve.
” His tone sharpens. “Are you afraid of me, Lyra?”
Am I? “No, not of you.” Just what you make me feel. His grip eases slightly. “I didn’t mean it the way it came out.”
“I know, Dollface.” He pulls me back to where we were sitting earlier. “Sit on my lap, ask your questions. I’m going to play with this little pussy of yours that’s dripping for me.”
“It is not,” I say indignantly.
He huffs a laugh. “Want to prove it?”
He lets me reposition, him behind me, my spine pressed to his chest, his body a wall of heat at my back. He shifts so my knees are draped over his spread thighs. My skirt climbs higher with the movement until it pools at my waist.
“We’re in the open,” I protest weakly.
“No one can see you. I'd never let that happen,” he says in my ear, the words warm against my skin. “Now ask.”
“Favorite color.”
“Pink.” Not what I would expect. “The color of your nipples.” Yep, there it is. His finger slowly drags over the hem of my panties in the softest caress. “And pussy.”
“Okay, your turn.” My voice is breathy, waiting for Oliver’s next move.
“I don’t need to ask. I already know what matters.” Oliver strokes over the damp satin, lazy at first, a single line from back to front. He hums when he feels how wet I am.
“Do you like being rough with me? In the past with others…” I trail off when I feel him tense, and the grip on my thighs bruises into my skin.
“Don’t ever speak about you fucking other guys unless you want them floating in the Atlantic.” He eases my panties aside and slides a single finger through my wetness. I feel exposed. It’s exhilarating and something I never thought I’d like.
“Blaine,” he says flatly. “You were with him?”
“Yes.” A sharp sting against my pussy makes me jolt. My words lodge in my throat, and instead, a squeak comes out.
“And how many others?” This time, my breath chokes me for a whole different reason.
“Lyra.” His palm stays on my pussy, not moving.
I bite my lip. “Oliver…I.” I’m not ashamed of my past or of the decisions I've made, yet a part of me doesn’t want to tell him either.
“How.” Slap. “Many?” Slap.
“That I went on dates with or slept with?”
“Fucking killing them all.” He pinches my clit before rolling the bud between two fingers.
“Oh shit.” I nearly leap off his lap.
“How many have you let inside my pussy?”
“I don’t know,” I choke out.
“You don’t know.” He licks along my neck until he gets to my ear. “Good, nothing before us matters anyway,” he whispers, giving me ten more slaps, the sound sharp against the wind, until my thighs tremble and I can’t decide if I want to close them or open wider. “Fuck, Oliver.”
He fixes my underwear back in place. Suddenly, the fabric of my panties splits, and it presses tightly against my clit through my lips.
“I haven’t been with someone in so long.” It’s as if he isn’t speaking to me, lost in thought.
“How long?” He pulls tighter, and a startled yelp leaves my mouth as my hands grab onto his thighs.
“Before I transferred.” My brain glitches. A hard static pause, then it rewinds through every conversation Oliver and I’ve ever had.
“Serena.” I swallow. “You said she was a way to pass the time.”