Chapter 31
Ryker
G wen told me not to be late, and here I am, but where the hell is she?
One thing I know about her is Guinevere Sharpe is never late. So she must be sick or in trouble because there’s no way she’s-
I watch as Gwen strolls into the lecture hall looking like she’s seen a ghost, while simultaneously looking like she wants to rip someone’s head off. I didn’t know that was possible, to show both emotions at the same time.
For once, I don’t think I’m the one on the other end of that pissed off expression, and honestly, that feels good. I think we’ve finally hit a point where both of us can coexist and maybe even like each other.
Last night was fucking incredible. I didn’t mean to have her sleep over, but we were working so late, and she dozed off while I was in the bathroom. She looked so peaceful, and for selfish reasons, I didn’t want her to go. So, I let her sleep.
I know she wasn’t entirely thrilled about it when she woke up this morning, but I got a kick out of watching her rush out of my house.
Holland told me he caught her on her way out. He said she looked flustered and left in a hurry. That made me laugh.
Gwen flustered? I haven’t seen that happen very often. She’s independent and controlling, but last night? She let me take control of everything, and seeing her let go of herself, even for a little while, made me want to do it over and over again.
Gwen takes her seat next to Damian, setting her bag down on the ground. He leans in to whisper something in her ear, and my blood boils as I watch how close he is to her. How he touches her.
I’m realizing now that I really do want all of her, every day and every night, all to myself.
Gwen shakes her head at whatever Damian said, and now I’m wondering what he said to her.
Professor Whitely rushes down the stairs to her desk, late, as usual. Her tight pencil skirt hits her knees and the blouse she wears opens slightly at the top, revealing her cleavage. Her hair is curled and in a half up, half down style, and her glasses sit on the bridge of nose.
She looks like she should be on set for a shitty porno instead of teaching a college literary criticism course.
I look back down to Gwen, who is sitting a bit straighter than she was before, watching and waiting intently for the professor to begin class.
There’s barely anyone here, which I assume is due to the fact that many people hate presenting or didn’t even finish the project.
I thought I’d feel relieved when this project ended, but now, I’m not sure how I feel. I know Gwen and I will still see each other, but I wonder if our dynamic will change if we’re not forced to be together all the time. And I hate that I care this much.
Professor Whitely claps her hands together once, breaking me out of my thoughts and turning my attention to the front of the room.
“Okay, here’s what’s going to happen,” she begins. “I’ve put all of your names in this hat,” she holds up a small blue baseball cap with tiny sheets of paper inside.
“I’m going to pick a name, and your team will come up to present. When you’re done presenting, you may leave.”
I let out a sigh of relief because I did not want to be stuck here listening to a bunch of boring ass presentations that I couldn’t care less about.
After three presentations, I’m about to fall asleep in my seat. This shit is reminding me why I skipped out on so many classes. I’m impatient, and impulsive. I cannot stand staying still.
“Gwen and Ryker, let’s see what you got,” Professor Whitely says in a giddy tone. I roll my eyes. No one person is that happy, it’s not possible.
Gwen slowly rises from her seat, bringing her laptop with her and walking down to Professor Whitely’s desk, without looking back at me, I notice.
When I meet her down there, she doesn’t even look at me. My eyes narrow in confusion at her coldness. She was fine when she left this morning. Did something happen between then and now? Does she regret what we did?
“Hey, what’s wrong?” I whisper as Gwen pulls up the slideshow.
Keeping her eyes locked on the screen, she says, “Nothing.”
Okay…
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After I’ve presented my half, Gwen finishes hers, shutting the laptop as Professor Whitely and the few students in the room clap. She gives a shy smile before grabbing her things, saying goodbye to Damian, and rushing out of the room, leaving me standing there, utterly confused.
What the fuck just happened?
I don’t even wait for Professor Whitely’s feedback. I grab my bag and chase after Gwen to make sure she’s alright .
She’s sitting on a bench just down the hall from the classroom, looking flushed and out of breath. What the hell is going on with her?
I take a step closer to where she sits, making her look up, her crystal blue eyes meeting mine. Fuck, she’s gorgeous.
Taking a seat next to her, she doesn’t flinch or move away. She simply stays there, her hands wringing in her lap as she stares down at the ground.
I clear my throat. “What was that about?” I ask softly. Gwen looks at me, and I expect to see tears or fear in her eyes, but that’s not what I see.
“You went after Ashton Davis after I ask you not to, didn’t you,” she accuses. My blood turns to ice. How the fuck did she find out? I know she saw my hand the other day, but I didn’t answer when she’d asked about Ashton.
As if reading my mind, she continues.
“He came to see me. He told me what you did,” I see red. My entire body freezes and I have the sudden urge to punch a fucking wall. My jaw tenses.
“What do you mean he came to see you? When? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Just before class. He stopped me outside of the lecture hall. Told me you’re the one that fucked up his face,” she looks at me as if she’s challenging me to deny it. I don’t.
“He told me to tell you to watch my back,” she says softly. “He threatened me.”
I’m going to fucking kill the bastard. I’m going to rip his skin off of his pathetic body and burn him alive. He’s not going to get away with threatening Gwen. I’m not going to let him think he can fuck with either of us.
But first, I need to make sure Gwen hasn’t gone back to hating my guts, because to be honest, I like it a lot more when she doesn’t .
“Gwen, look. I’m not going to apologize for beating the guy’s ass. He had it coming. But I-” she cuts me off with a heart stopping kiss, kissing me rough and hard, needy. The roughness of the kiss contrasts with her soft, plump lips as they move against mine. Her tongue finds mine and our breaths tangle together.
I have no fucking clue what’s going on right now. Is she mad at me? Is she turned on?
Gwen pulls away, her eyes moving from my face, down to my crotch. My dick swells in my pants, picturing the things we did just last night.
She reaches down and grabs my hand, pulling me toward an empty room and locking the door behind us.
I stand in the middle of the room, crossing my arms over my chest while Gwen walks slowly toward me, her expression unreadable.
“Why would you go after Ashton?” she asks, as if it isn’t obvious.
“The guy’s a major prick, Gwen,” I shrug. Gwen takes a step closer until we’re about three inches away from one another. The lights are off, but I can still see a hint of her lips as she speaks.
“I know. But why did you go after him at the party?” she asks again. I run my hands through my hair, beginning to get a bit frustrated.
“Because he deserved it.”
Gwen takes another step, and now we’re face to face, and I can see her eyes as they bore into mine, waiting for an answer that I don’t know.
“Why?” I stand up straighter, making Gwen flinch, but she recovers quickly.
“Because he had his hands all over you, and you looked like you didn’t want anything to do with him,” I explain, hoping that’s the answer she’s looking for.
Her hands ball into fists at her side.
“Why do you care what he was doing to me? You don’t even like me.” My body fills with anger at her words. How could she not realize that that isn’t exactly true anymore? Especially after the other night?
I know it doesn’t make us best friends or even boyfriend and girlfriend, but it does mean we have a connection.
“I hit him because I saw him grinding all over you and grabbing your ass and I could tell you were uncomfortable from across the room,” I grab her arms, holding her in front of me.
“When I got closer, I heard him ask you to go upstairs and then I heard you tell him no. He kept pushing and I… I saw red. I couldn’t help it. He was trying to take advantage of you, trying to take what’s mine. And I don’t fucking share,” I watch her expression carefully as I try to catch my breath from my confession.
Her brows furrow in confusion and frustration. She pulls out of my grasp and backs away slightly.
“What’s yours? I am not yours, Ryker,” she crosses her arms defiantly.
I walk forward, effectively backing Gwen into a table so she can’t go anywhere. She is mine, and I’m about to show her just how wrong she is.
“Yes, you are,” I tell her, my tone dark and demanding. “I’ve had a taste of you, Gwen. And I am not letting you go.”
“I can’t stand you, Ryker,” she says, trying, and failing to sound confident in her statement. I roll my eyes, a knowing grin spreading on my lips.
“Not what you were saying last night, when my tongue was on your clit, making you come while screaming my name. When my cock was buried inside you, driving you to the edge,” I can hear her sharp intake of breath. She opens her mouth to say something but closes it before anything comes out.
Something in her expression changes, and I can’t tell what she’s thinking. Is she going to bolt? Is she going to hit me?
No, she’s not. Instead, her lips smash against mine again and I’m overtaken by everything about her.