Chapter Three
Tatum
I should be studying.
My laptop is open in front of me, notes scattered across the screen. Highlighter marks bleed into paragraphs I’ve read at least three times without understanding a single word. My pen rests uselessly between my fingers, unmoving, as my mind drifts somewhere it shouldn’t.
It’s been two days.
Two long, exhausting days, and somehow it feels worse now than it did that night. Worse because the sting of his words hasn’t faded, and worse because they didn’t erase anything. If anything, they made it stronger.
My stomach tightens as the memory surfaces uninvited. Lachlan in his kitchen, sweat still clinging to his skin, tattoos winding down his arms like they’d always been there. His voice, rough and cutting, throwing words at me that still echo in my head.
You think you’re the only woman I’d react to like that?
Heat creeps up my neck anyway, my fingers tightening around my pen. I should hate him. Or at least be over it. But I’m not. Because underneath the hurt, underneath the embarrassment and the humiliation, there’s something else. Something I can’t seem to shake.
He kissed me. He did, and then he stood in his own kitchen and told me it meant nothing, and I’ve spent two days trying to work out which half of that was the lie.
The way he looked at me. His lips, the way they felt on mine. My core pulses in response, hot and insistent. I press my lips together, shaking my head like that might clear it. It doesn’t. Nothing does.
I exhale slowly, push back from my desk, and grab my bag before I can spiral any further.
Classes pass in a blur, my body going through the motions while my mind stays stuck somewhere between anger and something dangerously close to longing. By the time I get back to my dorm, I’m exhausted. Not physically. Emotionally.
I push the door open without thinking.
I freeze.
He’s here.
Lachlan stands by the window like he belongs in the space. Broad shoulders turned slightly as he looks out over the campus, the fading light catching along the sharp lines of his profile. For a second, my brain refuses to process it, like I’m imagining him again.
But then he turns. Blue eyes lock onto mine. Air leaves my lungs.
“What…” My voice comes out thinner than I want it to. I swallow, trying again. “What are you doing here?”
Shock gives way to something sharper, my brows pulling together as I step further into the room. “How did you even get in? How do you know where I live?”
His expression doesn’t change. Not much. “Doesn’t feel good, does it?” he says evenly. “Having your space invaded.”
The words hit exactly where they’re meant to. My cheeks flush instantly, heat rushing through me as I look away for a second.
“Somebody held the front door for me,” he says. “Didn’t ask who I was. Didn’t ask where I was going.” His jaw sets. “And your lock’s been painted over so many times the bolt doesn’t seat. I pushed it open with two fingers.”
Something in his voice has changed. It isn’t smug anymore.
“That’s the part I want you thinking about,” he says. “Not me. Anybody.”
“I…” I exhale, pressing my lips together before meeting his gaze again. “I shouldn’t have come to your place like that. That part’s on me.”
The admission feels heavier than it should. “I thought you were still the same. But I was wrong,” I say quietly. “And you didn’t need to explain anything. I get it now.”
The words sit between us, more final than I expected. “I won’t bother you again,” I add, and it costs me everything I have to get it out.
Something flickers across his face. Gone just as quickly. “Don’t,” he says, low and rough.
The declaration stops me completely. I watch him exhale slowly, dragging a hand over the back of his neck.
“I shouldn’t have said what I said. I know I hurt you, and I’m sorry.”
I blink, caught off guard.
“I remembered Tyler,” he continues, his voice quieter now, but no less heavy. “In that moment. And it…” He pauses, jaw clenching. “It messed with my head.”
Something inside me softens immediately. Because I understand that. Of course, I do.
“There’s no one he trusted more than you,” I say gently, stepping a little closer without realizing it. “You were like brothers.”
His gaze drops for a second, like he doesn’t want to hear it.
“But he also knew you,” I continue, my voice steady now. “Knew how careful you are. How you think through everything. He wouldn’t have blamed you. He would’ve wanted you to be happy,” I add, softly. “Even if it surprised him a little at first.”
A small, almost sad smile touches my lips at that, the implication hanging quietly between us.
“You were sixteen,” he says. It isn’t an argument. It’s a fact he’s setting down between us to see what I do with it.
“I’m not sixteen.”
“I know.” His voice roughens on it. “That’s not the part that stops me.”
“Then what does?”
He’s quiet for a long moment. “He asked me to look after you,” he says finally. “Not like this.”
“He asked you to make sure I was okay.” I take another step. “Do I look okay to you, Lachlan?”
Something moves behind his eyes. He doesn’t answer.
His eyes snap back to mine. Searching. But I don’t look away.
Then he turns for the door.
“I should go,” he says.
Just like that. Like he didn’t just crack something open inside me again. Frustration flares, hot and immediate, but I swallow it down. I can’t force him to stay. And I can’t make him feel anything he doesn’t want to.
“Okay,” I say quietly.
He nods once and walks to the door. My chest tightens as he reaches for the handle. This is it. He’s leaving.
The latch gives. I hear the hallway noises spill in—voices, somebody’s TV, a door swinging shut a few rooms down.
Then it’s quiet again, because he’s closed it.
He’s crossed the room before I understand that he’s moving.
His hand wraps around my arm, firm but not painful, and the next thing I know, my back hits the wall.
I lose my breath as his body cages mine in completely. Everything in me goes loud at once.
“Lachlan—”
His lips cut me off. The kiss isn’t soft.
It’s immediate. Possessive. Measured in a way that feels like he’s been holding it back for too long and finally stopped trying.
His hand slides up to my jaw, tilting my face exactly where he wants it, his other arm braced beside my head, boxing me in completely.
I gasp against him, my fingers clutching at his shirt before I can stop myself, heat rushing through me so fast it makes my head spin. This is nothing like before. Nothing like that first kiss in his apartment, the one he broke off and then spent ten minutes making me pay for.
His mouth moves against mine with purpose, not asking, not waiting, taking… It sends a sharp, electric pulse straight through me. My body reacts instantly, pressing closer, my breath uneven as I try to keep up with the intensity of it.
“Look at you,” he mutters, his forehead resting briefly against mine, his voice quieter now but no less intense. “Walking around like you don’t know what you do to me.”
“I don’t…” My voice comes out soft, unsure, my cheeks burning. “I’m not…”
He huffs a breath that almost sounds like a laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “Yeah,” he says, brushing his thumb along my cheek, his gaze locked on mine. “That’s the problem.”
His mouth claims mine again, swallowing whatever words I might have found. The kiss deepens, his tongue sliding against mine with a hunger that makes my knees weak. I melt into him, everything sensible in me going quiet at once.
Somehow, we move. I don't remember walking, but suddenly, the backs of my knees hit the edge of the mattress, and I'm falling, pulling him down with me. The bed dips under our weight as he braces himself above me, never breaking the kiss, his body a solid wall of heat pressing me into the sheets.
He pulls back just enough to look at me, his eyes dark and heavy-lidded. His thumb traces my swollen lower lip, his breathing ragged.
“Tell me to stop,” he says, his voice rough. “Tell me now, Tatum.”
I shake my head, my heart hammering so hard I'm sure he can feel it. “Don’t stop.”
He makes a low sound in his throat, almost a growl, and his hand slides down my throat, my chest, resting over my racing heart.
“I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t touch you.”
But even as he says it, his hand moves lower, palming my breast through my shirt, his thumb finding my nipple and circling until I arch into him.
“But fuck, I’ve thought about this. Thought about you.”
His words send heat pooling between my thighs. I’ve imagined this too, but the reality of him—his weight, his scent, the roughness of his palms—is overwhelming.
“Lachlan,” I whisper, my voice trembling. “I need to tell you something.”
He stills, his hand pausing its delicious torture. “What is it, kitten?”
The pet name makes my stomach flip. I force the words out, my face burning. “I’ve never...I’m a virgin.”
He goes completely still above me, something fierce and almost feral flickering across his features. For a moment, I think he’ll pull away, but instead, his grip on my hip tightens.
“Christ,” he mutters, his voice strained. He closes his eyes. When they open again, that darkness is there, deeper than before. “You saved that for me?”
I nod, unable to speak.
His mouth finds my neck, teeth grazing my pulse point hard enough to make me gasp. “Mine,” he breathes against my skin, and the possessiveness in his voice should terrify me. It doesn’t. “I’m going to be your first. Your only. You understand me?”
“Yes,” I whimper.
He pushes up on his knees, his hands going to the button of my jeans. “Lift your hips.”
I obey. And God, the way it feels to obey him. The way something in me goes loose and quiet the second he tells me what to do, like some part of me has been standing at attention for four years waiting for somebody to take the decision out of my hands.
He strips the denim from my legs, taking my underwear with it. I'm bare before him, exposed and vulnerable, and I fight the urge to cover myself. His gaze rakes over me, hungry and unapologetic.