I can still feel the warmth of his fingers on my leg, like they never left. “Don’t be. I wanted you to.” Quietly, I confess, “I’ve always wanted you to.”
He looks down at me, his wide shoulders casting me in a shadow. I think about the scars and how much I’d wanted to touch them that night he showed them to me. How much I want to touch him right now. Reyn has never been one to resist, and although his interest in me is still a surprise, the fact he reaches for me, touching me just under the chin, isn’t.
Every nerve in my body alights and only increases when he speaks. “Seeing you all day and not being able to get close to you is killing me,” he confesses, inching closer, like we’re magnetized. “Knowing that mark is on your thigh. Knowing what your lips taste like.” His hand settles on my hip. “It’s making me reckless.”
He turns me so that my back presses against the bookshelves, his hand dropping to fist the hem of my skirt. His knuckles graze the skin there, teasing, pressing. He kisses me, coaxing my lips apart with little licks. His tongue tastes sweet, like the juice he drank at lunch.
Delusional.
Warm insurgence grows in my belly and I grab at his tie, tugging him down so I can reach him better, sliding against his hot mouth. He makes a sound deep in his throat, something guttural and barely restrained, as the kiss swells in intensity. I run my hands down his biceps, feeling them flex as he surges into a deep, sucking kiss. Heat pools between my legs, and I push my hips into him without thinking, pure instinct.
His kiss sort of skitters and he pulls back. “I like you like this,” he whispers. His eyes bore into mine as he carefully wedges a thigh between my legs, like he’s testing my reaction.
The length of him, hard and pressing beneath the front of his pants, slots up against my hip. The shock of the pressure against my middle is just as intoxicating as the knowledge of what I’m doing to him. I’d seen it through the window, but actually feeling it? Jesus.
Who needs drugs when you can have this?
“Like what?” I ask, distracted.
He rumbles, “Bold.” Kiss. “All worked up.” Lick. “Mine.”
He’s the Devil alright, always there with an open hand, always ready to drag me with him into trouble. His lips burn against my neck, stubble rough against my skin. The pain feels good, grounding, just like his thigh, which I can’t help but buck against. He spits a low curse into my throat when I do, mouth dropping to the edge of my collar. He pushes with his leg, a hand coming down to the small of my back, grinding me harder against his thigh.
I gasp at the friction, hands clamped around his shoulders. “Oh god.” It feels so good and solid against me that I legitimately worry there might be a wet spot on his pants when he pulls away.
He mutters a sharp, “Fuck, V,” and takes my mouth again, his movements hungry and almost as desperate as my own.
My hips move of their own accord, chasing the friction and heat, and this could be enough. I could ride Reyn’s leg and probably have the best orgasm of my life, and from the way he’s pushing into me, I think it wouldn’t be so bad for him, either.
Then the bell tower chimes.
His lips pause and he looks down at me, chest rising and falling. Next class begins in ten minutes. We both freeze with the awareness that Ms. Cowen will do a sweep to get all the students hiding out during lunch back to class.
“We should…” I start and he nods, fingers still making lazy circles down on my outer thigh. I straighten his tie and he smoothes down my skirt. I have no doubt his heart is hammering as hard as mine.
He looks at me and smiles with those abused, red lips, like I’m some kind of prize he’s just swiped off the headmaster’s desk.
“Will I see you at the game tonight?” he asks, glancing down to the end of the stacks where a student passes by, oblivious to us being there. Regardless, he adjusts his body so I’m blocked from view.
I shake my head, trying to calm myself down. “The paper’s double booked. Mr. Lee assigned Dustin Brown to cover the game tonight. I have to go with the softball