Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 67080 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 335(@200wpm)___ 268(@250wpm)___ 224(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67080 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 335(@200wpm)___ 268(@250wpm)___ 224(@300wpm)
Opening my notebook, I grab a pen and prepare myself for a ninety-minute lecture.
“Everyone open your books and take a look at chapter two, so we can—” The professor is interrupted by the creaking of the door. All heads lift, including my own, to see who the hell is walking in, late for the class.
“I’m so sorry, I couldn’t find the building,” Willow apologizes, stepping over the threshold and into the classroom. Even across the room, I can feel her. The pull she has on me. It’s magnetic, sinister. Being near her is like sticking my finger into a light socket. It thrills me, excites me, but at the same time is dangerous.
I wasn’t sure if she’d left after I cornered her in her room. Part of me hoped she would, but the other part… a much larger part hoped she would still be here.
“I’ll give you a pass since it’s the first day, but don’t let it happen again,” Professor Wade warns. Willow nods as she looks up, and into the crowd, most likely trying to find a seat. Her eyes scan the classroom and land on me half a second later. Even from across the room, I can see her swallow thickly, and I can’t help but grin, amused by the way I make her uncomfortable. Good, fear me. It’s better than the alternative.
Two crimson splotches appear on her cheeks, and I wonder if it’s because she’s embarrassed or if it’s because she’s realized that she has no choice but to sit beside me. Is she scared? Curious? I’m half expecting her to turn around and run out of the room, but to my surprise, she does the opposite. She walks to the back of the room with her head held high, a mask sliding on her face.
Oh, she wants to play that game? I can’t help but grin, can’t help but feel that distinct tingling in my gut, the one I used to get when I’d watch her, when I’d think about kissing her, deflowering her. She was my obsession, and now she would become my retribution.
Without ever making eye contact, she sits down next to me, gets her textbook out of her oversized designer purse, and opens it up. My jaw ticks as the seconds pass, and the temperature in the room spikes. Jesus, is it fucking hot in here? I can feel her body heat seeping into me, and we aren’t even touching.
Her sweet scent fills my nostrils as I suck a labored breath into my lungs. She doesn’t smell like all the other girls. Like high designer perfume that clings to every pore on your body. No, Willow smells divine like jasmine and vanilla. Pure. Naive. And all at once, I find the organ between my legs growing hard with need for the one person I shouldn’t want. Teeth grinding together, I grip the pen in my hand hard enough to break it.
Why her? Why am I drawn to her? Why do I want her? I hate her as much as I want her, and I don’t understand why. She’s a liar, a fucking liar, and she cost my brother everything because she opened her mouth and spread lies. I bite back a growl, covering it with a cough. Professor Wade continues talking, but I don’t hear a word he says. I can’t think, focus, or even breathe with the lying temptress beside me.
When she shifts in her seat, I start to wonder if she’s as uncomfortable as I am? Tick tock, tick tock. My arousal intertwines with the hate I have for her. A toxic mixture. I’m burning up with anger, and the longer I’m forced to stay within close quarters with her, the harder I get, and the more the hate pulses through me.
Wade dismisses us after what seems like an eternity in hell. The whole time I was sitting here, I thought I couldn’t get away fast enough, but now that class is over, I don’t want to leave. I want to see her scared again, wrap my fingers around her throat, feel her pulse beneath my touch. I want to hurt her.
“I thought you’d be gone by now,” I tell her. “Figured I made myself clear with what would happen if you decided to stay.”
“You don’t scare me, Parker,” she barks while gathering up her things and shoving them into her bag.
“Maybe not right this second, but you were the other night. You were trembling, probably close to pissing your pants,” I taunt, wanting to lure her into the darkness. I stare down at her, at her throat, my gaze drops to the swell of her breasts that peek out of her shirt. They’re big, perky, and I wonder what color her nipples are, a dusky pink like her cheeks were earlier?