He sighs heavily as I open the door, flinging it wide and marching out into the hall. Why does he keep doing this to me? And why do I make it so easy for him?
I should know better than to think he’ll let me go just because I want him to. He walks beside me the entire way back to the dorm, not saying a word. Anybody who sees us together would probably think we’re just two normal everyday people. And it does occur to me that I could scream for help. If I really wanted to be rid of him and make him pay at least in part for what he’s done to me, I would.
And I do, don’t I? I want to get rid of him. I want him to pay. So why can’t I bring myself to scream?
When we reach my building, he makes no move to leave. “Bye,” I mutter, glaring at him. “Thanks for walking me back to my room. You can go now.”
“Do we really need to play this game?” When all I can do is gape at him, he shakes his head and opens the front door, strolling into the lobby like he lives here. As soon as I get a chance, I’m going to write a strongly worded email to the school and ask them about upping their security because this is ridiculous.
Rather than make a scene, though, I follow him inside, then up the stairs to the third floor. He’s waiting for me at the door by the time I reach it. I hate how sure he is of himself. How sure he is that he’s going to get his way.
But he did try to protect me. And if he’s telling the truth, which I think he is, he didn’t go to MIT because he wanted to stay here and make sure I was safe from his father. I can’t help it. It warms my heart and makes me soften up toward him.
And that’s why I let him follow me into my room rather than ask security to kick him off campus. Why I let him pull me onto the bed until we’re sitting together. I’m too tired to fight on top of everything else.
“You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do this,” he whispers, wrapping his arms around me and holding me close. His heart is pounding under my ear.
Why? Why do I matter so much to him? No matter how I tell myself to be careful, I can’t help wanting to believe him. I want to believe this is true, that he means it, that I matter to him. Because I’m finally starting to figure out that somewhere along the way, he started mattering to me.
When I lift my head, prepared to tell him this can’t happen, he covers my mouth with his before I can speak. His kiss is exactly the opposite of what I would expect from him. He’s tender and sweet as his mouth moves slowly over mine. He kisses me like he’s got nothing he’d rather do—like he has all the time in the world. Before I know it, he’s pulling me down, and I’m following him until we’re lying together on the bed.
“Let me stay here with you,” he whispers between kisses, one hand moving slowly up and down my back.
“You can’t do that. You know we’d end up getting caught.” And I doubt Piper would be a big fan of the idea.
“Fine. Then stay with me. I have an apartment just down the street.”
“You what?”
“I couldn’t stay in that house anymore,” he explains, pulling back enough to look me in the eye but still caressing me as he speaks. “And I sure as hell couldn’t go to MIT. So I got an apartment down the street from campus. How else do you think I’ve managed to be here? You could stay there with me.”
“Colt… I couldn’t do that. I could never do that.” I shrug away from his touch, backing myself up to the wall to put as much space between us as possible. It still isn’t much, but I can think more clearly when I’m not in his arms. “I could never trust you. After everything you’ve done? No way.”
“You already trust me.”
“Bullshit.”
“Did you or did you not ask me to stay with you that night? You know what I’m talking about. You like it when I hold you. You like it when I’m with you. I make you feel safe. And I meant it when I said I’m never going to hurt you again. All of that is over.”
“I don’t know…”
“I know something else, too.” He reaches out, this time placing a hand on my hip. “You like it when I make you come.”
“Don’t do that.”
“Don’t do what? Touch you? You can’t pretend not to like it when I touch you.” And he keeps doing it, too, his hand sliding over my hip and around to my ass. I wish it didn’t feel so good. I wish I was strong enough to make him stop.
I wish Iwantedhim to stop. That’s at the heart of the problem. I can tell him to stop all I want, that this is wrong, that I don’t want him touching or kissing me, but it’s all a lie. He has a way of lighting me up inside, of making me feel things. Of making me want when I was so sure I wouldn’t want anyone, for any reason, for a very long time.
It turns out I want him. That’s the issue. I only want him touching me like this. Holding me, caressing me, refusing to stop because somehow he knows what I need better than I do.
Like how he drapes my leg over his thigh before running a hand over it. “I don’t think I could ever get tired of this,” he whispers. “The feel of you. The way you come apart in my hands, under me.”
“You have to know this brings up all kinds of bad shit for me, right?”
“You can forget all of that now. Let’s replace it with good memories.” He pulls me closer and holds me tight, so tight there’s no chance of getting away. Not that I want to. I can’t resist the warmth and comfort of his embrace. “And this is how you do it. By taking back what you want. What makes you feel good.”
His touch is featherlight as he grazes my ass again, this time allowing his hand to drift between my thighs. “What makes you feel good? What do you want?”