I growl, lip twitching up into a partial sneer. “What the fuck are you looking at?”
He doesn’t respond, only drops his gaze to my mouth, then bites his bottom lip as red splotches stain his cheeks.
My body tenses, my jaw hanging open slightly. Out of all the reactions I’ve received from anyone I was about to beat the shit out of, this one’s new.
And when he releases the faintest of whimpers, my grip weakens.
Without my fucking consent.
Electricity sizzles down my spine to my groin, and suddenly I realize how close I am to Eli, how it’s not just my breath hitting his face but his hitting mine as well, how our bodies are pressed firmly together, nearly every inch touching.
Every cell pulses in time with my heartbeat, and my eyes travel back down to his mouth where he's chewing on his pink, swollen bottom lip.
Wonder what that would feel like betweenmyteeth.
What the fuck!
I let go of the front of his shirt, then push him sideways and I take a step back.
Flinging open the bathroom door, I practically sprint down the hall, fingers raking through my hair and pulling at the roots, especially when I realize I’m rock hard.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
Chapter 4
Eli
I trudge out of Art History class, head swimming, unable to recall a thing about whatever the lecture was on. And the charcoal still life I did looks like trash—totally phoned that one in.
No mystery why I'm distracted though. Ever since last night's insanity, my thoughts have been a hot mess, and my friends won't stop grilling me about what happened with Alexei in the bathroom.
Sasha thought he’d hurt me.
Besides being about seven inches taller than me, the aggressive ass hat is built like a steam engine and manhandled me like I weighed nothing.
I’m not exactly weak. I work out and have more lean muscle than bulk. Still, I’m tiny compared to him.
But when Alexei roughly pinned me up against the door, the hint of whisky on his breath invading my nose, my previous distaste for the asshole evaporated.
As did all my pride and self-respect, apparently.
My hands tighten around the strap of my backpack and I flinch when recalling that stupid whimper.
Like . . . What. The. Actual. Hell.
I should’ve been punching him, kneeing him in the balls, not whimpering like a needy idiot.
So embarrassing.
By the time I got back to the dorm last night, my mind was racing. So, I pulled out my phone to research the king of entitlement.
Turns out Alexei Petrov isn't just some random douchebag hockey player. He’s the Titans' star defenseman. And when I texted Sasha this morning to see if she has more info, she virtually shit herself.
Supposedly, her ex-boyfriend had been beaten to a pulp by Alexei last year. Can’t say I’m surprised. But she also informed me the hockey team is pretty untouchable since half of their parents, Alexei’s included, are billionaires who donate to the school.
Those same families also run Rosewood Bay and the incorporated village’s private police department.
Must be nice to have that kind of money.
