“Are you serious, Jamie?”
Her voice slices through the silence like a blade, sharp enough to snap me out of the haze. She’s standing there, arms folded tightacross her chest, glaring at me like I just kicked a puppy. Lips swollen from kissing me, hair a little mussed, her breath coming faster than she wants me to see. But the look in her eyes? Pure fire.
I drag a hand through my hair, lean back against the sink, and let my mouth twist into that grin I know makes girls crazy. “What?”
She blinks. Her jaw tightens. “What?” she repeats, mocking, like I’m the dumbest guy alive. “Some random blonde walks in, and suddenly you forget I exist? You freeze like she’s the Virgin Mary and I’m what? Practice?”
“Practice isn’t bad.” I smirk, tilting my head, giving her the slow once-over. “Practice makes perfect.”
She doesn’t laugh.
I sigh, push off the sink, close the space between us. My hand catches her wrist before she can turn away. Her skin is warm, pulse beating fast beneath my fingers. She jerks a little, but she doesn’t pull free.
“Hey.” My voice drops lower. Softer. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Pretend like I don’t want you.”
Her mouth twists, caught between anger and wanting to believe me. “Sometimes I think I’m just—” she breaks off, shakes her head. “Reliable. That’s what I am, right? The one you text when you’re horny. No strings. No expectations. Just easy.”
I should lie. I should tell her no, that she’s different, that I’ve been thinking about her all day. But I don’t lie well. Not with my face. Not with my eyes. So instead, I let my thumb slide over the delicate skin of her wrist, rubbing circles into her pulse point, and I smile like the bastard I am.
“Easy?” I repeat, stepping closer, my body brushing hers. “Baby, there’s nothing easy about you. You drive me fucking insane. You know how hard it is to sit through class with you biting that lip like you know what it does to me?”
Her eyes flicker. Doubt giving way to heat.
“Don’t play with me, Jamie.”
I lean down, lips brushing her ear, voice husky. “Who’s playing?”
Her breath stutters. That’s my in. My fingers trail down her arm, slow, deliberate, until my palm rests at her hip. She shivers. Her body wants me even if her pride doesn’t. I press closer, pinning her lightly against the wall.
“You think I text you because it’s convenient?” My mouth grazes the edge of her jaw, not kissing yet, just close enough to tease. “I text you because I can’t fucking focus when I know you’re two rows away. Because every time you tilt that clarinet—”
“Flute,” she interrupts, a little breathless.
“Flute,” I correct smoothly, grinning against her skin. “Every time you tilt that flute, I’m imagining all the other things those lips could be doing.”
Her hands push at my chest, weak, conflicted. “You’re such an asshole.”
“Yeah.” My grin widens. “But I’m your asshole.”
Her laugh breaks through, sharp but unwilling. I can feel her melting, pride giving way to want. My hand slips lower, dragging over the curve of her thigh, under her skirt. She gasps when my fingers find her, already damp.
“Fuck, baby,” I murmur, biting my lip. “Don’t tell me you don’t want this.”
Her eyes flutter closed as my fingers work slow circles, teasing, dipping, pulling back just to hear her whimper. She grips my shoulders, nails digging in, body rocking against my hand.
“You always do this,” she breathes, voice breaking. “Make me forget I should hate you.”
“Then don’t forget,” I growl softly, slipping a finger inside, her body clenching tight around me. “Hate me while you come. I can take it.”
Her moan is muffled by my mouth on hers. Desperate, wet, teeth clashing. My fingers pump harder, faster, the slick sound filling the bathroom. She grinds against my hand, chasing it, trembling as her knees threaten to give out.
When she breaks, she breaks hard. Body arching, nails raking down my back, lips parting on a silent cry. I hold her through it, murmuring filthy little praises against her skin, dragging it out until she collapses against me, panting.
Her face presses into my chest, cheeks flaming. “You’re impossible.”
