CHAPTER EIGHT
Lacey
One restless night, an ice-cold shower, and my blood still simmers through my veins like lava.
Kissing Olly was perfection… but so, so wrong.
Every time I closed my eyes last night, my mouth tingled as though his lips were right there, and the roots of my hair throbbed, remembering his tight grip.
He didn’t taste like cherry cola like I expected; instead, he tasted like good times and bad decisions. His kiss consumed me, even in my dreams. Imagining the soft stroke of his tongue on my nipple and shallow grunts beside me almost felt real.
I wanted that fantasy—Olly’s hand on his cock, teeth scraping my nipple.
But it was a dream, and I’m back to reality this morning, with a deadline to meet and a professor to seduce.
I walk to our usual spot by the brick wall outside the art building, expecting to see Olly.
But he’s not here.
An uncomfortable feeling churns in my gut. Is he skipping class because of the kiss?
I’d escaped his apartment early, before he woke, needing a fresh change of clothes and time to compose myself before we spoke. I hadn’t considered if he would need to process what happened too.
Last night, Olly tried to be a good friend, and I devoured his mouth like some rabid, sex-starved loser.
And then I dreamed about all the dirty things I wanted to do to him.
Ugh.
Did I moan his name in my sleep?
I don’t even remember touching myself, but my fevered dreams and lust-stained fingers were evidence enough.
He’s probably at home trying to figure out how to give the I-love-you-as-a-friend speech.
Dread tightens my stomach, but before it can settle into panic, the crowd parts, and he’s striding toward me like he owns the campus, all eyes on him.
His on mine.
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
Silence fills the space between us.
Here it comes, the it’s-not-you-it’s-me speech.
Olly’s mouth lifts up on one side. “Fun night?”
I silently breath out a sigh of relief, his playful tone resetting all my worries. Maybe I didn’t give away my dream.
Meeting his smirk with one of my own, I shrug my shoulders. “Eh, nothing special.”
He clucks his tongue and shakes his head, but his grin is infectious.
“Why are you late?” I ask.
“I slept in.” He lowers his eyelids and then stares at me from beneath his lashes. “My bed was warmer than usual and too cozy to leave.”
