“I can do whatever I want.” Her voice shakes, but there’s steel underneath. “You don’t own me, Damien.”
The way she says my name, spitting it out like poison, makes my need howl louder.
“Chelsea is setting you up,” I say, forcing myself to focus.
“And you care about that because…?” Her laugh is sharp and humourless. “Don’t pretend now you’re concerned about my wellbeing.”
“I’m trying to protect you.”
“Then you’re doing a shit job of it. Leave me alone.”
The words are a physical blow, and my jaw sets. We stare at each other in the dusty classroom, and I see it all playing out.
Her at the dance in Basil’s arms, smiling that cautious smile, letting him touch her, kiss her, claim parts of her that are supposed to be mine. The images loop through my head, each one stoking my jealousy higher.
And if this is how she felt about Chelsea, it’s no wonder she couldn’t stand it. The sensation turns the world abrasive.
“No,” I say simply, and reach for her.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
OPHELIA
Damien’s handcaptures my jaw. His fingers firm on the soft place behind my ear, crushing against my pulse.
He kisses me and the kiss feels like desperation. His teeth catch on my lower lip hard enough a salty metallic taste blooms across my tongue.
I push at his chest, and my hands are small and ineffective. “Stop,” I say against his lips, but the word is breathless, unconvincing.
“You don’t want me to stop.” The same damn confidence as always. His hand travels lower, closing around my throat, muttered words puffing into my mouth. “You’re just too stubborn to admit it.”
He spins me around, and my hipbones slam against the desk’s edge, the stacked desks behind rattling at the force, metal scraping on the plywood floor.
Dust rises, catching in my throat, and I twist away but his hand presses my cheek on the scarred wood surface. My glass frames dig into the tender skin beside my eye.
“Don’t…”
“Don’t what?” His hand skims up my thigh, bunching my kilt around my waist. “Don’t give you what your body’s craving? Don’t remind you that you’re mine?”
His hands are everywhere, overwhelming. Fingers hooking into my underwear, yanking them down, the elastic biting into my flesh until they sag at my ankles and I flinch at the cool air against my exposed skin.
“You can’t do this. Our arrangement’s over.”
“No, it’s not. Not unless I agree.” His forefinger runs along my seam, pressing into my wetness, muscles rippling with a surge of pleasure I can’t control. “And my by count, we still have one turn left.”
“Not after what you did.” My words are lost against the desk, and he sinks his first knuckle inside me, accompanied by his low growl of satisfaction.
The clink of his belt buckle. The rasp of his zipper.
I flatten my palms on the scarred wood, pushing myself upwards. Damien pushes me down again with one hand, kicking my legs apart. The blunt head of his cock pauses at my entrance, then he thrusts. Filling me completely.
A sound escapes my throat, half gasp, half moan, and his hand clamps over my mouth, fingers bruising my lips.
“Shh,” he whispers in my ear. “If you don’t keep quiet, someone might overhear. They might peek through the windows and see you like this.” His teeth graze against my nape and a shudder runs down my back. “See how wet you are for me.”
His words provoke another surge of arousal. My walls tighten around his invasion, and deep waves of pleasure spiral into my core.
He takes his hand away from my mouth, and I haul in a dizzying breath of air, whimpering as he withdraws, then slams into me again.
