"Very." He headed for the door. "Thirty minutes, Shanice. Don't be late."
Then he left.
I lay there for a moment, stunned. Then rage replaced the arousal.
That bastard!
I grabbed a pillow and screamed into it. Then threw it at the door. Then threw another one. And another. From the hallway, I heard Mikhail's low chuckle. That made it worse. I wanted to storm out there and hit him. Or kiss him. Or both. Or Neither.
Instead, I dragged myself out of bed and into the shower, turning the water as cold as I could stand.
It didn't help.
Thirty minutes later, I came downstairs dressed and ready, my hair still damp, my body still humming with unsatisfied need.
Mikhail was waiting by the door, looking perfectly calm and content. Like he hadn't just worked me into a frenzy and left me hanging.
"Ready?" he asked cheerfully.
I glared at him. "I hate you."
"You keep saying that."
"Because it keeps being true."
He smiled and opened the door. "Let's go."
The drive to campus was torture. Mikhail was relaxed, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on his thigh as usual. He hummed along to the radio, completely unbothered.
Meanwhile, I was wound so tight I thought I might snap.
Every time he shifted in his seat, I noticed. Every time his hand moved, I watched. My body was hypersensitive, still primed from this morning, and being this close to him was making it worse.
"You good?" he asked, glancing at me.
"Fine," I bit out.
"You sure? You look a little flushed." He smirked and I wanted to punch that all knowing expression off his face. But I was angry, not stupid.
I’d never hit him and I knew exactly why. I didn’t do domestic abuse in relationships, and I very much wanted Mikhail. I just didn’t know if I wanted everything else he was offering.
"I'm fine."
He smiled, that infuriating, sexy smile of his. The one that turned me to mush every time that I saw it. "If you say so."
I spent the rest of the drive staring out the window, trying to think about anything except the ache between my legs. It didn't work.
Classes were a blur. I couldn't focus, couldn't pay attention. My mind kept drifting back to this morning, to the way Mikhail had touched me, kissed me, worked me up and left me desperate. By the time my last class ended, I was exhausted and frustrated and so sexually wound up I wanted to scream.
Mikhail was waiting outside, of course. Always there watching.
"How was class?" he asked as we walked to the SUV.
"Fine."
"Learn anything interesting?"
"No."
