“Add pressing charges against you for revenge porn to the list, should you ever show anyone that video,” I quip, forcing boredom into my tone as I boldly meet his stare. “Everyone will know it’s you based on the dates you wrote all over me.”
“You want to discuss crimes, baby?” he challenges. “What about the white residue at the bottom of my Gatorade? I still have plenty of bottles you tapped, and all it takes is showing them the metadata of that picture to prove you were there that night.”
I shrug nonchalantly. “Doesn’t prove I actually did it. You could’ve done it yourself to frame me.”
He chuckles devilishly, light impressions of his dimples forming above his cheeks.
I hate them.
They’re incredibly ugly. So is his face.
His heart, too.
“Who are they going to believe, darling? You or me?”
My upper lip twitches into a snarl, barely containing myself from punching him. I’ll happily create new dents in his face that’llactuallymake him ugly.
With great effort, I force myself to face forward instead, refusing to take the bait and let him rile me up. He wants me to react, and I’ve done enough reacting without thinking where he’s concerned.
“That could’ve ruined my entire career,” he continues, his tone turning serious once more.
“You sure it wasn’t one of your conquests?” I query.
“I don’t bring women into my room,” he bites out.
“You brought me into it.”
Another soft chuckle, and the sinister sound slithers through my ear canal before making its way down my throat, leaving an oily residue in its wake.
“Baby, we both know you’re no woman. More like a cockroach.”
I try to ignore how those cruel words materialize into a fist and clench around my heart, along with the sharp, stabbing pain that follows suit.
I notch my chin an inch toward him and pin him with a glare. He hit the target he intended, so I shove that hurt down and focus on my anger instead. But it’s hard when he’s close enough for me to make out the dark blue rings around his irises, or that his lips are mere centimeters from mine.
I’ve had e-fucking-nough of those lips.
“There are no cockroaches without filth,” I hiss. “And you’ve already proven that you have no issue sticking your tongue down my throat, so what does that make you?”
One corner of his lips curls wolfishly, just enough to hint at those dimples around his eyes again.
A loud clap snaps me out of the trancelike state I’ve fallen into. I hadn’t realized the entire world disappeared around us, and the sharp sound sends me barreling back to reality with a harsh shove.
But I refuse to remove my glare from Dread, which only seems to amuse him more.
“Okay, folks, that’s it for today. Don’t forget to submit your articles by the end of next week.”
I hear Dr. Camry’s voice, followed by the rustle of students closing their laptops and gathering their papers, then the scrape of metal legs against the thin carpet.
Even so, I hold his gaze.
You should never turn your back to an undomesticated beast.
“It took me a full day to sleep off the meds,” he tells me quietly, his gaze dipping to my lips before returning to my eyes. The briefest of flickers, yet it instantly sets the acid in my stomach aflame. Heat is supposed to rise, but instead, it’s pooling lower and lower until it works its way down between my legs. Those flickers of memories of his tongue licking mine are more vivid and insistent, making them harder to ignore.
He raises his hand to brush his knuckles across my cheekbone softly, evoking a static charge that has me bristling.
“All I dreamed about was you.”
