That drags my gaze away. My eyes widen at her, pleading for her not to leave me alone in this small, private room. Not with him. Please save me.
Her lips crook into a knowing smirk that rivals one of Brody’s, further proving that I attract sadists.
“You two get lots of studying done,” she sing-songs as she lets herself out, closing the door behind her.
Suddenly the workspace feels overwhelmingly tight. I’m choking on Brody’s energy, on the tension between us. All I can think about is the last time we were alone together in one of thesestudy rooms. How he’d made me crawl under the table and read my Communications notes at his feet until I finally broke because I couldn’t concentrate.
Brody scooted his chair all the way back so I could straighten up and looked at me for so long I was worried he wasn’t going to do anything to alleviate my situation, making it impossible to get up and walk out of here comfortably. It’s one of the first times I initiated contact, where I touched him first. I’d practically climbed into his lap to rub myself on him, but we were in danger of breaking the chair, and the table creaked when he sat me on it.
We ended up on the floor, with Brody on top of me, rolling his hips against me the way I’ve seen men fuck women in movies or porn. As much as I told myself that I shouldn’t like it, his hard bulge rubbed me just the right way, and I wrapped my legs around him tighter, flexing into him as he thrusted against me. When I came, he swallowed my cries and breathed in every whimper, telling me how sexy I was and how much he liked making me break for him.
Because that’s what he does. He breaks me.
I’m afraid that he’s broken me beyond repair this time. That I can’t pretend this is a game ever again. Because it means something now. There are feelings involved. I can see it in the way he’s watching me right now.
“I know what you’re thinking about,” he says, his tone light and teasing.
“I sincerely doubt that.”
“Tell me then.”
“It’s none of your goddamn business. Now, are we here to study or what?”
“Or what,” he answers pointedly.
“That was rhetorical.”
“I’m aware.” He grins and I hate the twitch at the corners of my mouth that make my mouth want to copy his.
I turn my attention back to my practice test, but the question about enterprise versus equity value and calculating implied share price might as well be written in ancient Greek. The letters and words merge and blur on the page.
Finally, I give up and look up to find him still watching me.
“Why are you here?” I snap. “How did you even get Caty to invite you?”
“I saw her in line at the student union and asked her if I could join your study group. She didn’t even hesitate. Say what you will about that girl, but she knows a good thing when she sees it.”
I ignore his indirect jab at Caty and scoff. “Let me guess, you think you’re the good thing?”
“I thinkwe’rea good thing.”
“Wearen’t anything.”
He sticks out his bottom lip in an exaggerated pout. “Come on, Becky. You know that’s not true.”
“Stop calling me that.”
“You love it.”
“I do not.”
He’s right. I do love it. But I don’t want to. I don’t want to like him looking at me like I’m a cute, fluffy rabbit and he’s a big bad wolf about to devour me whole. I don’t like that the idea of being devoured by him is so enticing. And I absolutely do not, under any circumstances, enjoy feeling like a soft, delicate thing in his grasp. I hate being petted and cooed at like a weak little pet. Even more, I hate turning and presenting myself when he so much as blinks at me the right way, because some primal instinct gets triggered in his presence.
I’ve come to terms with the fact that all these things are true. But I don’t want them to be true.
“Come here, Becky.”
“Brody. Not here. I’m studying. If I fail this finance class, I’ll be fucked.”
