Page 118 of Swallow Your Sorries

“I told you, I think we have a lot in common and since we’re in an interlude, all we have is time. Every class I get to ask twenty-one questions and you have to answer all of them.Truthfully.”

I don’t trust myself to speak as I ball my ruined button down between my shaking fists.

“And each class has to end with a kiss,” he says, eyeing my lips.

Sure. He can kiss my ass.

“A passionate one. Like the one you just gave me on the table. One that can bring my soul back into my body.”

I freeze at that, hating the way my heart starts to ramp up again.

“I didn’t realise you had one.” It doesn’t come out as snarky as I’d intended. Instead, it’s barely a whisper.

“I didn’t realise it could come back.”

Elle

Gant’s wet locks fall across his forehead, draping his face in shadows. Time slows as I watch each water droplet roll off the strands and onto my wet face that’s quickly drying in the hot sun.

His black eyes aren’t the murderous abysses from our encounter in the theatre, but pools of sheer terror as he gazes down at me.

I can feel each of his fingertips pressing into my sternum, into the edges of my breasts as he pushes down with another chest compression. Then his full lips are on mine and he’s breathing for us both.

When he pulls away, a silvery string of saliva keeps us connected.

I should be repulsed.

“You came back to me…”

But I’m not.

The scene changes and the sparkling lake behind him turns into the navy, midnight sky sprinkled with starry diamonds. I gaze up at them with dry lashes through the filthy film of the greenhouse’s glass ceiling. But then something tugs at me.

A mouth.

Gant’s mouth is still on me, tonguing my pussy and sucking on my clit.

I reach for him, running my fingers through his undercut and holding him fast to me. The slippery smacking sounds of his kisses only make me wetter as my walls pulse, achy and desperate for something bigger. Something harder than his soft tongue.

Gant…

Please…

I shift uncomfortably, feeling more wetness, but it isn’t warm and sensual and sticky. It’s thin and runny and…

I bolt upright in bed and stare at the cold, dark stain spreading across my pyjama top. Without thinking, I whip it over my head and toss it onto the floor, desperate to get the freezing liquid off of me.

“Your tits are huge. No wonder Gant’s obsessed.”

I nearly throw out my back and neck as I whip to the side to see Aria. She’s standing over me, her eyes full of sleep and annoyance, an empty glass in her hand, a giant purple satin bonnet on her head. “I tried to wake you up three times without it, but it’s like you’re in some sort of trance.”

Stassi stares at me from her bed, her sleep mask hastily pushed up onto her forehead. “What’s that dream about anyway? It sounds like the same one you had last night.”

“And the night before,” Aria adds. “You were moaning.”

“Moaning?” I ask, nervously rubbing water from my eyes as I stall for a reasonable answer. Shaking the water droplets off my duvet, I throw it off me because, despite the cold, I’m burning up. That is until I realise I’m still exposed and grab the flat sheet instead, pressing it high against my throat.

“And panting. Like you were in heat.” Stassi says. “Who the hell were you fantasising about?”

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