Page 33 of Give In

God, the way she’d moved had been mind-blowing. Almost load-blowing. I’d ripped the damn couch to keep from touching her.

It hadn’t been her practiced moves. It was the unconscious ones that’d seared themselves into my brain, a constant torture each time I closed my eyes.

The lip licking and biting.

The subtle and graceful movements between the strategic ones.

The way the lighting hit, making her golden hair glow like the halo of a naughty angel.

Some people believe that at death, an angel comes to guide souls to heaven.

If that was true, Eden was the angel they sent to guide souls to hell. She’d give them a glimpse of heaven before they spent their eternity in fire.

And every soul would follow her willingly.

I knew that for a fact because it was exactly what I was doing. I craved that little bit of heaven with Eden, knowing full well I was condemning myself to hell in the process.

Something as simple as her smile was enough to have me signing away my soul. Not that I got the bright ones directed at me. Those were for everyone else. Like Crosby, when she’d look up at him as if the damn world wasn’t a shit place. Like everything was fucking rainbows and glitter.

No, I didn’t get those smiles. But I’d been inordinately pleased when she’d looked over her shoulder to give me a small one.

Having it back, I knew I’d never let her take it away again. It was like oxygen to me. I needed it to survive, which showed how fucked-up I was.

Fucked-up enough to watch her on her date.

Fucked-up enough to visit her at work, torturing us both.

Fucked-up enough to risk everything I’d built. Everything I’d worked for.

Fucked-up enough to push her away before I clutched her at the last second, refusing to do what was right.

No, not me. I was a selfish bastard.

Everything she did seemed like a taunt. An attack. And I was so out of my mind when it came to her, I had to strike back.

That’d been the only reason I’d gone into the room with the bottle-blonde—Diamond or Emerald or some stupid shit. When she’d started stripping, I’d stopped her, telling her I just wanted to talk. Other than her sharing one usable piece of info, the time had been a waste.

I hadn’t been tempted to repeat the experience because Eden hadn’t been fazed by it.

Looking back at my phone, I smirked as I connected the call.

I wanted Eden fazed.

I wanted her as fucked-up as she had me.

If she was dragging my soul to hell, hers was coming, too.

Chapter Eight

Footloose, but With More Boobs

Damien

“Professor Caine, did you try to get me fired?”

I hadn’t expected a confrontation, but when Eden had stormed into the classroom, I’d known I was getting one.

And it made me hard.

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