Page 113 of Endless Anger
“Hi,” I say, because it’s the polite thing to do.
Not because I care or suddenly forgive him. Especially not after thedean revealed he’d been buddying up to Curators—and here I’d thought his fighting with them meant he understood how much I despise them.
Before I can react, he kisses me in front ofeveryone, slipping his tongue between my lips. A spark flickers in the space between us, and for a split second it’s just us two.
His soul and mine, floating somewhere in the ether.
Lifting my hand, I go to pry him off, but my fingers curl into his hair instead, keeping him in place.
Fuck, am I in trouble.
Sense slams into me when he tips my head, deepening the kiss and making my insides turn to jelly. I shove at his chest, breaking contact after a moment, though he doesn’t make it easy.
“What the fuck,” Aurora whispers.
Yuri blushes. “Your question from the other day makes total sense now.”
Clearing my throat as Asher plants my chair back on the floor, I wipe my lips with the tips of shaky fingers, ignoring his expectant gaze. Shit, I can barely think straight now, the buzz from his presence zapping all my focus.
“Are you trying to make me jealous, Ash-tree?” Foxe complains, dropping his forehead to the table. “Because it’s working.”
“For fuck’s sake. It was just a kiss, people. In some countries, that’s the standard greeting,” Asher says as he plops into a chair on the other side of me.
“Sure,” Yuri agrees. “But most of those kisses aren’t French.”
Hooking his ankle around one of my chair legs, Asher yanks me closer, spreading his knees and fitting me between them. I reach out to keep from falling, my palm landing high on his thigh.
I gulp.
He smirks.
“What’re we studying for?”
Shaking my head, I try to peel my fingers off him, but he reaches down and covers my hand with his, keeping them there.
“Asher,” I warn in a low voice.
“Lucy,” he replies, leaning in until our noses are almost touching. “Don’t you think we already obliterated some lines? Is a little PDA going to kill you?”
“It might.”
“Come on. Just let me be near you.”
I can feel everyone else’s eyes glued to us as they strain to listen in on our conversation. Heat envelops my face, making me dizzy, and I glance down at our hands. His thumb strokes mine, but he doesn’t make a move to push me higher or invade more of my space.
I’m not really sure what I was expecting after I let him finger fuck me upstairs. Maybe that he’d be done, having somehow gotten what he wanted from me, even though we didn’t go all the way.
But I guess maybe there’s a part of me that will always assume the worst. Once you’ve been ditched with no explanation, your heart shattered and left flattened on the floor, believing someone wants to stay becomes an insurmountable feat.
I haven’t decided if I forgive him yet, or if I even want to. I’m not even positive pursuinganythingwith him is a good idea, especially if he’s getting involved with Curator shit, but…
My hand stays on his leg as I return my gaze to my textbook.
“There you go,” he murmurs, grinning. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
“Only because I have more important things to do than argue with you.”
He hums, resting his forehead on my shoulder. “Need me to get the test answers?”
