Page 88 of Shattered Stars
And then I’d come deep inside her tight, sweet, beautiful pussy.
I grunt. My cock twitching in my hand, ribbons of come spilling into my lap.
I toss the pad to the ground and flip back my head. For a moment, I feel calm, swimming in the drowsy buzz of my orgasm and my joint.
It lasts precisely one fucking lousy minute. And then the shame and the hatred, the frustration and the desperation come flooding back. Like a tidal wave, hitting me so hard, I nearly tumble from my seat.
I can’t bear it.
I wave my hand through the air, cleaning up the mess I’ve made of myself, trying hard not to imagine her licking it up with her tongue.
Then I stub out the joint and scramble to my feet. I need to see her again.
She knowsto keep her dorm room locked with magic these days so there’s no longer any chance of slipping inside, of watching her while she sleeps. Instead, I linger outside in the darkness. It’s pathetic. If anyone knew, they’d laugh at me. If they believed it. Tristan Kennedy loitering outside some girl’s room like a love sick puppy? Yeah, it’s usually the girls loitering outside mine.
I’m not sure I care. The ache in my stomach is less intense closer to her, even if there’s a fucking wall separating the two of us. My body – fuck it, probably fate too – wants me close by her and it’s too hard to resist that pull.
So I stand here and I wait, straining to hear a whisper of her voice, peering at the window for just a glimpse of her.
It’s obsessive. Maybe it’s more like me than anyone will ever know.
For once, my obsession and my patience is rewarded because her door opens and she comes scurrying out, her hand buried in the pockets of her jacket, her hood pulled up and her pig trotting by her side.
She turns and says something to the roommate and then she’s pushing the doors of the building open and stepping outside, peering into the darkness as she does.
She hurries along the path, taking a meandering, unusual route that makes no sense. Is she out walking the pig? She’s never done that before. Usually the little creature seems happyenough hanging out in her room or on the small patch of grass below her window.
I close the distance between us a little and she peers over her shoulder, squinting through the darkness, and frowning. But she doesn’t stop, and she doesn’t challenge me. She’s too engrossed in her thoughts. Just when I think she’s heading back, when I’m considering intercepting her, she takes a sudden left turn, hugging the back of the laboratory building and cutting across the back way to the meadow.
The meadow. Why the hell is she heading to the meadow at this time of night? To exercise the pig? Its tummy certainly has rounded over the last few weeks but it doesn’t look like the kind of animal that endures exercise.
At the edge of the meadow, she hesitates, glancing over her shoulder again and then peering out over the long grass, swinging her gaze left and right. When she determines there’s no one about, she hurries across the grass, straight through the trees at the far side and then down the slope where I’d kissed her and through another meadow to …
I halt.
What the fuck?
Stone’s cabin. He’s there standing on the porch. Is he waiting for her? Did he know she was coming?
They must be meeting to discuss my cousin. He was ordered to accompany Spencer to the front. He’ll be gone for days. Maybe weeks. Maybe the professor has a message from his friend for the girl.
When she reaches the bottom of the cabin steps, the professor smiles – not his usual sardonic grin, something genuine, happy even. An expression I don’t think I’ve ever seen on his face before. Rhi races up the steps, the pig lingering behind her, and falls straight into the arms of the waiting professor.
This can’t be right. Am I seeing things?
I stand there, peering through the starlit night, too shocked to move as the professor draws my fated mate right against his body and kisses her mouth. Then he’s lifting her into his arms and carrying her inside his cabin.
And if I didn’t think my world was fucked up enough it comes crashing down around me.
What the actual hell?
I’m racing up the steps to the cabin before I know what I’m doing and blasting through the doors. They stand there, horror all over their faces, his hand tight on her waist, hers fisted in his shirt.
“Tristan!” she cries.
I charge at him, pushing her out of the way and swinging for the professor. He ducks, my knuckles grazing his cheek bone.
“He’s your best friend! You fucking dickhead! Your best friend!”
