Page 60 of If You Dare

When Chloe told me about why she loved figure skating, how it felt to be on the ice—like she was soaring, like she was untouchable—I told her that’s how I feel when I’m writing.

I’ve been missing this feeling for months. I hope wherever Chloe is now, she feels nothing else.

She’d love reading the smut I’m writing. She’d be reading out loud over my shoulder, giggling right along with me.

Except when the love interest says,Get on your knees for me, I realize he sounds an awful lot like Wes.

The door to the library creaks open. Since it’s nearing two and the place is empty, I’m at a back table. At this hour, I assume it's a cleaner or another sleep-deprived student until the lock clicks shut.

Followed by familiar footsteps.

The slow thud of each of his combat boots is echoed by my heartbeat in my ears. I watch motionless as he approaches.

His boots stop beside my chair. Tonight, he’s in dark jeans, a Diamond University hoodie, and a mask. Didn’t want anyone to identify the guy crossing campus at nearly two in the morning.

My palms grow slick, throat closing up. I don’t know what to expect from him anymore. I want to ask if more Devils will be joining us, but I’m afraid of the answer.

He plants a meaty hand on the table. The one he used to choke me. To rub between my legs. Behind his mask, his eyes are unreadable. “I need a book.”

Right. I’m sure that’s exactly why he’s here. I nod and clear my throat. “Um. Okay.”

“Up,” he commands.

I rise.

He nods to the stacks behind us, gesturing for me to lead the way.

I head down the first row of books until I near the end. He strides past me, flicking the light switch and casting the shelves in shadow.

“Wes, what—”

His body pins me to the shelves and my heart leaps to my throat. “Shut the fuck up,” he growls.

He shoves his mask up, finally revealing the flawless, gorgeous face beneath, before smashing his lips against mine.

Adrenaline shoots through me like lightning. His lips are so much softer than I remember, exploring mine with shocking tenderness before his tongue sweeps into my mouth.

My knees grow weak at the feel of him. This is happening. This is really happening.

I’m kissing Wes Novak.

I never thought this would happen again. Hell, I never thought it would happen the first time.

Except this time, it’s not sweet or romantic or tender. It’s rough and possessive and claiming. Like we’re not sharing something—he is merely taking. Taking what he wants from me, what he’s been restraining himself against.

I shouldn’t love it as much as I do.

He bites down on my bottom lip, making me gasp, before sucking it into his mouth, sweeping away the slight twinge of pain. I can’t keep myself upright anymore. Wes’s hand drops from the shelf behind my head and latches onto my hip, pinning me in place.

He lets my hands land on his chest, the heart beneath my palm hammering just as hard as my own.

A new fear flutters in my gut. A repeat of what he did to me in my philosophy class. Bringing me so close to the edge before pulling away and taking every bit of pleasure with him.

He yanks my shirt up and my bra down, the cool, air-conditioned air kissing across my exposed skin and making my nipples peak. “These belong to me now,” he growls before sucking my nipple into his mouth.

I gasp, and his mask falls to the floor as I clutch at his hair. He rips my hands from his head and slams them down against the shelves. I whimper, and he curls my fingers around the wood. “Don’t fucking move.”

He keeps sucking on my nipple, pulling it deeper into his mouth. Pleasure sings through my veins and wetness pools between my legs.

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