Page 68 of Tell Me Lies

But this wasn’t how it would go down. No. She should not have my back against the wall. But one thing was for certain. We were now on the same playing field. She was as debased as I was.

I moved fast, lifting her up off her heels, and pushed her back against the wall. She cried out, heavy breath bellowing in and out of her.

“And I know who you are and what you want.” I forced my knee between her legs, parting them. “Am I wrong?”

She bit her lip, her eyes heavy and drunk. The heat between us intensified, and the urge I wanted to control said fuck you. No more control, only giving in to our impulses. In a flash, our lips met, crashing against each other in a wild, sloppy kiss that went on far too long.

But I craved it, and she gave to me everything I asked for. I explored her mouth, every crease with my tongue, and she gave back every bit to me. The relief of finally kissing her should have come. And should have quelled whatever the fuck I needed, what we needed from each other. It didn’t. I wanted more. Much more.

I slid my hand under her dress. “This is what you want. Right?”

She moaned.

“Say it, Anya. Tell me you want to come.”

“I want to come, Mr. Miller.”

I brushed the rigid lace of her panties. She was soaked. I groaned. What would it be like to burrow inside her? I could only imagine how good she felt. The taboo of wanting her made it more delicious. I wanted what I shouldn’t want.

Anya writhed against my hand, urging me on. And I was so close to slipping my hand inside her panties and finding her wet heat, and taking her to the precipice of pleasure with just my finger, because, yes, I was that fucking good. But she didn’t get to decide when I would make her come. She didn’t get to dictate how I would do it either. If I would.

I pulled my hand back, feeling so many things. Regret. Lust. Hate. My revenge would come in a hurricane. In a storm of confusion and pleasure and so much devastation.

When I could delve into enough self-loathing to do it, I had no idea.

I leaned in, nearly an inch from her frowning, confused face. “You’ll get the grade you want when you stop lying to yourself about who you fucking are. Not a moment before.”

Now she was angry, with red and raging eyes and a grimacing mouth. “I’ll stop when you stop.”

I paused a moment. I’d never been more turned on by a woman in my life. Not a single woman had my full attention as Anya had since the moment we met.

“The difference between me and you is I don’t have to stop anything. But you … you have no choice.”

She stepped back, all the emotions that plagued her visage now gone. Only the sadness I’ve seen and known was apparent on her face. Nothing else.

“May I please have a meeting to discuss my grade, Mr. Miller?”

I stepped back, and waited a long time. Long enough to see a bead of a tear well up and fall down her cheek.

“Monday after the lecture, meet me in my office. I will be there. You have my word.”

Chapter Nine

Anya Sanchez

The weekend was hell. The anticipation of Monday’s lecture and, finally, the private meeting with Mr. Miller nearly killed me. I hated being this anxious. There was a time when I only felt this way. My father was free in the world then, and I never knew who would be killed next.

The despair I was good at tamping down was front and center going into the lecture and throughout the lively conversation, of which I took no part. I kept my eyes down, and all the while, I imagined Mr. Miller’s hand in my panties, finishing what he started at the club.

I had to be insane. Only a crazy person would ruminate on this madness between us. This dysfunction.

But I needed him. For my future.

So, when the lecture was over, I packed my backpack, and without a word or a look at anyone, I made my way out of the auditorium and toward the Criminal Justices faculty offices on the third floor of the building. My awareness was only on myself, my heart beating a million miles a minute. My breathing halting and bellowing, never taking in the air my lungs craved. And my mind. For Pete’s sake, my mind was a roller coaster, ripping along curved rails, circling around at hyper speed. And I obsessed with one question: What did I want?

I didn’t know. Could I dare to want it all? The grade and the fantasy? I had no idea what that meant, and there was the crux of my anxiety. I just didn’t know, and it scared the crap out of me.

I stood in the elevator, only knowing others were there by the heat of bodies close together in the small space. But all were silent, respectful. I closed my eyes. The elevator stopped on the second floor, the doors opening in a whoosh. The elevator shifted as people exited, and then the doors closed again, the mechanism of the elevator cranking and revving for another stop.

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