Page 132 of Toxic

He didn’t seem 100% convinced, but I didn’t have the energy to talk to him, nor the desire to prove anything.

I struggled to fall asleep, tossing and turning, a constant hard-on making it almost impossible. I was empty inside, wanting to be filled, a longing that only intensified.

The next two days weren't any easier. I spent time with Skye from morning until evening. It took an immense amount of willpower not to invite him to my room on another night.

There was a terrible conflict within me—loyalty to Liam and the promise I’d given him, versus the almost overwhelming desire to be close to Skye.

Those dilemmas seemed to fill my entire day. When I sat next to him during the lecture, our elbows sometimes brushed, giving me goosebumps. I tried hard to control myself and not glance at him too often, but it wasn’t easy because he was always looking at me. I could see his hungry eyes traveling over my neck, shoulders, and back while he sat next to me. He didn't make any moves that would have upset Liam, but his desire was unmistakable. Sometimes, I noticed how dilated his pupils were. When we rode the hotel elevator together with a group of people, Skye and I had to squeeze into a corner, and our bodies pressed against each other. I heard his quickened breathing; his eyes were almost devouring me. My heart started racing, and I was sure he could hear it—maybe even everyone else in the elevator could. One of the omegas riding with us glanced at us, amused.

It went on and on—a never-ending temptation, a feeling of discomfort in my pants, sometimes I had the impression that my erection was permanent.

How much longer could I take this? Finally, the third day came, and one of the other guys from DevApp, who was also a participant here, told us that some of the course attendees would be partying that night in the hotel club. Other D-Project employees were supposed to come too, so it sounded like it would be a substantial event.

I felt so frustrated by the constant sexual tension that I said to Skye, "Maybe we should go. It’d be good to dance. We're just stuck in these lectures all the time. I feel so stiff…" I muttered, hoping it didn’t sound like I was talking about my dick—though that was true too.

"Sure," he agreed immediately. "I feel very stiff too. All the time. All the fucking time."

His eyes, as always, seemed glued to my face. Honestly, I don’t think anyone had ever stared at me as intensely as Skye had, in my entire life.

Maybe for that reason, every morning before meeting with him, I was paying extra attention to my daily grooming—making sure to take long showers, brush and style my hair, change my rings and earrings, just to make it interesting. I even switched up my nail polish from black to silver, to graphite, to navy-starry-blue, because he kept noticing these small changes and every time complimented them. It was a nice little thing we had. There was even this funny ritual we started, where every day, soon after the first lesson, he would gently take one of my hands and skim his fingertips over my nails, muttering some sweet words like, "This glitter looks like little galaxies swirling on your fingernails…" Or he’d brush my rings and spin them a bit, checking if I was wearing a new one, saying stuff like, "This ring has a striped flint stone—I like those, so rare…"

During these cute incidents, he held both of my hands, and I allowed it. My dick would get hard, of course, and my breath would quicken, but I indulged in these moments on so many other levels, allowing myself to enjoy the almost innocent interactions guilt-free. There were even a few instances when I allowed him to raise my hands to his lips and place a kiss on the back of my palm. He did it so lovingly and respectfully at the same time, I just could not deny him that.

That third day at the hotel, I went back to my room to get ready for the night at the club. I pulled out an outfit from my suitcase, and I didn’t even know why I’d brought it—it was really provocative. It was a mesh shirt that, if you looked closely, you could see my nipples through. It had a deep neckline that plunged to my chest, and an even deeper one on the back. I paired it with black leggings that had thin silver embroidery along the sides of the thighs, clinging tightly to my legs, crotch and butt, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination.

I put on some makeup—lined my eyes with thick black eyeliner, added some silver eyeshadow, and painted my lips a deep, vibrant pink. I also sprinkled a bit of silver glitter on my cheeks and hair.

Even I, someone usually pretty critical of my own appearance, had to admit—I looked hot.

I stared at myself in the mirror for a moment. I needed a drink tonight. I wasn’t a big fan of alcohol, even though I’d overused it after Anton dumped me. I had removed it from my life completely, but this was one of those days when I really wanted to forget all this tension—to dissolve it somehow. And that’s exactly what I planned to do.

I got a text from Skye that he was waiting in the hallway.

A shiver of excitement ran through me. In just a moment, he’d be looking at me with those hungry eyes of his, taking in my provocatively dressed body.

I opened the door and saw Skye waiting for me in jeans and a black T-shirt. Just as I expected, his eyes were piercing me like harpoons. He opened his mouth like he was about to say something, swallowed, and then closed it again. After a moment, he managed to stutter out, "You look really—"

"Slutty?"

"No! Beautiful, sexy."

"Seriously, you could come up with some new compliments. All you ever say is that I’m beautiful. It’s becoming boring."

"Sorry I’m boring you. What do you want me to say?"

"Something more creative, maybe?" I teased with a playful tone.

What had gotten into me? Why was I provoking him like this?

Skye took up the challenge, looked at me, and said, "You really want me to keep complimenting you? I could go on all day. How perfect, how talented, how sexy and seductive you are without even trying. And I could also tell you how much I want you. Walking around with a painful boner all these days is killing me. I could also tell you how much I adore you. I could even tell you how badly I want to steal you away from Liam… But I just don't know how to do it without pissing you off in the process."

Was I expecting that whole rant about the impossibility of us? Nope. So, I didn’t respond. What was I supposed to say? Get mad? Promise him something—or promise him nothing at all? This was crazy. I had a feeling this night was going to end in tragedy—I just knew it.

Without a word, I headed toward the elevator, and he followed. There was no one else in it—just the two of us and the mirror.

"You’re really making things hard for me, Soren, dressing like that," he muttered. "Pun intended."

"Well," I said, tapping my forehead with my fingers, "Everything’s in here. It’s all about control at the level of the mind."

---