Page 6 of Playing with Fyre

Wait. Why is he here? Is he…is he following me?

The hair on my arms stands up. A rush of heat floods through me, warming my already pink cheeks. I unzip my jacket and flap the two halves to try and cool down a little, but as circumspectly as I can so I don’t draw Fyre’s attention.

Unless he’s already seen me. Shit, what if he thinks I’m avoiding him?

Now my cheeks are on fire. And the worst part is, even if I wanted to escape this infernal torture, I’d have to walk right past him to get to the door.

I’m trapped.

A trickle of sweat tickles down my back.

Think, Charlotte, think!

I jerk when my phone rings impossibly loud. Instantly, I hear a bunch of grumbles around me. I fumble in my pocket, trying desperately to silence my phone. But when I try and take it out of my pocket, it hooks on my jacket and goes flying out of my hand. I scamper after it, but a loafer comes down just right and stops it from slamming into the wall a few feet away.

My heart stutters. I recognize that shoe.

When I look up, Fyre’s bronze eyes are hooded, his jaw taut. “I thought I recognized you,” he murmurs, his deep voice turning into a low rumble.

He bends down and picks up my phone, dusting it off against his dark trench coat before handing it over to me. When I try and take it, he catches me in a steely grip, crushing the phone between our fingers.

I open my mouth to tell him to let go, but then he drags me closer. My eyes fly back to his, and I swallow hard, my phone forgotten in my hand.

Is he going to kiss me? He must be. Why else would he be drawing me close, scanning my face—

Someone bumps my shoulder as they squeeze past the queue.

That’s why.

Because I’m in the goddamn way.

“Sorry,” he says in that deep but quiet voice of his, but it’s a lie. He’s not sorry. Someone else pushes past me, and they’re not as polite as the one before. They jar me so hard, I fall against Fyre.

His dark brows twitch. “Are you okay?”

Fuck no. I’m all hot and bothered because just last night, I fell asleep seconds after climaxing to the thought of him eating me out.

Wetness pools in my underwear.

I gasp, utter mortification staining my cheeks. I’m wearing a denim skirt and knee-high boots today, so all that’s standing between me and the whole world knowing how wet this man makes me is a tiny slip of fabric—which is already soaking wet.

Twisting out of his grip, I charge out of the diner’s entrance, not caring who I knock into on the way out. He calls my name, but I don’t turn back.

Chapter Four

Charlotte

When I go to open my door almost an hour later, it’s with the full expectation that it’s my cat-hoarding neighbor who’ll be standing there, asking me if I’ve seen one of her many feral cats.

But, instead, when I wrench open the door, it’s Professor Fyre looming over me, not Mrs. Crawford with a cat on her arm.

Am I hallucinating? Is this some weird sex day-dream?

But no. As soon as Fyre clears his throat and holds up my phone, I know it’s real because the screen is cracked.

My dreams are never this detailed.

I take my phone with trembling fingers. “Wh—How—Where—?”

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