Page 215 of Forbidden Lessons

What the hell am I doing?

Is it the fucking drugs messing with me, or what? All I can think about is how good it would feel to be wrapped in Bastian’s arms. How tight he’d hold me. How warm his body would be against mine. Everything he’s done for me these past couple of weeks. He’s been so kind, so thoughtful, and I’ve just thrown it back in his face.

Ungrateful.

I pluck the towel free and let it drop to the floor. Cool air glides over my skin, and I pause for a moment, waving my fingers through air as thick as cream.

Lick my lip again, wincing when it stings.

Ouch.

My hand is on the bathroom door. The faucet starts running inside, and I hear the shower door click closed. I hesitate, then slide the door open an inch. Two. Three.

Just enough so I can peek inside.

The air is so much warmer in here, and it flows over my skin as I duck my head in.

Bastian has his back to the door, messing with the faucet. Steam is building up, to stick to the glass door separating us, turning his body into a pale smudge against the black tiles. The foggy air smells like his body wash, and I take a big hit as I slide the door open just enough to step into the bathroom.

My heart is hammering so hard, I swear he could hear it if the shower wasn’t running.

What will he do?

Will he turn me away?

Or will he let me inside with him?

I can feel every tiny water droplet suspended in the air as it cleaves to my skin. Reaching behind me, I fumble for the door, trying to close it without taking my eyes off Bastian’s tall, pale body.

Imagining what’s behind that clouded up glass. If that darker smudge is the hair above his cock. If?—

There’s a loud rapping at the front door.

It feels like someone tapping on my skull.

I gasp, and then Bastian turns to look at the door, and sees me, and I gasp again. My arm wraps around my breasts, the other slides between my legs.

“Shit!” I spin around, hitting my shoulder on the bathroom door as I wrestle my way through it to get out.

“Haven?” Bastian calls after me.

I snatch up the hoodie Bastian left on the bed, tugging it over my head, my legs almost tangling under me as I head for the front door.

But then I stop, because this isn’t my house, and should I be answering Professor Rooke’s?—?

Knock, knock, knock, knock, knock.

Harder than before. Angry almost.

Who is it?

“Who is it?” I call out, my voice echoing, warbling, so fucking weird in my own ears.

My heart is pounding, and my skin thrums along with each heartbeat.

The knocking stops.

I stand on tiptoes and peer out through the peephole. The only thing out there are a few tastefully lit plants on the edges of the porch, and a whole lot of darkness.

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