Page 87 of A Heart of Bluestone

My lashes flutter open as a gust of breath sucks through me, sharp. I don’t get more than heartbeat before his hand pushes up my neck to my jaw, and he shoves my head back, angling my face to meet his.

Dray’s mouth crashes down on mine, hard.

The groan that rattles me is guttural.

I force every ounce of strength I have into my neck, my chin, and Ipullllllaside. My lips smush over his, flesh pressed too tightly together, and I gasp for air—

Dray hisses an annoyed sound and, digging his fingers into my jaw, he jerks my face back into place. His kiss comes harder, firmer, the pressure against my teeth earns a squeal from me.

That squeal turns savage the harder his body presses against mine—and I feelit, in his sweatpants, pushing into my pelvis. His arousal.

My legs are kicking now. Kicking at nothing more than air. I rip out my hands from between our bodies and bring my fists down on him.

Dray pulls me from the wall, just a touch, then smacks me back into it, hard.

A grunt catches in my chest, the sliver of a trembled breath from my lips.

Dray doesn’t swallow it.

His mouth has left mine.

Now, the tip of his nose whispers a graze over mine, and his eyes—alight like blue flames—burn into mine.

I catch my breath. Stolen from me too long, suffocated, my chest heaves with the harsh breaths scraping through me.

Dray’s grip on my jaw flexes. And the look he’s smouldering with is nothing that says I’ll be released any time soon.

But then—

“Dray?”

My heart slingshots.

“Dray, are you down here?”

My face is stuck in place, but I swerve my gaze down the corridor, the direction I need to take back to the dorms. And also the direction of Melody’s call, slick and sweet, candied.

“Dray?” Her pitch hikes, doubt in her voice.

I have never been grateful to hear Melody Green anywhere near me. Before now.

By the way she is calling him, I’m guessing she’s the whole reason he is even in the old Faculty Quarter to begin with. Like I said, these old rooms, classrooms and bedrooms and broom closets, are used a lot by the students.

Without warning, Dray pulls away from me.

My sock-clad feet thud onto the floorboards.

Mouth swollen, I drag the back of my hand over my lips and aim my watery frown at him.

Dray has little sympathy, and no regret for anything in his life. He looks me over once, his jaw tightening, then he turns—and stalks down the corridor.

He follows Melody’s voice out onto the next hallway—and not a moment after, I hear the squeal of surprise jolt her, a giggle that’s short lived, then a gasp.

I wait, still and slumped, against the wall. My wide eyes burn a hole into the floor.

Then—distant—I hear the slamming of a door.

I flinch.

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