Page 45 of Gothikana

Suddenly, an arm shot out from the Philosophy section and pulled her in, slamming her against the shelves in the dark corner of the aisle.

The scent was the first thing she noticed, amidst the smell of old books and musty library, that scent of crisp burning wood and brandy. Heart pounding, she tilted her head back, catching a glimpse of the silver eyes before his mouth crashed on hers.

The taste of him jolted her senses, her entire body electrocuted by the pressure of his mouth on hers, coming alive after weeks of slumber. She opened her mouth under his, welcoming the assault of his tongue as he pressed her deeper into the shelves, her hands barely holding onto the books, his hands holding the sides of her face to keep her still as he ravaged her like a maniac given free rein to the madness in his head.

Her heart fluttered as their tongues met, his taste consuming her, his arms keeping her protected in a way Corvina never wanted to lose. She wanted to suspend time and live in the feelings he elicited in her, a warm, beautiful riot of colours in her dark heart.

After consuming her, devouring her, ravishing her for long, long minutes, he pulled back, letting her come up for air, his mercury eyes flashing as he gripped her face.

‘He fucked you yet?’ he muttered the question against her lips, flicking the corner with a soft lick at the end.

It took a second for the words to penetrate her foggy, lustful brain.

And then they did.

A swift wave of anger took hold of her. She gritted her teeth, pushing against him, and he let her face go, putting his hands on either side of her, trapping her between him and the shelves.

‘You have some nerve,’ she spat out in a low voice, the rage in her body making her shake. ‘You tell me not to expect anything, that you don’t get attached. You fuck me and ignore me for weeks, and then you corner me and demand to know if I’ve been with anyone else, like you have some kind of right?’ she hissed. ‘What the fuck is wrong with you?’

Her chest was heaving by the end of her tirade. She had never been as furious as she was right then, her entire body warm, her palms itching to inflict some hurt on him to ease the turmoil inside her.

He completely bypassed her words. ‘Has anyone else been in that pussy?’

Corvina glared at him. ‘As many as have been on your cock,’ she spat out, pushing against him. ‘Now let me go before Jax comes looking for me.’

He leaned forward, the danger rippling off his body crashing into hers, making her push back into the shelf. ‘He wants you.’

Corvina stayed silent, shooting daggers at him with her eyes, her heart crashing in her chest.

He came closer, planting a soft kiss on her nose piercing. ‘He can’t have you.’

‘I’m not yours,’ Corvina reminded him, slightly breathless, severely pissed. ‘You don’t get to decide that.’

The corner of his mouth twitched before he pressed a hard kiss to her lips, making her pulse skitter before lowering his arms. ‘Does Mo get to decide, hmm?’

She was ten seconds away from doing some serious damage. ‘Let me out.’

He pressed another hard kiss to her mouth. ‘Your lipstick tastes good. Pomegranates?’ he mused, licking his moist lips. ‘Wipe it off me.’

Corvina stared at the little of her purple shade that had transferred to his mouth, getting whiplash from his constant back and forth, and shoved him, creating enough space to walk away. ‘Wipe it off yourself.’

So much for smudge-proof lip colours.

He came tothe class as Mr Deverell again, not Vad, the untamed, uninhibited man she knew existed under that cold, controlled veneer. It was like two different sides of one man, a social self and a shadow self.

His mouth was its usual, pomegranate-free colour.

She hated him slightly for looking at her casually, like he hadn’t tasted her, demanded her, possessed her again, while her insidesfloundered. But she must have been good at pretending, too, because Jade sat by her side, chattering about her elective, not suspecting a thing.

‘Alright.’ Mr Deverell clapped his hands to bring the class to attention as he sat on his desk. ‘For this semester, you have to study a play and a classic. I’ll give you options for both.’

He hopped down and uncapped the marker, dividing the board in two with a vertical line, writing in big bold letters with his left hand at the top of each section.

PLAY

CLASSIC

He went back under ‘PLAY’, and wrote in his crisp, bold strokes:

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