Page 83 of Forever We Fall

“Did you enjoy yourself?” Hota asks.

“Yes.” Her hand falls to her side.

“Then there’s nothing for you to feel ashamed of or embarrassed about.” His shoulder bobs. “It was fun, and it felt good.”

“Could we…maybe do it again sometime?” She beams.

“We’ll see.” He walks her to the door and unlocks it. “None of us can afford to get caught. Right?”

She nods emphatically. “I need this job.”

Arguably, she doesn’t. Trying to sleep with students is a no-no. No matter how freaky they are or how young of a staff member you are.

But we need this school. This education. This fucked-up friendship.

“Don’t you need papers signed?” I remind her.

Her cheeks go a shade of red I didn’t know skin could turn without impact. When all our gazes hit them, they are crumpled on the floor like used tissue. “I don’t really…” She huffs. “Can you throw them away for me?”

Without waiting for a response, she pulls the door open and rushes out without a parting kiss or a backward glance.

Hota closes and locks the door, then turns to face me. His arms are braced wide, and his full lips are pressed into a line. He’s spoiling for a fight. I don’t have the bandwidth for it. My cock is about to explode, and my heart hurts from all the things I cannot have. All the things I cannot give Hota. Because ofhim. Fucking demonhim.

Before he can say anything, I stand and head for the bathroom. “I need a shower.”

“You need to come.” His gaze hits my partially soiled pants.

I don’t stop, rushing the door like Hota might drop to his knees and demand to suck me off. To drink me down his greedy throat and beg for seconds.

Fuck.

My body quakes with need while simultaneously haunting me with images of that fucking house. It’s a need I can’t allow him to fulfill. And it hurts down to the depths of my rotten soul.

“I don’t want her, Arlo,” Hota growls. “Yes, she’s pretty, and she feels good. Still, I don’t want her.”

The unspoken words.I want you.

I grip the handle to the bathroom so hard I expect it to snap off. “But you can have her.” I wrench the door open and force myself through it.

It’s not closed three seconds before a large thud echoes against the door and around the small tiled room.

“You forgot your book,” Hota hollers.

It is a book of poems. It’s my favorite book. Yesterday, I found a poem inside that reminds me of Hota. Three perfect lines of it.

I turn the shower to scalding, strip, and climb inside. My hand is working my cock before I’m fully ensconced in the billows of steam. My hips churn, and my head lolls, thinking of the snap of Hota’s hips and the intensity of his eyes. I come so hard and so fast, the world around me dims for a minute, and all I can see ishimlording over me. And it’s not the him I long to see.

Tears fill my eyes, and I trap my scream in my hands.

“Two more. You’ve got this,” Arlo prods from a scant millimeter behind me.

The gym is my favorite place in the whole world. Not because it sculpts my body into a weapon. Because this is the closest Arlo gets to touching me. Of course, I’m amped to go every damn day.

Most guys like curls and bench presses.

Squat day is the best day.

To properly spot a lifter on squats, the spotter must stand behind the lifter, get close, and move in tandem with them. Their arms have to be up and around the lifter’s torso, and their hands hover just above the lifter’s chest.

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