Page 98 of Deceit

“You know, it’s really hard to work when you just stare at me like that,” Skyla says, not taking her eyes off her screen as she continues to type.

“I’m supposed to watch you,” I respond.

She scoffs and turns to face me with a small smile that makes my empty chest tighten, just a bit.

“I don’t think Ronan meant literally.”

“Don’t give a fuck what Ronan meant. I’m keeping you safe. You just do your thing, pretend I’m not here.”

An airy laugh escapes her, and I want nothing more than to bottle the sound, keep it trapped forever and only pull it out on my darkest nights.

“That’s impossible. It’s fine, I just finished,” she says, as she closes her laptop, nodding to herself before turning to face me.

“So, what are we doing tonight?” she asks.

“Is there something you want to do?”

She shrugs. “Get out of this place,” she smiles sadly. “That’s probably off limits for now, though, huh?”

Technically, yes. We all agreed we would keep her on campus, but if my Siren wants to leave, then we’ll leave.

“Grab your shoes and a jacket,” I say, as I stand and move towards the door.

“Really?” she asks, practically bouncing out of her chair.

“Quickly. Before I change my mind.”

She slips on the first pair of shoes she sees in her closet, before pulling on a black jacket. I encourage her to step through her door first and she does so as I come to walk behind her, always just a half an inch apart. Close enough to almost be touching, but far enough that I won’t be tempted into grabbing her, hauling her over my shoulder and fucking ruining her.

She continues looking back at me, checking to see if we are going the right way as we make our way out of her dorm and to the closest parking lot. She goes to walk past my ride when I reach out and squeeze her hip, stopping her on a dime. Her eyes come down to my bike, surprise and a bit of intimidation in those deep green gems.

“You drive a motorcycle?” she asks, crossing her arms over her chest as a gust of wind picks up.

Her jacket is skintight and thin, it won’t be nearly warm enough for her. Peeling my leather jacket off, I hold it out for her, helping each arm in before zipping it closed. When it’s zipped to the top, I can’t help but smirk. The thing is five sizes too big for her and it’s practically swallowing her whole, I fucking love it. Seeing her in my clothes provokes something carnal inside of me. The urge to keep her dressed inmeforever is suddenly an overwhelming need.

Forcing myself to turn away from her, I grab the helmet I have but rarely use, handing it to her before swinging my leg over the bike and firing it up. She purrs to life, that throaty exhaust taking up the night air around us.

Skyla tries and fails to get the helmet fastened, as I gesture for her to come closer. When she does, my fingers quickly move against the straps, tightening it just enough before tapping the helmet in a ‘you’re good’ gesture.

She’s wearing a pair of leggings and white tennis shoes that she looks like fucking heaven in, before she lifts one leg, tossing it over the bike behind me. To my surprise, she doesn’t hesitate to wrap her arms around my torso, laying her head against my back.

My own little backpack.

I pop the bike into gear and take off slowly at first, enjoying the way her muscles tense around me, plastering herself against my back. I find myself pushing my bike a little faster and harder than I normally would for a leisurely drive. The more I do, the tighter she holds me, and her body wrapped around me like this gives me an adrenaline high like no other.

We drive for over an hour, weaving through the backroads, before coming up to a dirt road. I turn onto it, slowing down in preservation of my paintjob. After a mile or so, we make a sharp left turn down a small trail that could barely fit a bicycle, let alone a motorcycle. We just barely fit, I've been here enough to make sure of it.

When we get to our destination, I shut the bike off and climb to my feet. I help Skyla with her helmet, pulling it off her head and resting it on the handlebar, before offering a hand. She slips her slim fingers through mine as I pull her to her feet. She tries to wiggle her fingers free, but I have no intention of letting her go, gripping her tighter until she gives up her struggle.

“What is this place?” she asks, her eyes taking in the hidden meadow.

“Hot spring,” I say, gesturing towards the body of water in front of us.

She looks back at me in surprise before she steps towards it. I go with her, insistent on not letting go of her hand as she bends down, dipping her fingers into the water.

“Oh my god! It’s like a hot tub. How did you find this place?” she asks as she stands up.

“Found it a couple years ago on a drive. Want to go in?”

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