Page 100 of Still Beating

“I can’t… it’s getting late. You should go home.”

He turns to head inside, not expecting me to follow, but I do. I stomp out the cigarette and trail him through the entryway, closing the door behind us. “I missed you.”

This seems to trigger something in him and he whirls around, storming over to me frozen in the doorway. “Bullshit. You’re here to scratch an itch.”

I jerk back, thrown by that assumption. “You know that’s not true.”

“We both know thatistrue, otherwise you wouldn’t have skipped out on me this morning. You wouldn’t have ignored my texts all day. You wouldn’t have declined my invitation to talk.” Dean tosses his arms in the air with aggravation. “I won’t be your dirty, little secret, Cora. I won’t be your fuck toy or your goddamn escape.”

Hurt sparks inside me, prickling my skin, but I shove it back down. I unbutton my peacoat and let it fall off my arms as I step out of my boots. I approach him standing there in the middle of his living room, hands set loosely on his hips, chest expanding and deflating with each arduous breath. When I’m only a foot away, I tug my blouse up and over my head. His jaw ticks as he watches, his eyes casing me, darkening and curious. I reach behind my back and unclasp my bra, letting it slip to the floor, my eyes still hooked on his.

His nostrils flare and his fingers dig into his hip bones, but he doesn’t drop his gaze. “Stop.”

“You don’t want me?”

I’m playing with fire, but the flames are the only thing keeping me warm.

Dean sucks in a deep breath. “I want all of you, Corabelle.”

I close the gap between us, grasping his hands in mine and placing them over my breasts. I release a tiny moan when his thumbs graze my nipples. “I’m right here.”

“No.” The word comes out forced, almost painful. His right hand slides up my chest until it’s directly over my heart. “I wantallof you.”

I want that, too.

I want dinner dates and movie nights and homemade breakfasts after long, magical nights of lovemaking. I want to hold hands in public. I want to go on road trips, see the ocean, and laugh until our bellies ache.

But he’s Dean.

And I’m Cora.

And we are not meant for any of those things.

I drag his hand back down until he’s cupping my breast. I arch against him, my head tipping back as our groins touch together and he starts to palm my breasts, his desire taking over. “Please.”

This puts him over the edge and he growls out, “Fucking hell.”

His arms link underneath my thighs and he hoists me up, my legs curling around his waist. He carries me to his bedroom, our mouths locking together, our bodies ready to go, but our hearts desperate for so much more.

This is enough. This is okay.

I tell myself this as Dean fucks me doggie-style on his bed, pulling my hair, nicking my skin with his teeth, and whispering dirty words into my ear.

If I can’t have all of him, I’ll settle for some of him.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

“Miss Lawson?”

I straighten out my pencil skirt and turn from the white board, discovering far too many eyes on me. Questioning eyes. Curious eyes. Some worried, some fascinated. I give a tug to my ponytail and force a smile. “Yes, Jenna?”

It’s my first day back in the classroom.Again. First it was an abduction, then it was a suicide attempt. If my students learn anything from me, I hope it’s some valuable life lessons—that, and the greatness that is Gatsby.

“You’re bleeding.”

I suck in a breath and glance down at myself. My white button-down blouse is dappled with red droplets. My eyes shift to my wrist, where I notice blood is dripping out from beneath my bandage. I didn’t even realize I was scratching it. I clear my throat, flustered and embarrassed, as I reach for a tissue on my desk. “Goodness, I didn’t even realize. Thank you, Jenna.”

I excuse myself for a moment to clean up, the whispers and chatter lingering in my ears long after I’ve walked out of the classroom. I lock myself in a bathroom stall to collect my bearings, pressing my palms against the door and leaning forward, taking in deep, steady breaths. My gaze drifts to the blood stains seeped into the white fabric of my blouse, branding me with a sinister reminder of my pain. It laughs and mocks me, telling me this will never be over.

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