Page 13 of Desperate Valentine

“Ever heard of knocking?” I remark as he stands there staring down at me.

“Did I interrupt something?” he chuckles.

“Why would you just walk right in?!”

“Oh! So I did interrupt something…” He steps to the side of the bed and sits down on the edge, still staring straight at my blushing cheeks, the sheen of sweat covering my forehead and torso. Can he see my pulse racing, chest rising and falling with both the panic and the desperate need to fall apart? Seeing him there, in front of me, studying me, only adds to the desire that I already had for him.

“As a matter of fact, you did.”

After a few moments of us staring each other down, his eyes shift down over my body.

“Can you not?”

“Am I making you feel uncomfortable?” he teases.

“Let’s see… You barged right in here and now you’re sitting on the edge of my bed, staring me down like I’m your next fucking meal. It’s a little uncomfortable—yes.”

“You didn’t get to finish, did you?” He laughs, clearly quite proud of himself.

“You’re an asshole. Maybe I should just find a way back to the dorms so I can actually get some sleep.” I turn away, ignoring his obstinate grin as I reach for my phone on the nightstand.

The very second I start scrolling through my contacts, he grabs my phone and sets it down beside him out of my reach.

“Give me my phone!” I sit up, forgetting that my tank top doesn’t leave much to the imagination. I snatch the hem back down to cover up, pretending to ignore the way his eyes flit lower, his heated gaze leaving trails of fire across my exposed skin.

“You’re not going anywhere. It’s late and I don’t want people to know where I live.”

“Then I’ll fucking walk partway. I’m not staying here withyou. Give me my fucking phone, Jude!”

“That mouth of yours… you’re such a firecracker, Veronica.”

“Is this your attempt to scare me or something? I’m not scared of you.” I pull the blanket back and swing my legs over the edge of the bed in an attempt to leave. But the second my feet hit the floor, his hand is on my thigh, squeezing so hard it actually hurts.

“You’re not leaving,” he says, slowly loosening his grip.

“What the fuck do you want then?!” I grit out through clenched teeth.

“I think you already know the answer to that, little leopard.”

“Stop calling me pet names!” I huff.

“Who were you thinking about?”

“What? When?”

“When you were touching yourself—who were you thinking about?”

Motherfucker.

“Why would that even matter?” I ask, avoiding eye contact with him by staring at the wall.

“Answer the question.”

“No.”

“It’s a simple question, Veronica.”

Why the hell is this whole encounter turning me on?

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