Page 44 of Teacher's Pet

Her eyes narrow, searching mine like she knows I’m holding something back.

"What else is this about, Megan?" I sigh. "I get that you’re looking out for me, but you’re poking holes in everything I say-"

"I'm fine, Ana," Megan hisses, her voice sharp, her frustration thick in the air. "You’re going to go to that party and have the time of your life, breaking hearts, blaming your make out session with some random sleaze on the alcohol, while Elijah and I have to watch. It’s the same shit every straight girl loves to do."

Her words hit harder than I expect.

Then it clicks.

She thinks I’m going to use her.

"Megan," I say, cutting her off mid-tangent. My hands find her arms, stilling her restless movements. She looks at me, confusion flickering in her eyes. "Do you honestly think alcohol would be my only motivator for kissing someone as gorgeous as you?"

Her breath catches, but I don’t let her look away.

"I didn’t mean to hurt you by letting you think that’s the case."

Her expression falters, softening into something raw. But then, just as quickly, it twists into something hardened. Something tired.

"You and every girl I’ve been with love to pick up a bottle and use people like me, people who are sure of what we want. Then the next morning, you wake up and blame it all on the liquor." Her jaw tightens. "I’m not hurt, Ana. I’m pissed."

I don’t think.

I react.

Leaning in, I press my lips to hers, silencing whatever protest is about to spill from her mouth. My fingers graze the side of her face, cupping her jaw as I push her back against the mattress. She doesn’t resist.

She pulls me closer, fists tightening around the front of my shirt, and I feel it, that slow burn deep in my stomach, the quiet hum of something dangerous beneath my skin.

Maybe this is what I need.

A distraction. A healthy distraction.

A way to explore my curiosity. To drown out Noah.

I let my tongue tease the seam of her lips before sliding lower, my hand slipping beneath her shirt. The second she gasps, I take my chance, deepening the kiss as my fingers trace upward, dragging her shirt along with them.

The wet sounds of our mouths moving together mix with her breathy moans, and heat pools between my legs when my thumb skims over her hardened nipple.

This should be where I stop.

I’m not drunk.

I’ve already made my point.

But then, Noah.

His touch slams into my thoughts, uninvited, unavoidable.

How would he touch me right now?

What would he do if he saw this?

Would he be angry?

Would he want to join?

How far does his obsession with me go?

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