Page 55 of Atone

The parking lot is quiet when I reach Mila’s dorm. I told myself I wouldn’t come here. That I’d fuck her and that would be enough. Except I’ve said that about a lot of things.

One look would be enough.

One touch would be enough.

One kiss would be enough.

Nothing ever is enough when it comes to Mila Bianchi.

The only reason I let her walk away after I fucked her earlier was that I was still under this delusion I could sever the ties between us. Clearly, the last few years taught me nothing. Distance doesn’t carve her out.

There’s no more lying to myself.

From the parking lot, I find her window, nestled in the corner, facing another building. Even with Kole’s obsessive spread of hidden cameras throughout the girls’ dorm room, this used to be more difficult when Mila had three roommates to avoid. Now it’s too damn easy.

All I have to do is check the single view of Mila’s room on my phone before using my copy of her key to let myself in.

With her roommates gone for the summer, every inch of air smells like her. It draws me in. Suffocates me. Pulls me to her bedroom with every heartbeat.

Her bedroom door is locked when it normally isn’t, and I wonder if she’s uneasy about being in the dorm room alone. If she’s worried about who might find her in her sleep, or what they might do.

No worries, my angel. I’m the only one who comes here.

I made sure of it.

Slipping a second key from my pocket, I let myself into her bedroom. The fan stirs the air, creating the soft hum of white noise that probably helps her sleep. It breezes her curtains aside, splitting them down the middle to let in the soft glow of the moon.

Unlike most nights, when I come here and her room is spotless, tonight there’s a mess of clothes on the floor and makeup strewn on the desk. The books on her nightstand are open and stacked.

She’s unsettled about something.

Circling the bed, I see the book on top is the memoir of Ketchum Pierce, one of Sigma House’s founding members. She’s looking for answers surrounding her friend’s death again, but she’s not going to find them in there.

I close the book and pause at the side of her bed.

One of her bare legs is kicked out of the blanket, and she’s lying on her back wearing nothing more than lace underwear and a tank top. The dark lines of her eyebrows are pinched, sharpening them.

Usually, I’d stand back and watch her sleep until her expression finally relaxes, but tonight, I find myself drawn closer. Unable to help myself as I toe this delicate line of what I need and what that will do to her.

Reaching out, I graze a fingertip on her hip, where her tank top lifts to expose her stomach. Now that I’m familiar with what’s underneath, it takes all my resistance not to explore her lower.

I trail upward instead, teasing her ribs, stroking the soft curve beneath the swell of her breasts.

She hums as I circle her belly button. Teasing her stomach, her sides. Up and over one breast, pausing at a peaked nipple before moving to the other. Her breathing deepens, and her cheeks flood with color.

I could replace her nightmares with pleasure. Sink inside her body like I drift through her dreams. She let me have her once, and if she thinks that’s all she offered, I’ll make her see how wrong she is.

Continuing the path, I move up higher, to her collarbone. Dashing the pad of my finger over the nick that mars her skin on the right side. I’m desperate to strip off all her clothes and figure out what else paints her body.

Does she see her own blemishes with the same curiosity she shows my scars?

Teasing the dip at the hollow of her throat, I consider stepping back. Fading into the darkness like I usually do once she’s settled.

But now she’s mine, and I can’t help myself as I wrap my fingers around her throat and steal what she’s given me.

Her body.

Her trust.

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