Page 4 of Wreck Me
He tilted his head to read the spine of my book. “What are you working on?”
“A sample pitch for a running shoe campaign. My mock advertising portfolio is due soon. Business major.”
“That’s a safe choice,” he crooned. “What do youactuallywant to study?”
My eyes widened at how bluntly he asked that question. No one had cared enough to ask. My palms were sweaty, and I fought the urge to wipe them against my jeans. Lifting my chin, I countered, “How do you know business isn’t what I want to study?”
He assessed me through narrow eyes, and I counted each painfully long second he stared at me. All forty-two of them. “Business is a major you’re forced to study, but you have no passion for. Based on how you carry yourself and the quality of the clothing and items you carry, I’d say you more likely wanted to go into art or fashion but were pushed into business by your family. Am I right?”
“Yes and no,” I told him without hesitation, my confidence growing. “I was pushed to study business, yes. It was the only way my father would allow me to attend Ridgewood U. But it’s not art or fashion I wanted to major in…” my voice trailed off and I looked out the window, feeling irritated with myself for being so candid, and still so angry with my father for forcing my hand with this decision.
He said nothing, and I appreciated the time he gave me to linger in my thoughts.
“Veterinarian,” I blurted, my head snapping back toward him and meeting his gaze. “I want to be a veterinarian, but my father won’t allow it.”
“Why do you need his permission?”
“He has the money…” My voice was soft, embarrassed. It was the truth, but at twenty-two years old, I hated I still relied on his money, if only a small allowance of it.
“You don’t need his money,” he said firmly, his voice a low rumble—almost like a growl. I stared at him, wondering if he had really just made that sound.
“You know, you never did tell me your name.”
“You don’t need to know it.” He stood suddenly, pushing the chair from beneath him.
My spine tingled from the anger in his tone. As he moved to the back of the library, I hopped out of my seat and followed him. “You’re the one who sought me out, my friend. Why won’t you tell me your name?” I questioned, whisper-shouting, as I practically jogged to keep up with his huge strides. Rounding another corner, we were almost at the very back of the library, the section hardly anyone used.
Hidden in their own little world, behind the last long bookshelf, stood two tables—lopsided from broken legs—and a row of computers that looked like they were from the first batch of computers ever made. I don’t think I had ever ventured to this part of the library. It seemed as though it was completely abandoned and used for broken storage.
Why had he come back here?
A tattered backpack laid on one of the tables, a textbook pulled out next to it, and a water bottle sat on the floor by the chair. I was so confused and stopped without fully entering the space.
Watching me closely, he took a seat where the items were. He leaned back with his legs stretched in front of him and his hands clasped behind his head, elbows outstretched.
“We’re piss poor.” His gaze met mine, and a smirk played on his lips. “My dad is an alcoholic. My mom left when I was younger. Same sob story you’ve probably heard a thousand times. I applied to every school I could think of and got into most of them. Know why I didn’t go to any?”
My heart hammered in my chest as I listened to his words, not sure what to say, or if I needed to say anything at all.
“Because I didn’t get a single scholarship. But I didn’t let my lack of money stop me. I go full-time, even though it’s adding up a crippling amount of debt. All I need is that expensive piece of paper and then I can do what I want. So don’t use daddy’s money as an excuse to hide behind, Starlight, because you sure as shit don’t need him or his money to make it on your own.”
I let his words sink in and a slight tremor ran through my body. He was right. But who was he to talk to me like that?
And why was I so turned on by it?
Ignoring the desire pooling low in my belly, I marched up to him, head held high, and pointed my finger at his chest. “Listen here. I don’t know who you think you are, but you don’t get to speak to me like that. You don’t get to assume just because I wear nice clothes or have designer purses, you have me and my life all mapped out.”
His eyebrow quirked. “Don’t I?”
“No, you absolutely do not.” I resisted the urge to stomp my foot in protest, knowing it would only further solidify his assumption of me. I could feel my cheeks heat. My stomach flipped under the intensity of his gaze, and I was finding it hard to breathe.
Without warning, his hands flew to my waist, and he gripped my hips tightly, pulling me down onto his lap. I gasped realizing the precarious position he had pulled me into, suddenly hyper aware of every part of his body. The softness of my thighs touching the hard muscles of his. My hands had come to rest on his chest and with a small adjustment of his hips, I could feel the ridge of his cock beneath me, just a few layers of fabric separating us. It took everything I had in me not to rock against it and chase the relief it would give to my aching pussy.
I swallowed thickly, unsure of how to handle myself in this situation.
Here, in the back of the library, I was straddling a stranger.
As if he could hear my thoughts, his fist circled around my hair and he moved his lips to align with my ear. “The blush that’s creeping up your neck and the way you're squirming against my dick right now says otherwise, Starlight. I think you like how bluntly I speak to you. I think you like it a fuck ton.”
