Page 18 of Toxic Hope
“What are you doing?” she demands, pushing back against me. “Don’t make me scream.”
“I bet I could make you scream,” I whisper, leaning down, my mouth almost touching her earlobe. “That’s what you need, isn’t it? I finally figured it out. You need to get laid. You’re too tense all the time.”
“Get off me.” She slaps the wall weekly with her palm. It’s almost cute. “You sick fuck.”
She shoves her body against me, which is something she needs to stop doing if she’s serious about getting out of this without ending up with my cock jammed inside her. As it is, I’m getting a little harder every time she rubs her plump ass against me. It’s not enough to stand here with my palms pressed against the wall. I need to touch her.
One of my hands finds her hip, and a shudder runs through me from head to toe at the contact. Like this is what I needed all along. Having her like this, so close, warm and wiggling, grunting with every ragged breath she takes.
“That’s right,” I whisper in her ear, letting my lips skim the seashell curve and closing my eyes to soak in the sensations fighting for dominance. “Don’t pretend you don’t like it. Don’t pretend this isn’t what you wanted all along. Maybe it’s time for me to give you what you want. What do you think?”
All she does is breathe louder than before. No, she’s panting like she just ran all the way here from her car at full speed. There’s something in the sound that slides a needle into the balloon of lust that was starting to swell.
The world slides back into focus, and I lift my head. “Wait. What’s happening? Are you okay?” Instinct makes me back away to give her more air, but it doesn’t help. She’s still out of breath, still leaning against the wall with her cheek touching the surface.
And now I’m thinking about how pale she always is. How weak she seems right now. “Are you sick or something? You could’ve told me before I got close to you.”
A breathless laugh bursts out of her before she shakes her head. “Even that would be my fault, wouldn’t it? If you got sick?” Before I can put together a response, she picks up her backpack and shoves her way past me—weakly, still, but I don’t have it in me to stop her after hearing her fight for air the way she did a minute ago.
Besides, I need to process what just happened. It wasn’t that I got hard—if anything, I’d be worried if I didn’t, being pressed up against a firm ass that wouldn’t stop moving against me.
What has me questioning myself is how much I enjoyed that. Beyond getting hard, beyond the thrill that came from touching her. Even beyond listening to the panic that started to leak into her voice. Just touching her, being close to her. I don’t know if I can go without that again.
And I don’t know if I would have been able to stop myself if we were someplace private instead of in the library. If she hadn’thad that panic attack or whatever it was. There wouldn’t have been anything to stop me from finding out what she tastes like.
And I don’t know what to think about that as I emerge from between the shelves, not surprised when I don’t find Emma anywhere nearby before I head for the door. I followed her, thinking I’d come up with a solution for the weirdness between Easton and me. All I did was give myself more questions and uncertainty than before.
And plenty to think about later, when I’m home alone. In my room, where I’ll be able to indulge in my fantasies of everything I could’ve done to Emma. Everything I still want to do.
10
EMMA
I promised myself if I got through today, I would treat myself to a little something special. Instead of logging in from home like I told myself I would do on Friday, I forced myself through driving to campus with the promise of an iced mocha with whipped cream as a reward.
I’m not sure it will be sweet enough to make up for what Preston did to me in the library earlier, unfortunately.
Not that it was anything too extreme. He was trying to scare me. We were in public; I could hear people murmuring a few rows over from where he had me pinned. He couldn’t have gotten away with more than that.
But then I had to go and lose my breath. It got him off me, anyway. He’s too dense to give it any thought beyond the surface. I’m sure he’s already forgotten all about it by the time I enter the cute, quirky café in town. This is the first time I’ve had an excuse to stop in here, and right away, the aroma of coffee makes me smile happily as I wander past handfuls of small tables filled with people around my age, probably hanging out after their last class of the day.
It would be nice, the excuse to sit down with a friend and chat. Maybe we could split a brownie the way a couple of girls aredoing right now, picking at it while talking about projects they’re working on. It’s been a long time since I felt like I had any friends—not since high school, really, before I lost Mom and Dad. Back when life was something close to normal. I was probably around thirteen, and I had no idea life wouldn’t get better than it was. But then you never know when the last time you do something is really the last time you’ll ever do it.
I need to get my head out of this dark place it’s been in. I know exactly who I have to thank for that, too, as I wait for my drink to be made. There are so many tasty-looking treats in the display case, but my appetite is so weird these days. I can be hungry up until the second a piece of food touches my lips, then I don’t want it anymore.
Even a big, sugar-flecked shortbread cookie isn’t enough to stir my interest. Mom’s favorite. That was always our reward after a long day of running errands. We would stop off for treats and share a cookie in the car on the way home. Even if we bought cookies to take home with us, we would still have that one in the car. Like a shared secret. Something for just the two of us.
“Emma?” The sound of my name being called out is like somebody hitting the gas on a time machine and rocketing me back into the present. My drink is ready. I wrap my hand around the cup, lifting it and taking a sip from the straw. My eyes close as creamy chocolate caffeine coats my tongue. Heaven.
Heaven that lasts as long as the few seconds it takes for a stranger to step up next to me and invade my personal space. “Oh. Hey. I know you,” he says, wearing a crooked grin.
I don’t know him… or do I? He kind of seems familiar, but then he has sort of a generic look to him, too. Tall-ish, thin-ish, with a sort of angular face and a nose that looks like it was probably broken and poorly set. There’s what looks like a fresh scar cutting through his left eyebrow, like he got it pretty recently.
And then it clicks. I can almost hear the sound in my head as I stare up at him. “Oh,” I whisper. It’s him. From the parking lot. What did Preston call him?Brody.
For one brief, very vivid moment, I see myself throwing my drink at him. I’ve never done anything like that before—not even close. I’m not that person. Maybe in my own head, it’s who I wish I could be sometimes, but I doubt I could ever really get up the courage.
Plus, let’s be honest. I paid six bucks for this. I would like to drink it.
