Page 124 of Collide
My reverse psychology tactic doesn’t work as I hoped because he scissors his fingers in retaliation, then curls them, causing my nails to scratch the metal bench to keep from giving him the satisfaction. I swear I could tear through it at this moment. “You’re not going to win this one, Summer.”
“Try me.”
He dips his head, and his lips find the sensitive spot between my neck and ear.
“That’s cheating!” I gasp.
“It’s winning,” he whispers.
The sensory overload all but fries my brain to a pea. He continues palming me through my sweater and flicks a thumb over a sensitive nipple. His tongue swirls a pressure point on my neck that I’m sure only a ninja would know existed, and the throaty groan that vibrates against me is so deep I think it may be a loose current in my body.
Aiden sucks and bites until I’m panting so hard I’m sure the other riders can hear me. I don’t care if they witness my wound-up expression as long as I can find my release.
The wheel moves again, and I manage to open my eyes to see that we’ve reached the top. Aiden whispers, “Make a mess on my hand, Summer. Let me taste you off my fingers.”
I shatter with his dirty words pressed roughly against my ear. Then he slides his fingers out of me and sucks each one clean.
“Did I change your mind?” he asks.
Have I mentioned how much I love Ferris wheels?
42 | SUMMER
“THAT’S IT. I’M quitting school and becoming a stripper.” A fuming Amara slumps beside me.
It’s a rare occasion that Connecticut gives us nice weather, so I’m taking full advantage by sitting outside by the statue of Sir Davis Dalton. The spray painted devil horns and super-glued pitchfork are long gone, though red stains linger on some parts.
I’m guessing Amara’s meeting didn’t go well. “I thought you said you didn’t have the core strength for that.”
Sampson slides onto the bench beside me. “I wouldn’t mind a private show from you, Amara. No core strength required.”
Amara scoffs. “Like you could afford me, Sampson.” She abruptly stands. “I’ll meet you at home, Sum, far away from the scum of the earth.”
I watch her retreat, and when I turn back to Sampson he grins. “I think she likes me.”
“What do you want?”
He eyes me. “Someone’s snappy today.”
“Make one period comment and say goodbye to your hand.”
He waves his fingers in front of my face. “You’d be depriving many girls of this magic.”
“Or saving them from misery,” I mutter.
Sampson stares at me with a curious look. “How are things with your application?”
“You’re looking at a potential Stanford grad student,” I mutter.
Last week, my social media was full of students celebrating their acceptance to Dalton. I haven’t received anything, and when I talked to Langston, she said co-op applications take longer. If patience is a virtue, it’s not one I possess.
“Look at the bright side, you could be in sunny California instead of Connecticut,” he says.
Hopelessness clings to me. “My entire life is here. Every professor I’ve spent time getting to know, all my friends.” I pause to hold the emotion clogging my throat. “Aiden.”
“And me.” He smiles, failing to scatter the dark cloud looming over my head. “But Aiden is going to be in Canada. You wouldn’t be in the same place regardless.”
“Except now I could end up on the West Coast instead of a few hours away.”
