Page 14 of Dark Ink

Eithne

Somehow I knew he would come after me.

I wanted to get away. But I also wanted him to catch me.

The light in the auditorium had been so soft, almost hazy. So seeing Rian had almost felt like a dream. He’d fixed his glaze on me like he’d done in so many of my fantasies and didn’t look away. His attention, his focus was so powerful it caused everything, everything else in that lecture hall to blur out of focus.

And then he’d spoken to me—to me.

“I want nothing between us. Just skin against skin. Soul against soul.”

His words had cut through my armour, shredded my defences, and plunged themselves into the core of me. An ache radiated from the depths of me. A delicious sinful ache.

And I couldn’t take it anymore.

So I ran.

Outside the hall I shielded my eyes from the direct sun with my forearm and struggled to keep my portfolio tucked against my chest as I stumbled across the cobblestones.

I felt him before he touched me. The hairs on the back of my neck standing to attention even before he grabbed my elbow. And tugged.

I spun and crashed into the hard wide plain of his chest.

Dear God.

I could smell his scent, dark and masculine, musky and thick with spice. Only the hint of hidden sweetness. I could feel the heat radiating off him, could feel it already sinking into my muscles making me pliant, making me melt against him, give in to hi—

No!

I wrenched myself from his grip and staggered back, my chest heaving as I struggled for air. As I struggled to clear his intoxicating smell from my nose, from burning in my lungs.

It wasn’t enough. His draw was still there, his hooded eyes still pulling me back into his violent gravity.

“Class isn’t over yet, Eithne.”

I sucked in a breath, my name sounding like he’d growled it between my legs. I tried to clench my thighs without making it obvious.

I swallowed. “How— How do you know my n—?”

“I typically don’t give good grades to students who make a habit of ditching class early.”

This was bullshite. Everyone knew Rian’s grading was as arbitrary as his own attendance at class lectures. The student who showed up every day on time, turned in assignments by the due date, and actively participated in class discussion was more likely to be at the bottom of the class than the top. He wanted “true artists”. Who the hell knew what the fuck that meant.

“I’m not taking ‘Seducing Your Students’. I don’t need it for my major.”

“Seducing Out Your Artist’s Voice,” he corrected as he took a step toward me.

I cowered back and bumped into the building’s rough stone wall. “I— I don’t need that either.”

“What do you need?”

It startled me. The way he asked it. Like I was in unbearable pain and he really did want to give me whatever I needed. A drug. A swift release. A little dose of mercy in this fucking world.

“Eithne?” He closed the gap between us with one long step, closing me in.

His eyes were startling up this close. The striations of varying blues and greens tossed and turned like a rough sea. I was drowning in them, my lungs filling with the scent of him again.

I barely registered how inappropriate this was, him this close. If someone were to exit the class, to turn a corner, to spot us…

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