Page 19 of Gingers Can Do Maths

Without a word, I bound up the trolley’s steps just as it lurches forward and the doors slam shut behind me.

Did he feel it?

Do you mean that fucking ocean?

When I stumble to the nearest seat, Rohan’s standing beside my window with that same dark, unreadable look in his eyes. As the trolley takes off, I watch him slip a digit into his mouth and suck. Then another and another until we bank a curb and I can’t see him anymore.

What the hell is happening between us?

He was so cold. So distant.

And then... suddenly it was hot.Boiling.The chemistry I thought was one-sided brewing so strongly there’s no way he didn’t feel it too.

There’s no way he didn’t mean to touch me like that.

But he hates me...

He hasn’t forgiven me...

I haven’t forgiven him for ghosting me and putting me through hell by worrying myself sick.

I haven’t apologised yet...

He hasn’t apologised yet...

Hasn’t maths taught you that some things have infinite probabilities?

None of the above negates the fact that he may want to fuck you.

And despite his iciness, it doesn’t mean you don’t want him to.

Han

Sin won’t look at me, but she’s not concentrating on the equations either, though she’s pretending to be.

She’s shown up for our second lesson in another pastel academia-inspired fuck me outfit. This time the powder blue skirt is pleated so I’m barred from seeing her pussy as the fabric falls into the cradle of her thighs.

At least I finally know what her slit feels like.Plump, with puffy lips and a hard little nub nestled between them. She was so fucking wet, I could barely keep my grip on her cunt as she squirmed against me, as she pressed her pillowy lips into my neck and squeezed her eyes shut to ride out her orgasm.

She’d tasted heavenly, her natural musk mixed in with the coco butter she’d rubbed over her ass and thighs that morning. All I can think about is making her gush again, but this time I want to drink straight from the source.

Not from my fingers.

Not from her slicked thong I’d found in her laundry bag that night and strangled around my cock until I’d released my own climax onto a rag I’d settled between her spread thighs.

And not from the pillow she’d fucked four times while muttering my name before finally settling into a deep sleep.

I want to finally do more than just stare at her glistening pussy in the moonlight and beneath the covers. I don’t want to wait for her to roll over so her thighs can fall open and I can finally see her cunt spread, and admire the pretty pink hidden deep inside her slit.

I want to do it myself.

Now.

I should have the patience for a conversation that’s three years in the making first, but I feel like I’m going to crawl out of my own skin if I don’t touch her soon. Like the distance between us is making me slowly lose touch with reality, because she’s right there. Right across the table.

And I have to have her.

“You’re not concentrating,” I say, as another five minutes drift by and she still hasn’t moved on to the next problem. “You know the rules. You’ve abbreviated them.”

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