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Michael smirks, his fingers teasing as they lower the blanket. “You could always call out sick.” His body moves closer but stops, leaving a little space between us. Head bent, his next words are whispered into my neck. “You do sound hoarse. Not that I’dexpect anything less with all that screaming last night.” I can feel his smile.
Shame fills me. I had screamed for him, screamed for more. Begged, even.
I pull away quickly, staggering to my feet. The rope keeps me planted close to the bed, my back hunched slightly.
The early morning light hasn’t quite started to come through the drapes, leaving the room shrouded in shadows, yet I have never felt more exposed, not even when he was devouring my body last night.
This morning, my mind corrects.
A twinging in my crotch reminds me that barely a few hours ago, we were still rolling around in tangled sheets.
“I can’t. I have a test.” I lie, yanking on the rope hard enough that the bed frame moves.
“Stop,” he orders sharply, standing quickly. “You’ll hurt yourself.”
I’m already hurting.
Gentle fingers soothe the red skin, stroking softly as he releases me.
Stepping back, I remove myself from his touch, practically sprinting toward the bathroom.
“Lara,” Michael calls, “One day soon, you’ll find out what happens when you’re dishonest with me.”
My throat bobs as I swallow my fear. His words hold a threat of violence, and after what I saw last night, fear should be the only thing I feel . . . but it’snot. My nipples are beaded, my breasts heavy. My ass clenches, and my pussy weeps.
Quietly, we just stare, our gazes locked.
Finally, Michael relents, climbing back into bed. Running his fingers through his hair, he settles against the pillows.
“Take a quick shower, and I’ll drive you to school.”
What? No!
I need space and time to think of how to fix this.
My mouth opens to say something, anything. But one look at his face and my words evaporate.
I quietly head into my bathroom, hating how, after everything, I still take in the way his bicep bulges, how defined his six-pack is, and how much it bothers me to see those small silvery scars that litter his torso as I shut the door.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Michael
Lara is hiding in the bathroom. I glance at my watch again for the second time in as many seconds. Her first class of the day starts in an hour.
I glance at the open laptop. She really should have a password to keep strangers out. Anyone could open it and access her schedule, not that I need it to know she’s a liar. The woman’s terrible at it.
The bathroom door finally creaks open.
Alarm and relief play out on her pretty face when she sees me sitting on the edge of her bed.
Her robe dips, leaving a tantalizing vee of skin for my eyes to devour, which of course I do.
“I laid your clothes out for you.” I nod to the small pile beside me.
Lara hesitates. “Are you going to shower?”
I hold my arms out in invitation, creating room for her between my knees. When she’s close enough, my hands settle onto her hips. “No.” I shake my head. “I want to smell you for the rest of the day.”
