Page 69 of Crashing Tides

I cross my arms and stare out the window. What the fuck am I doing with my life? This is too weird. I should go back to my dorm, erase his number from my phone, and never talk to him again.

I already know I’m not going to do that. Something keeps drawing me back to Duncan. Whatever’s going on, I want to find out what it is.

But I’m definitely going to be petulant while I wait.

When we arrive at Halea, neither one of us says anything. This is it, I think, abruptly nervous. He’s never going to speak to me again.

The ignition dies. We’re in the student parking lot. A quarter moon hangs in the sky. The stars are out, brighter than I’ve ever seen them back home, scattered across the sky like a handful of crystals.

I undo my seatbelt, but neither one of us makes a move to open our door. A heaviness settles over me, but when I look back at him, he’s watching me with such intensity that I’m immediately, against my better judgment, intrigued. His gray eyes are locked on me, and I⁠—

“You can make a move, you know,” I say softly, and then he’s over the center console, one hand on my door, the other gripping my thigh, but not before he bonks the steering wheel with his ass, setting off the horn. I laugh, but I’m also reeling because holy shit, nobody has ever wanted me like this before.

This kiss is just as desperate as the previous, maybe a little bit more, since the car creates an illusion of privacy. Duncan has practically climbed into my lap, but that’s mostly because I dragged him there, because that’s exactly where I want him, goddammit. He gasps, but doesn’t withdraw, just winds his fingers into my hair and kisses me like he can’t get enough, like he’d siphon the soul out of me if he could. I hang on for dear life, searching along the bottom of the seat with my fingers until I find the button that scoots it back. Now I can stop worrying about whether Duncan’s going to get bruises on his spine from bumping against the dashboard with wild abandon.

He’s heavier and stronger than he looks. I’m definitely trapped, but I’m right where I want to be, rolling my hips very much on purpose so that he can’t mistake my enthusiasm. When he groans, it reverberates in my jaw.

Fuck, yes.

I’m fumbling with the buttons on his coat when he breaks the kiss. I want to protest, but he looks at me with such adoration and lust that I lose my voice. “We should go to my room,” he says, his voice rough, like he’s barely keeping himself contained.

I blink at him, confused. “Now?”

“There’ll be more space,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “And, um, condoms.”

“Oh.” I reach into my pocket, sheepish, and brandish a foil packet. At his raised eyebrow, I say, “I was feeling lucky.”

He rolls his eyes, kisses me again.

By the time we actually make it out of the car, I’m straining against my jeans, panting. Duncan’s not much better, with mussed hair and kiss-swollen lips.

He’s too composed. I want to see him thoroughly debauched, splayed out beneath me, breathless and wanting. Spurred by the mental image, I hurry after him.

Duncan’s dorm is in one of many pretentious towers scattered around campus. Dragoncrest Tower, announces a sign on the front lawn. As soon as we slip through the doors, I feel out of place. The walls are paneled with mahogany. Sconces flare to life in greeting. A fully stocked kitchen waits just off the main hall. Beyond, there’s a private library. I can’t shake the sense that I’m trespassing.

“Don’t you have a roommate?” I ask, staring up the spiral staircase in wonder.

“These are all single rooms,” he says, and I nod. Right. I’m here on scholarship. I’m barely even magical. He’s from a long line of both fae and shifters. Of course he lives in a nice tower.

I follow him up several flights of stairs, my hand in his. When we arrive at his floor, I stop in my tracks, mesmerized by the ostentatious brass door knockers, all ocean themed. I gawk at a mermaid with pendulous breasts, relieved when Dominic directs to me to the room with the ugly embossed fish knocker instead.

We’re on each other before the door has fully closed behind us. I toe off one of my boots, get stuck in the other one as I crowd him against the door. His hands are on my hips, then my ass, then the backs of my thighs, hauling me closer. I groan, tip my head back as he presses a line of searing kisses down the column of my throat. My fingers bunch in the back of his coat.

“Fuck,” he growls against my jaw, and then I realize he’s inhaling my pulse point, which shouldn’t be hot but kind of is. When I grind against him, he pulls away, unbuttoning his coat with feral urgency. While he’s busy doing that, I hobble around on my socked foot until my second boot finally pops free, taking my sock with it. My jacket joins Duncan’s coat on the floor.

When I look back, he’s watching me with that intense glint in his eye. I hate myself, but I can hear my mom screeching in the back of my head. She’s ruining the moment and I—I have to interrupt. “I got tested at the end of summer,” I tell him, just short of breathless. “I haven’t been with anybody in, like, eight or nine months. If you were wondering.”

He stills. Nods. “Good. Yeah.” He cards a hand through his hair. “I took one recently, too. Clear. I, um, haven’t been with anybody in… a while.” His voice sounds a little odd, almost thick. I’m afraid to ask what that’s about.

“Great,” I say, but I’m certain I’ve ruined everything. We should’ve talked about this in the car. At the sandwich shop. Literally anywhere but here and now.

“We can do whatever you’re comfortable with,” he says and pulls me to him.

I don’t want to talk anymore, so I just press my lips to his, hooking my fingers in his belt loops and dragging him closer until we’re flush against each other. He makes a desperate little moan, and I chase it with my tongue. Firm hands grip the backs of my thighs again, and I startle as he actually manages to lift me without even breaking the kiss. I groan, wrap my legs around him, trying hard not to topple us.

There’s not much of a height difference between us, and I’m solid enough that I’m not easily manhandled. It’s a shock that he was able to pull that off with ease (seriously, I’m strong and I couldn’t fucking do that). And hot. Really, really hot. Turns out, my dream was kinda prophetic: I do want him to ravish me.

Then I’m deposited onto the mattress and he’s crawling over me, working at the button of my jeans while I wriggle out of my shirt. It gets caught on the headboard when I toss it, but he doesn’t notice; his gaze is glued to me.