“It fits perfectly,” I say.
She gives me a weird look as she ties the corner of the shirt into a knot, bunching up the material tightly around her waist. "I… should go. I… um, I'll see you later. Or next time. Maybe. I don't know."
Shit. Now she's talking like she doesn't want to tutor me anymore. Way to royally fuck things up, Colton.
She pauses with her hand on the doorknob, then turns to look at me. "You didn't tell me what you got on your test," she says.
"I got an A."
Cassie nods, an expression of something I can't place flitting across her face. She opens the door. "I see,” she says. “So you came to collect.”
"No, that's not it at all – " I start, but she holds her hand up.
"I should go."
14
Cassie
"Shut the fuck up," Sable says before I even speak, looking up from the sofa. "That's his shirt!"
"Don't say anything," I warn her. "I already had to sneak out of the athletic center wearing it. I'm not at all in the mood."
"Did you do it?" she asks anyway. "Did you lose it? Was it good? You have to tell me, you know."
"I don't want to talk about it." I blow through the living room and down the hallway to my room. I close the door to my room behind me with force, then lock it and sink against it.
A small knock makes the door makes the door vibrate at my back. "Cass," comes Sable soft voice. "Nothing…bad happened, did it?"
Bad? Only the fact that Colton King kissed me. And ripped off my shirt.
And made me so horny that I'm still throbbing, even now.
"No," I tell her
"Because if he… you know… forced you, or something…"
I sigh loudly. "Oh my God, Colton didn't rape me, Sable," I say firmly.
"Well, that's good."
"But I don't want to talk about it."
"Okay," she adds. "Because if he hurt you in any way, I'll kill him."
I stifle a laugh. I actually kind of believe her.
"I have a concealed carry license," she points out.
"You have a gun? In our apartment?" I ask, my voice rising.
"I said I had a license, not a gun," she calls. "I'll be in front of the television watching a bunch of crazy girls fight over one moderately-attractive man, if you want to join me."
But I don't. I stand there, leaning against the bedroom door, my hand on my chest, feeling my heart beating almost as furiously as it did when I was with Colton in the student center.
What the hell just happened?
One minute I was sitting there across from him, totally normal and about to start the session. The next minute, I was making out with him and shedding my clothes, consequences be damned. Well, technically he was ripping off my clothes.
And there would be serious consequences.
I have to remind myself of that, because the throbbing between my legs is so insistent that it threatens to eclipse every rational part of me. Colton King is off-limits for so many reasons, the least of which is the fraternization thing.
He had to have been coming into the session with the expectation that I'd put out because he got an A. Total pig. He's a player. Sable's right; he's probably slept with half of the girls on campus. Hooking up with him would be a disaster.
The way he kissed me, though...
It wasn't like anyone else who's ever kissed me. It’s not like I have lots of experience in that department for comparison, but still. Colton kissed me fully, passionately, the kind of kiss where you lose your sense of reason and give in to whatever happens. In that moment, I wasn't thinking about consequences. Which is probably why what happened, happened.
Who rips a girl's shirt right off her body, though? No normal guy does that. That kind of thing only happens in the movies or in romance novels.
The way his lips felt against my skin, the way his tongue felt as he ran it over my nipple again and again... Even now it sends a shiver through me.
But this is the same guy who brought over a dick bouquet to my apartment. He's not an appropriate choice. I shouldn't continue tutoring him. I obviously can't trust myself not to cross that line with him.
I should tell the coach it didn't work out. Or trade players with one of the other tutors at the center.
I should stay away from him.
The thoughts ping-pong back and forth in my head, one right after the other, a war between the rational and irrational parts of my brain.
When I'm lying in bed later, it's impossible to get thoughts of him out of my head. It's impossible to forget the way his hands felt on me, the way his lips felt against mine, his tongue practically warring with mine as he kissed me.
And it's impossible to forget how much I wanted him to do what he promised, to bury his face between my legs and lick me until I could only cry out his name.
* * *