He turns like he's about to walk away, and I take off after him, grabbing onto his arm and holding him there.
“This is a habit of yours,” I whisper, putting my face against the crisp sleeve of his blazer. “Spouting some epic shit, and then taking off. You can't do this to me anymore.”
Tristan turns around, and we're suddenly standing so close that I can't breathe.
“I'm no good for you,” he says, but his voice holds so much less vitriol than it did before, like he can't keep up the facade any longer. “You really would be best off heading for college and leaving us all behind.”
“But?” I ask, lifting my face up to look into his beautiful eyes. They seem so much lighter now. Like, instead of a stormy sky, his irises are the color of a freshly polished silver teapot.
“I might be cruel, but I'm selfish, too. I want you too much to let you go.” Tristan puts his hands on my hips, and I feel my body start to quiver. The tension between us is making me sick. “It kills me to know they've all touched you, that they've all been inside of you …” His voice softens, but seems to get darker at the same time, like velvet shadows wrapping me up in a cocoon. “Every crush of yours but me …”
I swallow hard as Tristan guides me back to the bookshelf behind us, leaning in and pressing a kiss to the fluttering pulse in my throat. My eyes close and my fingers curl around the edges of his blazer. He runs his tongue down the side of my neck, leaving a hot fire in his wake.
“We could go back to your room?” I whisper, and I feel this crazy overwhelming surge of adrenaline, so powerful that I'm not sure I can stand for much longer.
“I won't make it back to my room,” he breathes, putting his mouth next to my ear. I look up, past the towering bookcases to the ancient chandelier flickering in the rafters. I know all about that chandelier, where it was made and when and out of what materials because, well, I'm a history buff and architecture freak, but … in that moment?
I couldn't give a fuck less.
Tristan's right hand slides down and then slips underneath the pleated black folds of my skirt. He runs his palm up my thigh, but unlike Creed, he's much less polite. His fingers tease the waistband of my panties before he drops them down and cups my core in his hand.
A sharp gasp escapes me, and Tristan chuckles, this warm, velvety sound that penetrates my darkest depths.
“Shush, or someone will hear us,” he whispers, leaning in and searing my lips with his. Our tongues tangle, and I find that I can't breathe without pulling his essence into me.
“Hear what?” I whisper back, still shaking. “What exactly are we doing here?”
“You know exactly what we're doing,” Tristan tells me, and then his hand slips into my panties and his fingers dance over my wetness, making my knees buckle. He just barely manages to catch me with an arm around the waist, licking and nipping at my lower lip as his fingers work my already aching body into a frenzy.
He clearly knows what he's doing. Jealousy flares hot inside of me as I throw my arms around his neck and kiss him back hard enough to make him cringe slightly.
“Oh no, did I nick you?” I ask, and Tristan draws back just enough to give me this awful, awful little cocksure smile.
“That's what I'm talking about, Marnye. Show me some teeth.” Tristan removes his hand from under my skirt, and I can't decide if I want to kill him or if I'm grateful for the reprieve. Pretty sure I was just about to … “Let's go.”
He takes me by the wrist, leaving our stuff all laid out across the table. On our way across the massive expanse of the library, we run into Creed, lazily dragging himself across the room with his hands tucked into his pockets, ice-colored eyes half-lidded and bored senseless.
When he sees us, he opens them wide and his jaw drops.
“Watch our stuff, Cabot. Keep the Harpy claws off of it.”
“Are you serious?!” Creed shouts as we move past him, and I can hear him cursing under his breath as he watches us slip into the beautiful old bathroom with the vintage hexagon and subway tiles.
Tristan heels the door shut behind him and locks it while I stand there wondering if maybe I've lost my mind.
“What are we doing in here, Tristan?” I ask as he grabs me and sets me on the edge of the counter, leaning in so he can run his tongue across my lower lip.
“Satisfying your curiosity,” he whispers, and I raise an eyebrow.
