Page 14 of Asher Black (The Five Syndicates)
The bastard is amused by my fear.
I try to shrug him off my shoulders, but his grip only tightens. His fingers are now digging into the side of my breast, bringing back memories of his hands and mouth on my nipples. It’s strangely erotic but an unwanted assault nonetheless.
The fear and my stupid, stupid lust feels foreign together but also not entirely unpleasant.
It’s official.
I am a dumbass.
My tombstone can read, “Here lies Dumbass: horny, lonely, and not entirely right in the head,” and it won’t be wrong at all.
Nella huffs and crosses her arms, eyeing the way his arm tightens around my shoulders with disdain. She can hate me all she wants. I’ll be dead soon anyway. I eye the clock. Only two minutes have passed.
Damn.
I have to endure this for 48 more minutes, and now I am literally in my soon-to-be killer’s arms.
No one is fazed when Dr. Rolland comes in, looking disheveled and wearing his coat inside out. Dr. Rolland teaches quantum mechanics and is always in his own world. He’s undoubtedly a bright man, but his sheer brilliance is overshadowed by his inability to arrive to class on time and make eye contact with his students.
He’s already starting his lecture on Heisenberg’s Uncertainty Principle, and he hasn’t even reached the front of the class. He doesn’t even have the little lecture room microphone attached to his shirt yet. This is usually where I would strain to hear what he’s saying, but with my death looming over me, I know I won’t be paying attention to today’s lecture.
Hell, it barely even amuses me when, in a grand act of karmic just
ice, Dr. Rolland opens his mouth and spit flies onto Nella’s cheek.
Serves her right.
For the next half hour, Asher keeps his arm around my shoulders, holding me in place. I tried to get up earlier, when I thought he wasn’t paying attention to me, but he only tightened his grip. It’s almost painful now. I haven’t tried again, even when his finger brushed against my nipple.
I’m still not sure if that was on purpose.
The worst part is that part of me is grateful that only this is happening. That I have—I glance at the clock—14 more minutes of guaranteed safety, even if I have to endure it with his fingers on the side of my breast. I’m comforted by the knowledge that he can’t hurt me in a room full of witnesses, but really, I’m living on borrowed time.
The last month of life has been a generous gift. In the back of my mind, I know that. I’d be stupid to think otherwise. The Romano family is not to be trifled with. Far greater people than me have died trying.
The shallow, senseless part of me tells me to forget who Asher is. To acknowledge and accept that my life will soon be over. That part of me is encouraging me to just take a moment to enjoy the touch of a gorgeous man before it happens.
Even if that gorgeous man may eventually be my killer.
That’s the part of me that hasn’t gotten laid in years. Years. It’s the part of me that remembers how it felt to have his finger in me, his tongue on my clit. It’s also the part of me that’s responsible for my hardened nipples, which are currently pointy peaks under my camisole.
It’s then that Dr. Rolland decides to put his glasses on. His eyes take a moment to adjust before they focus.
Right.
On.
Me.
Or more specifically, my nipples.
He stares in alarm for an awkward moment before his eyes trail up to my face. His eyes aren’t leery. They’re just stunned. And then he sees the arm around my shoulders and follows it to its owner. I’m not taken aback when the clicker in his hand immediately drops to the floor.
This is mortifying. I have a mobster playing with my nipples in the middle of class, a professor who just stared at said nipples and is scared of said mobster, and 299 sets of eyes on me. 301 if you count Dr. Rolland’s and Asher’s.
I watch warily as Dr. Rolland picks up the clicker. His hands are shaky, as is his voice. He’s rambling now about something Heisenberg is quoted to have said on his deathbed, but his words aren’t really making any sense. I can feel the tension in the room, half sympathetic and half anticipating. Many of the students have eager looks on their faces, ready to see what Dr. Rolland will do.
He picks up a thick set of papers and scans through them. He’s still rambling about Heisenberg, and his hands are still shaking. A sheet of paper slips from his fingers and slides across the floor, landing at my feet.
