He slams your back into the wall, his hot mouth on yours, the kiss bruising your lips. One of his hands is pressed into the wall on the side of your head, above your shoulder, the other one is keeping your face at the angle he needs, your chin between his index finger and his thumb, he’s lifting it up to easier reach your mouth. Then he hoists you up with his knee, pressed up between your legs, and your feet don’t reach the ground anymore. You whimper. He turns your face up and to the side, and attacks your neck. You pull yourself up wrapping your arms around his neck and hug his waist with your legs.
He lowers the foot down and shifts both hands on your arse, supporting your weight. Then he straightens up, and now it’s your turn to bite and lick his neck. He growls and slams you into the wall again.
“Wren… Wren… Wrennie…” It sounds like a prayer. You grab handfuls of his hair and pull. “Wren, please… fuck it…” He’s kissing you again, greedily, hungrily. “Please, curse it, the back pocket!..”
You twist your body to reach, he bites the back of your neck. You moan and press your hand into his denim pocket. And pull out a condom. Sudden cold soberness comes over you.
How the fuck did you end up in this position?
Right, it starts with lunch. He parks in front of that small French bistro they opened at the ground floor of the old Hilton in downtown. To be honest, you feel relieved. No bloody way you are letting him pay for your meal. And unlike him, that bistro is probably as expensive as you can afford. Anything more posh, and you would have to limit yourself to a cup of tea. Not that you are in the mood for eating. Let’s face it, you tend to puke from stress, like a puppy. And right now you feel very noticeably nauseated.
He walks around the car to open you the door, but you are already outside. He frowns. Hello, Dr. Grumpy is back. It is a bit funny, and you giggle.
“Are you going to make a sarcastic remark about my outdated manners, Miss Leary?”
“I’m sure in your times they were perfectly up-to-date, Dr. Thorington.” God, Wren, you just can’t help yourself around him. Something brings up this weird rebellious side in you. You suspect it’s the extreme arousal that you’re fighting near him at all times. Bugger.
He guffaws – an actual open laugh – and loops his arm. “Shall we?”
The café is nice, not too pretentious. He chooses a small table in a dim niche. Is he hiding you from others again? You bite your tongue. Alright, Wren, this is how we’re going to do it. You’re going to be completely civilized; you are not going to go bonkers, overreact, and snap. You’ve learnt your bloody lesson.
And even more so, you have to remember where you stand these days. You are an independent, fairly smart woman. Yes, you are endlessly attracted to him, but you aren’t going down that road again. He’s dashing, you’re sane. Listen to what he has to say, it’s probably something useful, and get the fuck out of here.
Your server comes and lights a candle on your table. Shite.
“Can I offer you drinks for the start?”
“Water, please.” Your usual answer.
“They have decent house wine.” His nose is buried in the menu.
“No, thank you, just water for me.”
You order your food, and he leans back on his chair.
Oh fuck, can he be more delectable? Dark denim, light blue shirt with navy blue stripes, collar open, perfect cut of the dress jacket. Everything is just right. Fuck… You sip your water and wait patiently. Also, you don’t dare talking, since you would probably sound breathy. You’re pressing your knees together.
Why do you feel like you’re in a headmaster’s office? You didn’t feel that way about him, for example, after you almost shagged in the Dean’s office. It’s probably his unwavering confidence. Once there’s a crack in his cold exterior, you feel like you’re actually talking to a person. Right now, in front of you, that’s not a person, it’s an embodiment of your endlessly graphic sexual fantasies. You had to jill off twice last night just to stop thinking about him. By the way, you still haven’t unwrapped Thea’s present. You haven’t told her obviously, mostly out of fear that you would have to explain to her that the reason is that it reminds you too much of the size and shape of a certain doctor’s tool. But on the other hand you suspect she might have done it on purpose, she did interrogate you very thoroughly after the swamp incident. At least she didn’t ask you to draw a diagram.
You take another sip of water. Not the smartest direction of thoughts right now, Wren. The server brings his glass of red wine, and he takes a sip. Oh, you won’t survive this lunch. Everything he does looks like bloody porn to you…
He sighs. “Has Maya offered you to present at the Riverdell?” You freeze with your glass near your lips.
“Has Maya pushed the presentation in the Riverdell Institute onto you?”
To lie or not to lie, that is the bloody question. On one hand, he’s currently affiliated with the Yamataki Foundation and is part of the project. He has every right to ask. Also, you feel that in the weird aggravation that is your relationships he harbours some sort of protectiveness towards you. On the other hand, do you want him to meddle in your life? You suspect, whatever trouble with Claufield and Thrandon you seem to run into has nothing to do with you, and everything to do with him. They are probably under a false impression that you are his protege. Or a doxy. What did the blond wanker say? “Maya told me how territorial you get about your little ginger here.” He also called you Thorington’s ‘pet.’
“Yes, Dr. Claufield offered me the opportunity to present in the Institute.” His jaw muscles tense.
“You need to find an excuse and arrange someone else to go.”
“Pardon?” Can he be more autocratic?
“The whole point of this trip is to embarrass you in front of Elwig, and show the weakness of the project. Sending a student where a head of a research section should go is an obvious attempt to discredit the project. And humiliate you at the same time.”
Your first reaction is to yell that he doesn’t know anything! Obviously you wouldn’t let the lab down! You can present it better than any head of a section! But maybe, just a little bit you smartened up in the last few months. You ponder what he said. He’s keeping his eyes on you, waiting.
“Why would she do that?” He gives you a strange little smile.
“Brava, Miss Leary, your self-control has vastly improved since we met.” Arrogant prick. “Financially, I suspect it has something to do with Thrandon wanting to take over the project. Yamataki need Elwig’s support. On the personal level – because she hates you.”
“Why? What have I done to her?” He licks his lips and looks almost guilty.
“It might be my fault. I was reckless enough to show her that I care…” He stumbles, and finishes after a hardly noticeable pause, “…about what happens to you.”
“Maya and I go way back, and she would like nothing more but to take everything away from me. A cold vengefulness of a woman, I’m afraid.”
He doesn’t need to explain. The words unspoken words ‘the vengefulness of a rejected woman’ are floating above your table.