24. Emily

24

EMILY

" M e . The answer is me. The only person I consider when choosing what I want to wear is me, myself, and I." Even as I hissed the words in his face, I knew they were a lie. I may not have done it consciously, but some part of me hoped I'd see him today. Hoped Cohen meant it when he said he'd see me tomorrow .

And now I was pissed off. At him. At Professor Daniels and at myself. For tossing my feminism out the window because some guy happened to have piercing blue eyes and a nice set of dimples.

Even knowing this, I didn't pull away when Cohen reached out a hand and tapped a finger on my lower lip. "You know, you're pretty when you lie, Emily." He grinned. "But you're absolutely breathtaking when you tell the truth."

I didn't know how to respond to that. Hell, I didn't know how to respond to half the shit this man said. Considering there wasn't much distinction between his compliments or his insults. It seemed the two were fairly interchangeable.

Before I knew what I was doing, Cohen was leading me out of the classroom. Down the hall and into some supply closet that I was certain should have been locked. I wouldn't have questioned it if he hadn't slammed me up against the back of the door, shoving his tongue so deep into my mouth I was surprised I didn't choke. Then his hands were up my skirt, gliding back and forth across the thin fabric of my underwear. I had several classes left to attend before I went home for the day and the last thing I needed was to smell like sex.

That didn't stop me from grinding against his hand, though. Or moaning against his lips before he glided them to that spot just beneath my ear and sucked.

"Why'd you wear the skirt, Emily?" he mumbled into my skin.

"I… I don't know."

"Wrong answer," he grunted between clenched teeth, running quick circles over my clit, his cock grinding against my belly at the same rhythm until he quickly dropped his hand and pulled away.

My chest was rising and falling with my rapid breaths, my every nerve ending buzzing and my blood pumping loud in my ears.

Why'd you stop? That's what I wanted to say. But my mouth couldn't seem to find words. My brain lust-drunk and my hormones in overdrive.

I glanced up at Cohen, who didn't appear much better as he paced back and forth in the small space while combing a hand through his tousled hair. My eyes flicked to the bulge tenting his pants and I held back a smirk.

I wasn't the only one hanging on by a loose thread.

"Tell me." He pivoted on his heel and rushed forward, slamming one hand on the door. Above my head. The other dropping to my waist and tugging me forward so that I had no choice but to feel him grind himself against me. "Tell me why you wore that to class today, of all days, Emily."

"For you," I whispered, but apparently it was enough to have him grinning back at me. Then he slipped his palm down the door and onto the handle. He twisted and I stumbled back a step, before he pushed through and walked out without bothering to say another word. Or even spare me a second look.