26. Emily

26

EMILY

C herry cola, red licorice, and Cohen Michaels. My three vices. None of them good for me. But all of them made my mouth water.

I knew what he was doing. I'd turned him down that first night. Bruised his frail ego and now he needed me to beg for it. To chase him and make him feel wanted again, so he could return the favor and throw me out on my rear.

He was a grown-ass man throwing a toddler-sized tantrum. And I shouldn't feed into it. After all, what kind of lesson would that be?

At the same time, resisting him didn't seem to be an option either. Not when my body was so ready and willing. There was no hiding my attraction. No tamping it down or denying it either. Which left me between a rock and a literal hard place.

That place being the hefty bulge that hung between his legs.

Maybe it was better to just fuck him and get it over with. Enjoy myself for as long as it lasted. Then watch him get bored and move on. Because that was what guys like Cohen Michaels did. They got in your pants and then got out of there. There were no flowers, no calls the next day. Hell, if they ran into you out in the wild, they didn't even remember your name.

And if they didn't remember your name, they sure as shit would forget your class schedule.

So, as I watched him walk away for the third time in as many days, I decided I would do my sanity a service and fuck Cohen Michaels out of both our systems. Prove to myself that I wasn't special and neither was he.

Fifteen minutes into my Fundamentals of International Business lecture, and I felt… nothing. No rise of the hair on the back of my neck. No prickling sensation when I could feel a pair of eyes searing their way into my skin. No sixth sense that told me someone was watching me.

Nothing. But a chill that traveled up my spine at the realization that I was alone. Completely alone in a room full of people.

I should have been used to it; instead, I was becoming used to him. In only a handful of days.

My eyes flicked around the lecture hall, seeking him out without even realizing I was doing it. Until my phone buzzed and vibrated across my desk tray. I glanced down at the screen and the words unknown number .

UNKNOWN:

Looking for someone?

I snatched up the device, checking to make sure Professor Walsh was thoroughly distracted by the sound of his own voice before trying to come up with a suitable response. The stubborn part of me wanted to tell him to fuck off. But being bratty hadn't gotten me anywhere. In fact, he seemed to like it. The challenge. The chase. Playing cat and mouse with my libido.

I stared at the text box, willing a reply to formulate while my thumbs hovered over the little keyboard.

UNKNOWN:

Ignoring me or thinking too hard, babe?

UNKNOWN:

No need to answer that. I can see the stress lines on your forehead. The little beads of sweat pooling at your temples and the way your nose scrunches up whenever you're hyperfocused.

I couldn't help myself and immediately glanced up and around again. Only to come up short. He wasn't here. In this room. I was sure of it. But he could see me. I was sure of that too.

That or he was bluffing. Something told me he wasn't though.

UNKNOWN:

Are you wet just thinking about me watching you, Emily? Your thighs clenching tight and your pussy tensing at the thought of me filling you up?

ME:

No.

Yeah, it wasn't a strong argument but it was the best I could do at the moment.

UNKNOWN:

Then tell me what has you squirming in your seat? You really should be taking notes. That's what good girls do in class.

ME:

And what gave you the impression I was a good girl, Cohen? Or is that just another assumption you got wrong?

The little check mark popped up, telling me my message was read, followed by the bubbles that indicated he was typing out a reply. But nothing came through. Not five minutes later or ten or twenty. Or even by the end of class.

Couldn't say I was shocked by Cohen's sudden radio silence. I'd taken the fun out of our little back and forth by being so agreeable. The slight flirtation had given him what he wanted and like every spoiled child, once he got it, he didn't want it anymore.

At least that was my own misplaced assumption, which was proven wrong the moment I stepped foot into my dorm room, only to find a pair of stark blue eyes glaring back at me from my bed.

I had no idea how long he'd been waiting for me. In that spot. On my mattress. Appearing so out of place in his designer clothes on my bargain bedsheets.

"What are you doing here, Cohen?" I huffed as I tossed my bag on its usual spot by the door before slipping out of my sneakers and tucking them against the wall. I didn't bother asking him how he got in or even feigning surprise. Because it had been a long day and I just didn't have it in me.

His body didn't move. There was barely a rise and fall of his chest. A flare of his nostrils or a flutter of his lashes as his eyes tracked me across the room. I would think he was dead if it weren't for the sudden dilation of his pupils when I shrugged out of my cardigan and tossed it on the chair.

My roommate was gone for the weekend, not that she was really ever here. Something I planned to finally use to my advantage.

I took three steps forward, prying his legs open and pressing myself between them before bracing my arms on his neck and straddling his lap. "You didn't answer my question."

"Was it a question, Emily?" He hissed when I took his earlobe between my teeth and sank down. "Thought it was rhetorical. Since you know exactly why I'm here," he grunted as he flipped me down onto my bed and quickly climbed his way up my body.