I couldn’t breathe. His pace was too fast and deep.
I couldn’t fight. The pleasure was too intense and strong.
And I couldn’t stop my response to his anger pulsing between my legs.
I came.
Hard, long—spiraling down and down, darker and darker, losing myself to the muddy, desolate world of Arthur Killian.
With a roar, he spurted inside, filling me, ruining me, taking everything that I ever was.
Time passed.
I didn’t know how much—could’ve been five minutes or an hour—but Kill roused me from my sex-haze slumber as he tripped over the book on the carpet. He was fully dressed and in control again as he bent to pick it up.
Propping myself on my elbows, I didn’t care my skirt was bunched and showing my very used and exposed pussy. All I cared about was the black-shrouded vision of the man who carried so much turmoil inside.
I’m not afraid of him.
The sudden realization that I couldn’t fear someone who struggled more than me was empowering.
He turned to face me, waving the book. He cocked an eyebrow. “You were working on your IQ?”
I smiled, remembering a particularly hard mathematical question. I could’ve stared at it for the rest of my life, or been given the best calculator in the world, and still never understood how to solve it.
I didn’t even attempt to work it out. After all, he wasn’t there to fix my mistakes and erase my incorrect answers.
I scooted higher, tugging down my skirt. “I’m no good at math.”
“The answer is nine hundred and eighty-four squared.”
My mouth hung open. “You’ve memorized the answers?”
He scowled. “You think I cheated?”
I beckoned him to come closer, glancing at the page-long equation with font so small I practically needed a magnifying glass. “You took two seconds to figure it out.” I looked up into his confident gaze. “Have you done the problem before, and either remembered it or—”
His lips twisted. “Or what? I’m a genius?” He raised an eyebrow. I couldn’t sense if he was mocking me or seriously pissed off at my disbelief.
“Are you a genius?”
He dumped the book on the bed and crossed his arms. “There are a lot of theories on what makes a genius, but technically my IQ is one hundred and fifty-eight and a genius is anything over one hundred and sixty, so you could say… I’m close.”
I nodded, thrilled that he was talking to me after three days of silence. “Fascinating. Tell me the meaning of life, oh brainy one.”
His mouth twitched despite himself. “There is no meaning of life.”
I thought back to the mantra he whispered every night in his office. Tilting my head, I murmured, “I think you have a meaning—a purpose. You’re driven by it and won’t rest until it’s fulfilled.”
He took a step backward, his face going white.
I stood upright, not wanting him to leave when I was close to bulldozing down one of his walls. Something soft and cool prodded against my toes.
I looked down.
My eyes fell on the well-handled Libra eraser.
“Homework tonight?”
I let him in, locking the door behind him. “My mom and dad are out. We have the place to ourselves.” I whispered, “I need you.”
The foyer of the home I shared with my parents went instantly thick with sexual tension.
His green eyes flared; he swallowed. “I—you know how much I want you, but… you’re too young.”
“I’m fourteen next week. And I’ve known you since I was born.” I went to hug him, but he moved quickly out of reach. “Please, I love you. I want you to be my first.”
He sighed heavily. “I will be your first. But wait a little longer. I don’t want to hurt you.” His hand disappeared into his pocket, pulling out the brand-new Libra eraser I’d given him last week. He’d told me to get a better eraser. And I’d wanted to remind him of all the good qualities he possessed being a Libran.
Holding it up, he muttered, “You gave me this. It’s all I’m accepting from you until I’m sure I’ll never lose you.”
“You will never lose me.”
Sadness beyond his seventeen years flickered in his gaze. “I lose you every time I go home without you. The day I make love to you is the day my life is over.”
My heart squeezed. “Over?”
“It’ll be over because I’ll give you my soul when you give me your body, and I’ll never be able to live without it again.”
I crumbled to a puddle, picking up the eraser and holding it to my heart.
“I—I gave you this.” I held it up, tears streaming through my eyes. “I gave you this the night I begged you to take my virginity.”
Kill stumbled, his legs buckled, and for a second I thought he’d pass out. Then rage—undiluted, terrible rage—filled his body. “Shut up!” he roared. “Shut up with your mind tricks and fucking illusions!”
“It’s not a trick! You have to believe me!”
He lurched forward, snatching the eraser from my fingers. His face was livid as he raised his fist as if to strike. His jaw-length hair fell forward in an unruly mess.
“Don’t!” I curled into a little ball, protecting my head with my arms. “I remember you. I remember stolen kisses on a rooftop beneath the moon. I remember you helping me with my homework. I remember the days spent swimming naked at the private beach we found. I remember the love I felt for you—the love that never—”