“Your pulse tells me that you’re lying,” I tell her. “And let me be clear. You don’t sleep with someone like me. Once you say yes you get fucked until you scream. You are taken and pleasured until you can’t take anymore, and then you still get more. Being with me would never be described by such a mundane phrase as ‘sleeping with.’”
She looks at me, and then suddenly steps backwards. “Keep your fucking bed. I’ll sleep on the floor.”
I can’t help but watch her walk away in that dress, legs seeming a mile long coming out of the short skirt. But it’s so much more than that skirt. I’ve never had any woman walk away after that kind of promise or description. I know what I look like, and I know damn well what I’m capable of in bed. I don’t ever get turned down.
Juno is different, and I like that.
I like it even more that I can get under her skin and make her squirm. I need to see more of that blush and find out what pushes her buttons. I want to know more about what makes her tick and why she would take this stupid dare when she seems so serious.
She glances at me as she enters my room, and I’m struck with a déjà vu. I thought that she had looked familiar when she walked into the poker room downstairs, but that look that she just gave me…I’ve seen it before. I just can’t remember where.
I follow her into my room and grin when I see that she’s kicked off her high heels, grabbed my extra blanket and pillow and is in the process of making herself a nest in the corner—the corner that is as far from my bed as is physically possible in the space.
Oh, this is going to be fun.
Juno isn’t like any girl that I’ve ever met here, and she’s mine. I wasn’t very excited about school this year, but I am now. This year is going to be special.
I can’t fucking wait.
4
Juno
I almost didn’t take the extra fluffy blanket that Malcolm tossed to me in addition to the thin quilt that I stole from his bed, but I do actually need to get some sleep, and this will make far better padding than the blanket I took.
But I don’t say thank you. I don’t acknowledge him at all. I don’t want him to know that he has any kind of effect on me even though he does.
The way that he touched me in the hallway, daring to suggest that I would enjoy being with him…it was true. And I hate that he was right. I hate the idea that now that I’ve agreed to live here and do his bidding that he thinks he can just have me. I will prove him wrong.
Malcolm’s already made it clear that he will never force anyone, but if he’d kept touching me, and describing how it would be if he took me to bed, I couldn’t have resisted much longer.
I set my alarm for early so that I can go get clothes before my class, and close my eyes. Sleep. That’s the goal. That’s what I need. But Malcolm doesn’t seem to have the same goal.
The corner I set up my bed in is next to a mirror on the wall, and I can see him moving around when I open my eyes briefly, doing things. He’s at his desk looking over some papers, stacking books and putting them in a backpack.
It’s somehow easy to tune out the pounding bass from downstairs and the general white noise of the ongoing party, but every sound that Malcolm makes feels like it’s amplified directly into my ear. Like I’m attuned to him in a way that I can’t avoid.
When he’s done with whatever he’s doing on his desk, he types on his phone, the little keyboard making those sounds that are usually muted. And then he moves to the closet. I try to ignore him, but the rustle of fabric and the shriek of hangers sliding is too much. I’m never going to be able to sleep like this.
“Do you really have to do all of that?” I ask him. “Right now?”
In the mirror I see him smirk. “Yes, Juno. Yes I do. This is my room, and just because you happen to be in it doesn’t mean that I’m not going to keep to my routine. Every part of my routine.”
He’s smiling when he leaves the room, and I’m assuming he went to the bathroom. God, what have I gotten myself into? It seems like Malcolm knows exactly how to push my buttons and we’ve only known each other for a couple of hours. This is going to be a very long year. But at least, hopefully, I won’t be sleeping on his floor the whole time.
Maybe I can get to sleep before he comes back. I close my eyes and let myself drift, but I’m not that lucky. The door opens and reveals Malcolm in nothing but soft gray sweatpants. I can see him in the mirror, and shock runs down my spine.
Every inch of him is just as hard as the forearms that I saw earlier. In the dim light of the lamp, his abs are cast in sharp relief. The pants are slung low on his hips, showing off the sexy V that leads to a cock that I can’t see but is clearly hard, bulging against his sweats, the outline fully visible even through the fabric.
And he is huge.
My eyes won’t stop tracing him up and down in the reflection, just the way he kept looking at me. The blush that paints my face is entirely
