This is a mess and now both of us are confused.
At least one good thing came out of tonight.
Either what had happened has left Izara so traumatized that she’s forcing away the memories, or her Prod is making her forget.
And I intend to find out which.
Twelve
Izara
Attempting to lure out whatever beast is inside me last night was a cakewalk compared to the torture this morning. Having to look Phoenix in the eye after having multiple orgasmic wet dreams about him... that’s just a new awkwardness that I didn’t even know I was capable of.
But he and I both know what he did.
Now lets see if he confesses, grovels, pleads for me to forgive him for crossing a line within my dreams.
Even if I did jump his dream dick the moment he stepped foot over that little line.
“Morning,” he says in a clipped, careless tone as his body slips from his bed and he walks over to the closet.
... Doesn’t sound very grovel-ish.
I wait, but he doesn’t add any crying words onto that single phrase...
His hair is plastered to his head on one side, while the other stands out in all sorts of odd directions. He yawns and stretches with a prowling ferocity that makes his muscles ripple with every sexy move. It isn’t fucking fair that he can look as attractive as a Greek sex god this early wearing absolutely nothing at all.
He busies himself by slipping on his tight white shirt, long fingers buttoning it up while never meeting my eyes and thankfully never seeing the deep flush of my cheeks or my glaring eyes.
I just can’t help but have so many dirty memories of my dreams flash through my mind when I look at him.
I feel like my body is on fire and my cheeks are the only surviving part of me that’s trying to warn everyone of the death by embarrassment that I’m experiencing.
“Mornnnggg,” I mumble out a string of syllables that almost sound like a greeting, almost sound like a disease.
That gets his steady attention. He arches an eyebrow at me for less than half a second before going back to getting dressed.
I stand from my bunk and linger at the end of the bed near the closet.
He ignores me mostly, shakes his head and turns for the door.
“Don’t forget to walk your girlfriend to class,” Saint chirps, lording over all of us from his top bunk and watching the show with big, excited eyes.
His strangeness seems to have intensified since I’ve been gone.
Malek passes the vampire a glare before continuing to water his herbs on the windowsill, forcefully ignoring us it seems like.
Phoenix’s gaze drops to my legs, trails over my underwear, and Malek’s shirt. It’s soft and smells like him and the dirt we practiced in the night before. I don’t have any casual clothes, really. I’m tired of sleeping in button-down shirts. Malek was nice enough to literally give me the shirt off his back and he might be the one person I really trust in this place.
The demon’s emerald eyes glint until an inky color swirls there at the sight of the baggy shirt hanging on my body.
He blinks the darkness from his eyes.
“You’re not even dressed yet,” he growls out, gripping his binder and seeming like he might make a break for the door again at any moment. Then he lifts his hands impatiently. “Take Lassie’s fucking shirt off and let’s go.”
His tone alone causes a stubbornness inside me to rear up and demand that I push him even more.
I face him fully and simply cock my head at him.
Then warm fingers slide over my hips just as a strong body presses to my back. Malek’s scent surrounds me, his palms teasing over my ribs as he pushes his shirt along my body, halting just beneath my breasts. His big body turns, shifting me until I’m facing the closet, shielding me from the rest of the room as he pulls the material fully off and lets warm air pebble my nipples.
Or maybe it’s just because his body is still pressed in all the right places against me, his breath kissing my neck as he whispers in my ear.
“I’ll leave this on your bed for you,” he says, his lips brushing so lightly along my ear that I arch my neck for him.
My fingers tremble as I grab the first small shirt I find and I pull it on without thought, my skirt following. They’re clean now, no sign of the culinary disaster or stains in sight.
When I turn with my red tie in hand, Phoenix’s rage is still ticking through his jaw.
“I’m ready,” I beam with the biggest eat shit smile I can muster.
With jerking motions he grabs my binder and shoves it hard into my chest before swinging open the whining door. “Let’s go.”
A weird happiness flutters through me.
Maybe it’s just a natural hate Phoenix has for Malek. Or maybe, just maybe, he’s possessive of me. Jealousy even.
I rush after him down the hall and can’t help but push him a little more and a little more until even I know I should shut the fuck up.
“Are you mad, baby?” I purr at his side but it does the opposite because then the sound of his sexy tone from the other night is echoing through my mind.
Please what, baby?
Shivers wreak havoc through my body, his voice haunting my mind as well as my sex drive.
“I’m not mad,” he says on a voice that, if I’m not mistaken, sounds incredibly mad. “Just some advice. If you want this shit to be convincing, if you want a fake boyfriend, don’t let dirty dogs paw all fucking over you then.” We storm outside, him pounding his boots over the pavement and me stomping my little tennis shoes even harder to compete.
“Convincing?” My head rears back rather dramatically but I just don’t fucking care. “According to Saint, and I’m starting to agree, you wouldn’t know how to be someone’s boyfriend if a fucking Rom-com smacked you in your demonic face.”
“What the fuck is a Rom-com?” He glares down on me, insulted by my use of genre lingo.
“A romantic comedy. The staple of chick flick love.” I arch an impatient eyebrow at him, but he just shakes his pretentious head at me. “The point is, if this fails, it’s your fault. You only know how to screw women, you have no idea what it looks like for a guy to actually like a girl.”
He drops his black binder to the grass and then his hands push low down my back, pulling me close even as my arms hang rather confused at my sides.
“What are you doing?” Why do I keep asking this over and over again in this weird fucking school?
His head dips low, his lips hovering over mine like his next growling words will suffocate me on contact.
A girl from my Prod Health class passes and smirks knowingly, forcing me to smile the most awkward smile that’s ever tensed my lips.
“What the fuck are you doing? People are staring,” I tell him on a hushed yell.
Then his lips press to mine. Once. Twice. Three times and my hands instinctively clunch his strong shoulders, digging in until there’s no space between his hard body and my mine.
“Just showing them what it looks like when a guy likes a girl,” he whispers before sliding his tongue so slowly over mine, I can remember the taste of my orgasm on his lips before he fucked me senseless in my dreams.
Lust and embarrassment slam into me all at once at that thought.
I shove out of his arms.