“Stop,” I say. But I didn’t need to.
He’s backed up even more, reaching up with one hand to rub the base of his neck as those eyes pierce me. He doesn’t speak, just waits for me as I stand there, chest heaving and still.
“What is this? I’m mad at you,” I say, throwing my head back and looking up at the ceiling.
He still doesn’t say anything, and I turn, wrapping my arms around myself.
The silence is deafening until I hear him move. His front meets my back, and I curve into him. One strong arm wraps around mine, pinning them in place as I sigh, laying my head back on his chest. It feels good. To give in. Give in to my pleasure. Even if we don’t like each other, I can’t deny there is chemistry. His right hand snakes along my stomach, fingertips tracing the top of my skirt before dipping underneath, toying with the edge of my lacy thong.
“What do you want most in life?” he asks suddenly, pulling me even tighter to him. His forehead rests on the back of my head, pressing in, as his fingers tease the sensitive skin of my thigh. He slips his hand into my panties, tracing the crease of my leg.
“To attend the Art Institute of Chicago,” I say automatically. Even with the hazy sexual tension in the room, I can answer that question. It’s something I have been dreaming of since I can remember. “Why?” I wrinkle my brows at his random question, squirming as one finger gets closer to my aching core.
“What I want most in life isn’t for myself,” he murmurs.
I frown, wrinkling my forehead. What an odd thing to say.
He shoves one finger inside me, and I gasp, lurching forward, but his arm around me keeps me steady, on my feet. He leisurely strokes it in and out as he kneads my breast with his other hand, his teeth nipping my neck.
“You aren’t what’s best for me, Landry.”
He licks up my ear, spreading goose bumps down my neck as he keeps up the rhythm of his finger. In. Out. I push my ass back, digging into his jean-covered cock. I can feel how hard he is through the material. I try to reach back and palm him, but he stops me.
“No,” he growls, inserting another finger inside me.
I am dying for him to touch my throbbing clit, to feed this hunger I’m chasing, but he doesn’t go near it.
Just in. Out. In. Out.
“Why?” I whisper.
He stalls, and I want to cry out at the sudden loss of my building pleasure.
“You could take it all away,” he says, finally pressing down on my clit, sending me over the edge.
I cry out, throwing my head back on his shoulder.
“Good girl,” he whispers in my ear as he pulls his hand out.
Reaching up, he inserts his forefinger in his mouth, sucking my taste off. I watch with wide eyes over my shoulder, unable to move as he steps away, sucking on his middle finger.
What. The. Fuck?
“I should hate you,” I say, finally turning around, and he stares at me with hooded eyes, biting his lower lip. “But I don’t, and I don’t know why.” I almost cry the words out but manage to say them with a steady tone.
His expression doesn’t change as he regards me. He reaches down to adjust himself. He’s still straining against his pants, and my eyes follow his hand.
“You should hate me,” he says with a nod.
I tuck my hair behind my ear as we stand there in silence, neither of us knowing what to say. We hardly know each other, and yet he’s touched my most intimate parts. I let him. And I don’t feel one bit bad about it. God, he’s fucking messing with my mind, and in some screwed-up way, I like it. I’ve never been one of those girls, but one look from him, and I’m melting into the floor from heat and desire.
“What is it you want most in life?” I ask, recalling his words spoken mere moments earlier.
He moves his hand up, dragging one thumb across his bottom lip before licking it.
“I want the best life possible for Abe,” he says, shoving his hands in his pockets. It pulls the top of his jeans down a smidgen, and I can see a sliver of skin.
I stare as I think about what he said.
“Abe?”
“My little brother.”
I reach across and rub my arm—a nervous habit. This is what we should be doing, getting to know each other, but it feels uncomfortable. Like he’s not sure he should be talking about his personal life.
“Why doesn’t he have a good life now?” I don’t see how he couldn’t be taken care of and cared for as a child of the one percent. There’s something off about this whole thing, and I can’t put my finger on it.
“He lives with our grandparents, and they aren’t the nicest people.” He walks over to my desk, lifting papers and thumbing through them.
I watch him, not even caring that he’s invading my privacy. He turns the page of my sketchbook, tilting his head to the side as he peruses my work. He is sharing his life with me right now, and I don’t want that to stop.
“I’m a scholarship student,” he says, looking up, and I suck in a breath.
“A scholarship student?” I parrot back dumbly, not even sure I heard him right.
“Yes, I’m fucking poor. I come from Loredo. It’s about thirty minutes away. My brother is still there, and I want to get him out when I turn eighteen.” He cocks one hip against my desk. Laying the papers back down, he levels me with a look. It’s as if he’s daring me to make fun of him.
“I think that’s admirable,” I say, walking toward him but I come to a standstill when he shakes his head. I busy myself grabbing a discarded sweatshirt and pulling it over my head to cover myself before speaking again. “I don’t see what that has to do with me though.”
“I’ve got to go.” He suddenly stands up from the desk and wrenches my door open.
“Corbin?” I put my hand out, reaching for him.
He pauses, only for a moment, before he disappears through the door, leaving me with more questions than answers in our short time together.
Trixie is leaning on the wall across from our room, staring down the hallway in the direction Corbin went. She brings wide eyes back to mine and grins. “Get everything worked out?”
“Get in here,” I hiss, and she pushes off the wall, walking inside the room. “Why didn’t you tell me Corbin was a scholarship student?”
“I didn’t know it was a secret.”
“Well, I didn’t know.”
“Did he only tell you now?” She raises her eyebrows.
“Yeah.”
“Interesting.”
I could scream at her for her cryptic answer. She must see the crazy in my eyes because she walks forward, sighing.
“It’s not usually talked about. The scholarship students generally keep to themselves, not having grown up with the kids who go here. Except for Corbin. He’s the odd man out, who rose to the top. Freshman year, Brock and Bodhi took him in. I don’t know the details, but they’ve been together ever since. They don’t talk about it with anyone else. I just think it’s strange that he told you, I guess.” She shrugs and sits down across from me on her bed.
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” I say.
Trixie shakes her head. “Not to you and me, but everyone else here would rather die than be poor.”