Chapter 163 Chapter One Hundred And Sixty Three
I pulled out a stack of history papers, most of which were barely even started. Mr. Reeves's neat handwriting marked the tops of each one: "See me after class" and "Incomplete" and "This is not acceptable work, Mr. Dawson."
How do I tell them that I don't know what to do anymore? That when I'm with Jace, suddenly the plan doesn't matter anymore? That I think I might be in love—
No. Don't finish that thought.
Because if I'm in love with him, then I can never hurt him. Which means I'm betraying Nicole and Jake and Noah and everything we've been working toward for so long, all the sacrifices they had made for me, all the progress we’d be making.
This was such a stupid idea! The dumbest idea I've ever had! Why did I ever think this would help? Why did I have to be such a—
BEEP BEEP BEEP.
I jumped, nearly dropping the stack of papers in my hands at the sound of the timer going off, my heart leaping into my throat.
No. No, there's no way. It hasn't been one hour already.
But when I looked outside, evening had already fallen. The sky was now a deep purple, and stars were just beginning to appear. The warm golden light from Jace's desk lamp cast long shadows across the room.
I'd been so lost in my thoughts, so absorbed in organizing and panicking, that I hadn't noticed time passing.
"Lena."
His voice came from right behind me, close, much too close. When had he moved?
I turned around slowly, my pulse racing in my chest, only to find Jace standing there with his notebook in hand. He was backlit by the desk lamp, his expression unreadable in the shadows, but I could feel the intensity radiating off him.
He took another step closer, close enough that I had to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. Then he dropped the notebook on the shelf beside me with a soft thud.
"Count them," he said, his voice low and rough.
I swallowed hard, my mouth suddenly dry. Beads of sweat were starting to form on my brow despite the cool air from his window.
This is it. The moment of truth.
With shaking hands, I picked up the notebook and flipped to the chapter seven problems. I started going through them one by one, checking each answer myself, then against the solutions in the back of the textbook just to make sure.
First problem: correct. I marked it with a check.
Second problem: wrong. I marked it with an X.
Third problem: correct. Check.
Fourth problem: wrong. X.
Fifth problem: correct. Check.
My heart sank further with each correct answer. Please let there be more wrong answers. Please. I’ll never have a single lustful thought in my life again, I swear.
I reached the end of the section and counted the marks, then recounted them a second time, and then a third because I couldn't believe it.
"How many?" Jace's voice was closer now. He'd moved behind me again, close enough that I could feel his body heat, that it sent memories of the last hour spinning through my head.
Touch me. I thought. What are you waiting for?
"Twenty," I managed, my voice barely above a whisper. "There are twenty questions total."
"And?" His hand came up to rest on the shelf beside my head, caging me in. "How many did I pass?"
I swallowed again. Say it. Just say it.
"Eleven."
"Speak up, princess." His other hand came up, slowly pulling the hair tie from the ponytail I put up a while ago. My hair tumbled down my back in waves, and his fingers threaded through it, gentle but possessive. "I can't hear you."
"Eleven," I said louder, my voice shaking. "You got eleven correct."
"So correct me if I'm wrong—" His fingers trailed down from my hair to my neck, tracing the line of my spine through my shirt, making me shiver. "—but you owe me eleven kisses. Right?"
Oh God. Oh God, this is really happening. Lena, you idiot! Do something!
"Right," I breathed out, turning to face him.
His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide as he gazed into mine, his lips parted slightly. He stepped closer, cancelling out what little space remained between us and backing me fully against the bookshelf.
"And you never specified where I got to kiss you," he continued, his voice dropping even lower, getting so much more intimate. His hand came up to cup my face, his thumb stroking across my cheekbone. "So that means I get to pick. Don't I?"
What the heck did he mean by that? I thought.
I was a little confused by his emphasis to argue, too caught up in the heat of his body against mine, too distracted by the feeling of his thumb now tracing my bottom lip, the promise in his eyes that made me so nervous I could barely breathe.
There were probably stronger girls somewhere out there who could resist this, who wouldn't care to be the sole object of Jace Dawson’s attention, but I wasn’t one of them.
I was weak, and I was foolish, and I couldn’t step away or do anything other than pray desperately that he kissed me, and that it was just as good as last time.
"Pick anywhere you want. Yeah," I managed, and it was a wonder I could make myself say that, because my brain was so fuzzy I could barely even think "I guess. Sure."
His smile turned sharp and vicious as he leaned in close to trap me, his lips brushing against my ear as he spoke.
"Good. So tell me, princess—" I felt his tongue trace a slow, hot line from the base of my throat all the way up to my ear, and I gasped helplessly, unable to hold back the embarrassing sound that tore out of me "—have you ever been eaten out before?"