Drawn (23 page)

“Just you.” He looks at me momentarily, the heat in his eyes is enough to send my heart racing.

The moment he parks the car, I unclick my belt myself and jump out of the car, before the engine is even turned off. “Hurry,” I call out to him, giving him a knowing grin before I spin on my heel and run for the foyer door.

He’
s fast, and by the time I’m in the stairwell, I hear him coming up behind me. Glancing over my shoulder, I laugh as I quicken my pace, noting the hungry look in his eyes as he pursues me up the second flight of stairs.

“Gotcha,” he growls, his hands gripping my waist and lifting me off the ground
, spinning me so I face him. Squealing with laughter as we collapse on the staircase together, I can’t help but notice how he holds me to him to soften my fall. “I’ve got you,” he says again, but in a whisper this time as he brushes his lips over mine, his arms sliding around my body as he lifts me off the stairs and takes my mouth with his.

I wrap myself around him, legs and arms as he carries me up the last few steps, kissing me fervently as he slides his key in the door
and lets us inside.

“I want you Etta. I can’t stop wanting you,” he murmurs, as we each tighten our grip around each other, it’s verging on being painful, but I can’t stop
pulling at him. I dig my nails into his back through his shirt and just pull.

“Make love to me
Damien,” I gasp. “Make love to me right now and don’t stop. I want you inside me. I want to feel you. Please.”

He drops us to the floor, dragging my pants down my legs and pushing them to the side
before sliding his hands underneath my arse and moving me like a doll so that my legs are over his shoulders. My back curves upward as he lifts my hips off the floor and drives his tongue between my folds then sucks firmly on my clit.

“Oh god,” I gasp out, my arms splayed on the fl
oor in support as I push down on his shoulders with my thighs, rocking myself against his mouth as he dines from my depths. His tongue swirling fiercely around my nub as he sucks and licks at me, holding me in position.

My whimpering increases as my orgasm builds
, and I find myself bucking against his face as the sensation increases, setting my senses on fire. Just as I’m about to explode, his hands slide underneath my shirt, his long fingers curling around my ribs as he withdraws his mouth and lifts me toward him, repositioning his arms as I slide down his body and he captures my mouth in his, feeding me the taste of my own arousal as his tongue drives into my mouth fiercely and I feel as though I’m about to be devoured by him.

I don’t think there’s anything in this world I want more.

I slide my hands under his shirt, urging it upward as my fingers desire the contact of his flesh. “Take it off,” I whisper, as I pull at the fabric and graze my teeth over the stubble on his chin.

“You too,” he says, lifting his own shirt as his eyes smoulder looking at mine.

Together, we remove our shirts, each one drinking the sight of the other in. I crawl toward him, dipping my head as he starts to lean back and running my tongue from the line between his abs, all the way up and between his pecs, tasting his salt as I continue up his neck, my licks turning into soft, sucking kisses. Once again, I graze my teeth over his chin, loving the feel of his stubble as I make my way to his mouth, kissing him hungrily before pausing to look down at him.

“How is this even happening
?” I whisper, as I hold myself over him, looking down into a set of eyes that seem to mirror that exact emotion in mine. This feeling is so much – maybe too much for such a short amount of time. My chest actually hurts from the desire I experience around him.

He reaches a hand up and lightly touches my face, before pulling at the elastic that secured my hair, so it falls like a curtain over one side of my face.

“I don’t know. But it is,” he says, rolling us over again so he’s on top, shifting his weight to remove his pants and settle himself between my legs. As he pushes inside me, our eyes are locked and they stay that way as he thrusts back and forth languidly. I’m scared to blink, I don’t want to miss a second of this… this thing we’re sharing.

It’s not love. I know it
’s not love. It feels more like… a compulsion – something I don’t think I could stop. Even if I wanted to.

“Shit. I’m late,” I say, getting out of the car when Damien drives me up to the uni. “I’ve got to run.” Bouncing on my toes, I aim to kiss him on the cheek and then run toward the lecture halls where my class has already started.

“Not so fast,” he says, gripping me by the waist. “Let me walk you.”

“Damien, I need to run. I’m late,” I insist, attempting to pull away.

He leans down and kisses me,
“Relax. You can walk with me,” he says, taking my hand in his before beginning the short walk from the car park to the main building.

Resting my head on his shoul
der, I sigh as I walk beside him. “You’re going to have to stop kissing me every time I object to something. It’s not fair.”

“
I’d rather die than stop kissing you Henrietta,” he says, taking my bag off my other shoulder and slinging it over his. The thought of this coming to pass causes my heart to clench painfully in my chest.

“Then don’t ever stop,” I whisper, p
ausing where we are on the footpath to press my lips to his, inhaling deeply to drink in his scent. I have this need to etch everything there is about him into my memory. I don’t know why. Perhaps it’s because I don’t feel as though this could possibly be real. I mean, how does this even happen? Damien is so far out of my league, and so not the kind of guy you go crazy for…

“Would you still carry that if it were bright pink?” I ask
, as we enter through the main doors of the building, heading toward the large curved staircase to ascend to the second floor.

“Of course,” h
e smiles, as we come to a stop outside the correct room.

“This is it,” I tell him quietly
, noting that the door is closed, meaning that the lecture is well and truly underway.

“I’ll meet you out front when you’
re done,” he murmurs close to my ear, pressing his lips against my temple.

“Ok,” I reply, quietly opening the door and slipping inside, refusing to take my eyes off him as he
leans against the wall, his light eyes watching me hungrily, until the door clicks shut.

“Nice of you to join us. Will you hurry up and take your seat please?” the lecturer
, Professor Aldricht asks curtly, pushing at the bridge of her dark framed glasses as she glares up at me, causing the entire class to turn around and take note of my tardiness.

“Sorry,” I say, hurrying
to my seat next to Aaron. “Hey,” I say in greeting, as I sit down beside him.

“Hey,” he says in return. It all seems normal enough, but his demeanour tells me he isn’
t very happy with me. For a moment I wonder what his problem is, but when I see the thick folder that I threw all over the hallway sitting on the seat beside him, I remember that he witnessed my whole ‘Bec’ outburst.

“Listen, I’m sorry about what happened the other day. I lost my cool,” I whisper.

He pauses taking down notes from the lecture and looks at me frowning before leaning in to whisper as well. “You lost your cool? Etta. I have known you for nearly three years – not once have you behaved anything like that. That was… I don’t even know what to call it. But it wasn’t you. It wasn’t the girl I know and care about.”

“Would you like to come up and present this lecture Mr
Stevens?” Professor Aldricht says, her hands on her hips as she pauses yet again.

“Sorry Ma’am,”
he says, clamping his lips together as he resumes his note taking.

We sit quietly and listen for a while, my mind ticking over, t
rying to find a way to justify my actions.

“It’s not like sh
e was the innocent party,” I add, when Professor Aldricht turns her back to the lecture hall to demonstrate something on the whiteboard.

Aaron just looks at me, his eyebrows raised as he shakes his head but doesn’t speak.

“What? She was in there
moaning
with
my
man,” I expound, expecting that to somehow make him understand.

He drops his pen on the desktop, unable to keep quiet anymore as he whispers. “Oh my god. Did you ac
tually hear what you just said?”

“That’s it you two. Leave,” Professor Aldricht demands. “Talk on your own time. Not everyone else’s.”

Gathering our things, we make our way out into the hall before continuing our conversation.

“Etta. I don’t know what to say to you. You’ve been going out with this guy for what? A week? Maybe not even, and already I’ve seen you attack a girl. Not to mention the fact that you were late for class today. You are never late for class
.”

Placing my hands on my hips, I look over the railing and down to the first floor where some other students are milling about in the foyer
, to distract myself from the disappointment in my friend’s face.

“What do you want me to say Aaron? I already apologised. I know I lost it.”

“You don’t have to say anything. I’m just worried about you. I want you to be careful,” he tells me, placing his gentle hand on my arm. When I turn back to him to meet his gaze, all I see is concern. Concern for me.

A pit forms in my stomach, just before all the hair on the back of my neck stands on end.

“Aaron,” Damien nods, as he appears beside me, sliding his arm around my waist in propriety.

Aaron simply nods in response, before turning his attention back to me. “Listen, I’m going to go to the library. I brought the papers with me if you still want them.
Look after yourself Etta. You know where I am if you need me.” He hands me the folder, which Damien takes for me.

“She’ll be fine. There’s no need for concern,” he says, locking eyes with Aaron as their testosterone levels begin to rise
.

Aaron breaks the stare and focuses on me. “See you around.” He turns toward the stairs and both
Damien and I watch him as he descends and leaves the building.

“What are you doing out so early?”
Damien asks.

“We got kicked out for talking,” I admi
t, as he relieves me of my bag, once again, then leads me down the stairs.

He nods, worrying me that he’s annoyed about seeing me with Aaron.

“Aaron is a bit upset with me for the way I reacted over Bec,” I explain, hoping to gain a little empathy. “He doesn’t think I’m acting like myself.”

He slides his arm around my shoulders, pulling me against him as he drops a kiss on my head. “
What we have is very rare. I’m pretty sure it doesn’t exist in the realm of ‘normal’. Not everyone is going to understand us Henrietta. We can’t expect them to.”

Minutely, I shake my head in confusion.
“I don’t even think I understand it myself.”

“Why won’t you let me see in the room?” I ask
Damien on Wednesday afternoon, as I get ready to go and visit my parents for dinner.

“What room?” he asks nonchalantly
, as he sits on the couch, his head bowed as he scratches a pencil over the pages in his A5 sized sketch book.

“Very funny smartarse. The room
with the great big bloody padlock on it,” I say, pointing at the door of the second bedroom.

“Just pretend it isn’t there. All of my work gear lives in there. It’s not important.” He twists his book around, holding it horizontally as he tilts his head to study his sketch before
scratching away again in a different place on the page.

“It will be important the next time you get a commission,” I point out, sliding my feet into a pair of red Converse skate shoes. I’m wearing my faded blue jeans, my shoes and a bra right now. “Where is my shirt?” I ask, disappearing back into the bedroom. He keeps cleaning everything up, putting my things in with his so I have trouble finding it all.

“Just wear one of mine,” he suggests, as he leans against the doorframe after following me in. “It will make me feel like I’m still with you.” He reaches into the open drawer and hands me one of his more fitted black shirts.

Taking it from his hands, I drop it over my head, loving the soft cotton as it rests loosely against my skin.
“You’re not getting out of this conversation by the way. I really hate that there’s a room with a padlock that I can’t go inside. It makes me feel like you’re hiding dead bodies or something.”

“I’m not hiding dead bodies. I promise you that,” he assures me
, as he flips the sketch pad around for me to see.

“Oh…” I breathe, stepping closer to him to examine the drawing. It’s me. I’m not smiling like I am in
the small picture he drew of me. In this one, I look thoughtful, sensual. “It’s beautiful,” I tell him. “How do you make me look so beautiful?”