I give him a look since, you know, he’s being a snarky dick.
“You’re too nice,” he mumbles eventually, glancing away from me. “Not that I could tell when I first met you.” He turns back to me and then slips out of his blazer, chucking it over the other sink before unbuttoning the cuffs of his shirt and pushing the sleeves back so that I can see his tattooed forearms. Chasm points at me. “You’re the exact opposite of me. You pretend to be all snippy and smart-mouthed, but really, you’re way too nice. It’s lucky that I’m here to help you with that. Like I said, let me be the villain.”
“I can’t believe you told me to run and leave you behind. Like I was going to let you get stabbed.”
“Did you have another plan?” he asks dryly. “Get your phone out and hit the emergency call button before one of the twelve girls standing in front of us tried to stab you? Fight them off with me? Outrun them? You needed a distraction; I was going to give you one.”
I see now why he and Maxx were so annoyed at the way I tried to sacrifice myself without talking to them; it is kind of annoying.
“I will never leave you behind,” I tell him, and he sighs heavily. The deep breath causes his chest to rise and fall in such a way that my eyes are drawn to his ink, just barely peeking out from beneath the black shirt. Just enough to be tantalizing. I lift my eyes to his face, but he’s already smirking at me. He knows where I was looking and why. “Um, Parrish told me once that you gave him some of his ink. I didn’t know you tattooed also?”
“Was that before, during, or after sex?” Chasm asks dryly, pointing at his chest. “I just can’t see you getting the chance to examine his ink so intimately prior to that.”
“You’re not answering my question,” I warn him as he removes his tie with an exhausted sigh. He stuffs it in his pocket, letting the end dangle out the way he always does, and then lets his head fall back. I reach up and brush yellow and black hair from his forehead, and he cracks a single lid to stare at me.
“We almost got shanked by twelve pleated-skirt wearing assholes, and you’re worried about when and how I did some of Parrish’s tattoos? Consider yourself doubly lucky to have me.”
“Some of them were wearing pants,” I correct, and he snorts at me.
He moves so quickly that I don’t quite register what he’s doing until he’s spun us around and is lifting me onto the edge of the sink. Fortunately for us that this school is old, and the sink is a cast-iron pedestal. It’s probably bomb proof; it can definitely hold my ass up.
Speaking of, Chasm’s hands slide around me, squeezing my cheeks on either side as he leans in close, putting the tip of his nose right up against mine.
“This is exactly why slacks were a terrible choice,” he whispers, closing his eyes as he grinds his pelvis into me and I hook my ankles together behind him, brushing the heels of my feet over his ass. If he’s groping me, I might as well return the favor.
“This is why I wore the pants,” I reiterate. “To keep us from getting distracted.”
“It’s lunchtime. What can we do? Certainly not eat anything in this godforsaken shithole. Can’t risk going to the hedge maze by ourselves. Can’t leave. We have an extra thirty minutes to play with.” Chas reaches a hand between us, unbuttoning and unzipping my slacks.
I try to choke out a rebuttal, but as soon as his fingers glide across the front of my panties, I’m not even sure what my name is anymore.
“Tell me about Maxx,” he says, his voice low and dark. “A rundown. I want to know what you did with him.”
“Chas,” I breathe, squirming against his hand as I curl my own over his shoulders, digging my fingertips in hard. “I can’t talk like this.”
“Too bad,” he says, and then he slips a single finger into me and we both groan. “Tell me.”
“Kissing,” I pant as he slowly moves his finger inside of me. “Missionary.”
Chasm makes a growl of frustration and adds a second finger, making my sore body stretch just a little. The feeling is exquisite, but also torturous; somehow both things are possible.
“Doggy style. Hair pulling. Fingering.”
“Holy shit,” Chasm snarls, and then he’s pulling his fingers out and grabbing my slacks. He yanks them down my legs, letting them dangle off of one ankle. He doesn’t, however, remove my panties. “That annoys me.”
“Why?” I ask, even though I can figure out about a million reasons on my own; I just want to hear him say it.
