Page 52 of The Queen (Masterpiece Duet 2)
Like putting a wild jaguar on a leash. It’s only a matter of time until I get bitten.
“What next?” he asks, his voice dangerously soft.
“Kiss my feet.” I don’t know why I’m pushing him, don’t know what I hope to accomplish. Maybe that he’ll give me real emotion instead of this fake sexed up version.
He bends down in a low mocking bow, all the way to the floor. The satin heels I’m wearing also came from Avery. They don’t belong to me anymore than this dress. Anymore than this man. I don’t feel victory as his lips touch my shoes. I’m too hollow for that, made of air and wanting. And a permanent desolation that this is all I’ll ever be.
If this is all he can give me, why not take it?
“Higher,” I tell him.
He narrows his eyes. “You want me to taste you in front of everyone?”
“No, you want that. Are you going to go back on your word?”
His smile is pure challenge. Then he ducks his head to my ankle, pressing a gentle kiss on the outside. Another on my knee, an almost innocent peck. Strange how even two inches above that point becomes indecent. And another two inches—obscene.
He ducks beneath the ruched hem, lifting it only enough to reach me. I’m mostly covered to the crowd who’s avidly watching, some whispering behind their hands, others openly pointing. Even so it feels unbearably intimate as a mouth brushes over my panties.
Heat sparks in my sex from his soft kisses. Damon mocks me in front of a crowd, but underneath my dress he’s pure tenderness. In the dark where no one can see, he’s different. So gentle I almost can’t feel him, but the building tension inside my body proves that I can. This is what we could have together.
“This is how it would be,” I whisper as he caresses the backs of my thighs.
No one can hear me, though—not even him.
If this is all he can give me, why not take it? Because now I know the sweetness I’ll never have, the love he can’t give. Except it’s more than ability. It’s his choice. Even while he nuzzles against my mound, inhaling deeply, raising goosebumps on my skin, he’s turning me away. By demanding that we do this here, now, instead of in private.
There’s nothing here for me. Not safety. Love. Damon.
Those things aren’t waiting for me at Smith College, either, but at least I don’t have to see him like this. Mathematics is a poor substitute for human touch, I’ve learned. It’s no longer the pinnacle for me. No longer the dream. Instead it’s a consolation prize.
The solace I’ll find after the quiet sorrow of Damon’s refusal.
I take a step back, letting my dress unveil him, disheveled and lust-dazed.
“Very pretty,” I tell him, my voice harder than I feel. “But it’s not enough.”
Even as I turn and walk out the door, I know that I won’t ever stop hoping for him. Won’t ever stop longing for the peace I found in his embrace. I used to think I understood numbers but not people, logic but not emotions. I know better now. We’re really just equations longing for that other half of us. I can walk away from Damon Scott because he wants me to, but I can’t stop loving him. It’s part of who I am, the logic as simple and undeniably sad as that.
Chapter Thirty-One
I wake up in the middle of the night, back in my room in the Emerald. On the far corner I can see my desk made of textbooks and a chopping block. A poster for Smith College chess club on the wall.
For a moment I’m not sure why I woke up. Maybe because I know this will be my last night here. No more walking through manicured bushes and stately old buildings. No more small talk with trust fund babies. I came here for the mathematics, but more than that, I came here to escape. I still don’t know where I belong, but I no longer need to run.
A shift in the air makes me hold my breath. I’m not alone in here. It’s such a small room, the door locked. There’s no way someone made it inside, especially without me noticing.
“Ramsey problems,” comes a low and familiar voice.
My heart speeds up, a thud thud thud in my ears. “What are you doing here?”
“You really think you can solve poverty like a word problem?”
When I sit up, I can see the large shadow sitting in the corner. He holds something in his hands. Not a textbook, but pieces of paper. “‘As a first step in this direction, we develop a lower bound on elasticity,’” he says.
That’s when I realize he’s holding my research paper. “That’s private.”
“Is it, though? If it’s going to be published in a professional journal? Congratulations, by the way.”
