11

“You need to stop looking at me like that.” His slightly rough voice is low enough that none of the students passing by can hear it. “Like what?” “Like you’re thinking about last night. It’s making me hard, and this is not the appropriate place to come down that throat again.” My fingers tighten around my notebook and the wound tingles beneath the bandage. There’s nothing I want to do more than grab his fucking head and smash it against that desk. Spill his blood. Cut his dick off. But then, that would be impulsive. And I don’t do that. Or didn’t—past tense. Because, really, since last night, I’ve been the personification of a ticking time bomb. I let my lips curve in a smile. “That won’t be happening.” “Let’s disagree agreeably.” “What’s the definition of agreeably to you? A gun to my head?” “If you want.” “I want nothing from you. Oh wait, I want you to rot in jail.” A twitch touches the corner of his lips. “Not a chance.” “Because you can manipulate the justice you preach?” “No. Bec