Bad, Bad Bluebloods (Rich Boys of Burberry Prep #2)(51)

“Can I kiss you again?” he whispers, and then he smiles softly. We're so close, I can feel the emotion against my own mouth. “It's all part of the plan, of course. Although, I can't deny that seeing you in my hoodie isn't exciting as fuck.”

With his left hand, Zack pulls a small metal tool from inside his pocket, and inserts it into the lock on the door. There's not much in these offices but papers, framed certificates, and desks, so the locks aren’t exactly high-tech. I imagine Zack will have us in in no time.

I also suddenly understand what he meant by having a plan. If we're caught, all the security guard will see are two students making out. They won't see the lockpick, and they won't need to ask what we're doing out here. Even if we get in trouble, we can claim we were trying to get into the office to … have some private time together.

The logical part of me wants to admit that this is a brilliant plan; the nonlogical part of me has a racing heart, sweating palms, and a sudden heat flaring between her thighs.

“Kiss me,” I choke out, before I can lose my nerve and take off running. Not only is what I'm about to do important for my revenge against Tristan, but it's also important so that I don't lose what I've worked so hard for. If that plagiarized essay comes out, I could very well be expelled.

Honestly, some part of me, buried in the deep dark shadows of my chest, has her feelings hurt. I knew Tristan wasn't a good guy, but I always thought that at least when it came to academics, we are willing to fight clean. Looks like I was wrong. And that kills me. “Do it—” I start, and Zack cuts me off with a punishing kiss that's all heat and passion and desire.

His right arm flexes, and it's a joy to feel those rock-hard muscles pulling me against him, tucking my body against his. His smell, that grapefruit and nutmeg musk of his, surrounds me like a cloud. Not only does he smell glorious, but his hoodie's not half-bad either.

His tongue slides across my lower lip, dives into my mouth, and draws an embarrassing groan from me. My hands fist in the front of the hoodie that he's wearing, and within seconds, there's the clicking sound of a lock, and the pair of us are stumbling into the empty office.

Zack heels the door shut behind him, but he doesn't stop kissing me. In fact, I somehow end up sitting on the edge of Miss Peregrine’s desk with his huge body between my thighs. He pushes up against me, and I can feel a hardness in his sweats that wasn't there before.

This is such a bad idea, I think to myself, but that doesn't stop me from wrapping my legs around him and kissing harder. Zack is moaning now, too, and after he slips the little metal lockpick back into his pocket, he uses both hands to cup my ass. His fingers knead my flesh as I arch into him. Heat blossoms so wild and hot between us, that I almost forget what I'm doing and why I’m there … that I almost forget what he did to me.

Then the realization of where we are and how dangerous this is hits me.

My palms come up to push against Zack's chest, and he pauses, lifting his mouth just slightly away from mine. I can still feel the hardness between his legs, and the answering heat between mine.

“Will you keep watch at the door?” I whisper, and Zack closes his eyes like he's in pain. He exhales sharply, closes his eyes and nods before stepping away. When he turns around, and thinks I'm not looking, he reaches into his sweats and … adjusts himself.

Even with my body flushed and hot, and a warm liquid feeling between my thighs, I manage to get up and find a stack of papers next to a scanner and a shredder. There are instructions on the wall, laminated, and impossible to miss.

  Scan  both sides of the assignment.



Check  to make sure the images are readable.



Shred  the pages.



Make  sure each assignment file is labeled with the student's name and ID  number.





Shit.

Frantically, I search the stack of papers in the wire basket next to the scanner, and breathe a huge sigh of relief when I find the ones with my name on them. Next, I search out Tristan's assignments.

For a moment, I get lost in the words of this essay. He's a brilliant writer, maybe better than me even. I tell myself I'm reading the assignment to make sure this plan will actually work, if there's anything in Tristan's essay that will give the fake one I wrote away. But no, even though he's a good writer, he's like me: he only writes academically, not with his heart or soul.

The only time I wrote that way… No. I refuse to think about Creed reading my essay aloud. I got him back, and I got him back good.

I take Tristan's essay, fold it up, and slip it into the front pocket of the hoodie. Then I take out two more essays from inside that giant pocket, one that's a reprint of the essay I originally turned in, and one that's a plausible but pretty terrible essay. I thought about writing Tristan an F-worthy paper, but I thought that might be too obvious. I even considered putting his name on Gena Whitley's plagiarized essay, but that's not my style either.

I slip the two new essays back into the pile, making sure I put them in the same spots that the others were before. The plagiarized essay with my name on it also goes in my pocket, and then I do the same for the tests. Only this time, since the names can be easily erased, all I do is put my name on Tristan's paper, and his on the one that was planted by Becky.