Right Man, Right Time (The Vancouver Agitators, #3)(71)

“Fun night,” she says in a smarmy voice that makes me want to give her a taste of her own medicine.

She won’t want to mess with me again.





Chapter Fourteen





OLLIE





I don’t know if I’ve ever been more satisfied than I am at this very moment, driving back to my dorm, a fuming Silas Taters next to me.

He thought he could just charge into my dorm, demand I join him, threaten me if I don’t, then expect everything to be okay?

Ohhhhhh no.

Not this girl.

I knew going into this event with him that I would have to be reserved in what I said. Frankly, these are networking opportunities for me as well, and making a fool out of myself is not the best idea. But I knew if I turned up the heat, I could teach our friend Silas a lesson.

And I did.

I can tell he’s ready to snap from his grip on the steering wheel and the tightness in his jaw.

Guess what, Silas? You deserve it.

Don’t fuck with me.

When we pull up to my dorm, I get ready to hop on out, but when he doesn’t swing to the front of the building and parks instead, a light trickle of sweat forms on my upper lip.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

He doesn’t respond.

He exits the car, walks over to my side, and opens my door. He then undoes my seat belt and takes me by the hand, helping me out of the car.

Uh-oh.

Once he shuts the door, he holds on to my hand tightly as if he’s afraid I might take off and maintains his hold all the way up to my dorm. When we reach my door, I turn to him and say, “Well, thanks for walking me up here, but you can go now.”

Without a sound, he takes my clutch, opens it up, and pulls out my key. He unlocks the door, parts it open, and says, “Get in. Now.”

Okay, so you remember when I was feeling fully satisfied like five minutes ago? That feeling has completely vanished as I walk into my dorm, Silas following closely.

The door closes, and I feel my body still, ready to see what he’s going to do next.

He sets my clutch down on the desk before coming up behind me, his chest firm against my back. He dips his head so his lips are right next to my ear. Chills race up my arms from his heady proximity.

“Did you have fun tonight?” he asks in a menacing tone as his hand travels up my back until it reaches the nape of my neck. “Fucking around with my cock, trying to make me hard?”

“I didn’t have to try,” I say.

Not sure why I decide to poke the bear, but I do.

Unhappy with my response, he moves me up against the wall. His large, muscular chest eclipses my back, and the only reason my face isn’t pressed into the white paint in front of me is because my hands are bracing my body.

“It wasn’t fucking funny,” he says, his tone clear. He’s ready to snap.

I swallow hard. “Sorry to say, but you said nothing about not turning you on.”

“It’s in the fucking contract,” he virtually spits. “We don’t do that.”

“We don’t fuck. Nothing says we can’t tease,” I say, unable to stop myself from mouthing off.

“Is that in the fine print?” he asks.

“Yes,” I answer just as his hand finds the zipper to my jumpsuit.

“Good to know,” he says in such a sly, knowing voice that I fear what he’s about to do.

With one hand on my waist, keeping me in place, he slides the zipper of my outfit down until my back is exposed. His body is so close that I can feel his body heat against mine.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“Helping you,” he says as he lowers the sleeves on my jumpsuit down my arms, and for some reason, I assist him and let them fall all the way off, only to brace myself against the wall again, this time, my breasts exposed since I wasn’t wearing a bra. He slides his hands along my bare sides and then pushes my jumpsuit down the rest of the way, leaving me in only my thong.

I squeeze my eyes shut, telling myself I know what he’s doing. He’s trying to get back at me for what I did at the party. It’s clear as day. The easy thing to do would be to tell him to leave. To turn around and put space between us. But I don’t seem to open my mouth, and I don’t seem to find it within me to step away from him. Instead, I allow him to come up behind me and move his hand along my bare stomach.

“You liked fucking with me tonight, didn’t you?” he asks, his thumb trailing up my stomach.

I bite the side of my mouth.

“I was impressed you held it together.”

“Do you think you’ll be able to hold it together?” he asks as his hand moves south to the waistband of my thong. I suck in a sharp breath as his finger runs along the elastic. The soft touch sends zing after zing of arousal down my legs and up my stomach. “Or do you think you’ll crack?”

With his other hand, he slips it under the strap of my thong at my waist and holds me tight against his chest with his large, calloused hand. He drags his other hand up my stomach, just below my aching breasts. I want him to touch me.

I want him to touch me all over.

I suck in a sharp breath just as his thumb knocks against the underside of my breast, sending me into a tailspin of need.

“Fuck,” I whisper, hoping he doesn’t hear me.