Then he glanced around—the other student had headphones on, completely oblivious—and looked back at me.
"Show me."
"What?"
"Show me what you were doing. Pull up your skirt and show me."
My hands were shaking as I slowly pulled my skirt higher, exposing my thighs, my black lace panties—soaked through, visibly wet even in the dim light.
"Jesus Christ," he breathed. "You're soaked."
"I know."
"How long have you been like this?"
"Since three. Since I got here and saw you." I swallowed hard. "I've been going to the bathroom and edging myself. Getting close and stopping. Over and over."
"Why?"
"Because I wanted to stay desperate. Wanted to sit here dripping wet, wanting you so badly I could barely function."
His hand gripped the back of my chair. "We can't do this. Same cohort. Same a
