After The Bell Rings

Chapter Eight - The Line I Shouldn’t Have Crossed

Nick’s POV

I remember the first time I saw her.

Second to last row, first seat from the left.

Olivia Blake.

Even the name sounded like a whisper you’d say in the dark.

She didn’t even try.

No small talk, no attempts to impress—just silent, focused, and so f*****g distracting I forgot what I was saying mid-lecture.

That night, I stared at a blank page for hours. My fingers hovered over the keyboard, useless. Not a single sentence made sense. All I could think about was how her lips would taste if she ever let them part for me.

That night, I didn’t try to resist.

I went to a bar. Found someone. Someone nameless. Faceless. Just lips, thighs, and a voice begging for things I didn’t give a s**t about. I f****d her against my bedroom wall, filled her mouth with moans, and came so hard I forgot my own damn name.

Then I wrote.

Three chapters. Just like that. It worked. The release. The distance.

Until the next class.

She walked in again. This time… white shirt.

I remember thinking, I’d do anything to see that shirt wet.

And the universe, being the sick bastard it is, delivered.

After class, it rained.

Hard.

She was standing at the bus stop, soaked to the bone. Hair dripping. That damn white shirt plastered to her skin, n*****s clear and tight beneath the fabric, like a vision built to test the last thread of my self-control.

I didn’t touch her.

Barely said anything.

But I warned her.

“I won’t be a gentleman next time.”

God, I warned her. I warned her.

Next day in class, I felt it—the shift. The way she looked at me, the way her voice shook, the way she lingered a second too long.

She wanted more.

I needed to be sure, so I gave her the hallway.

Backed her against a wall, leaned in like I was going to kiss her, like I was going to devour her. I didn’t even touch her—but her breath stuttered, her eyes begged, her knees wobbled.

That’s when I knew.

She was dying to feel me inside her.

And that scared the living hell out of me.

Because this isn’t some girl from the bar I’ll never see again. This is Olivia Blake—top student, brilliant, focused, innocent. I don’t need to be told she’s a virgin—I can see it. In the way she looks at me like I’m the first man who ever touched her mind.

And I don’t f**k virgins. I don’t do second rounds. I don’t ruin women who still believe in love. And I sure as hell don’t do “love.”

But Olivia Blake… she’s the kind of woman who deserves soft.

She’s smart. Sharp. Young.

She should be falling in love with poets and laughing under stars. Not being ruined by a man who only knows how to f**k things up.

But she made me want to.

So I detached.

Silent. Cold. Calculated.

I didn’t say her name once in two weeks. Not even when she answered questions perfectly. Not when I caught her looking at me, searching, needing. I acted like she didn’t exist because I needed to believe it.

But she never left my mind.

Every sentence she spoke in class? I rewrote in my head—imagine her moaning instead of speaking. Every time she crossed her legs? I imagined pulling them apart. Every time she bit her lip? I imagined replacing her teeth with my fingers.

It wrecked me.

And the release? The women? I tried. Six of them. Different names. Different bodies. Every night after class, I picked one. Took them. f****d them. Left them.

But none of it touched the ache Olivia left behind.

Until she snapped.

Until she confronted me—after class, alone, finally asking why I’d gone cold.

She looked at me like I was the answer to every question she never meant to ask. Pleading. Aching. Angry. Beautiful.

I told her to stay away.

She didn’t listen.

And when I kissed her—when I finally let go—she kissed me back like I was her first breath after drowning. Like I was something sacred.

She wanted more.

I pulled away, tried to talk sense. But she begged—literally begged—because she didn’t understand how she felt, only that she needed me.

I should’ve walked away.

Instead, I gave her rules.

Five of them.

1. No love. No relationship. This is physical.

2. I’m in control. Always. She doesn’t get a say.

3. She’s mine whenever I want her.

4. No connection outside the bedroom.

5. This stays a secret. Forever.

I expected her to walk away.

She didn’t.

She agreed.

Not out of desperation—but hunger. She wanted me like a fire wants air.

Because whatever storm is brewing inside her—it matches mine.

And now?

Now I’m done pretending.

She’s mine to ruin.

And I’m going to ruin her slowly.

Starting with everything I’ve wanted to do for the last two weeks.