Chapter Thirteen -Undercurrents
816 Words
Nick’s POV
I thought Amara would fix it.
That a few hard, fast hours would purge Olivia from my bloodstream. That burying myself in someone else’s body would quiet the obsession clawing at the back of my skull.
It didn’t.
I walked into class the next morning with a migraine and the same hollow ache between my ribs. Olivia sat there, third row from the front, in that damn white sweater again. The one that clung to her like second skin. Her head was bowed over her notebook, hair tucked behind one ear, pretending she didn’t feel my gaze carving into her.
She was pretending.
I was pretending.
And both of us were doing a shitty job.
My hands tightened around the lecture notes I didn’t need. I couldn’t remember a single word of the material I’d planned, only the way her body had trembled under my hands yesterday. How wide her eyes had gotten when I’d touched her. How her lips had parted on a broken, needy sound when I’d pushed my fingers inside her.
It hadn’t even been enough.
I hadn’t even taken her.
But f**k, I had wanted to.
Even now, standing behind the podium, every part of me ached to go to her. To pull her up from that chair by her wrist, slam her against the wall, and finish what we started.
Instead, I taught the class.
Monotone. Brutal.
Ignoring her, ignoring everyone.
By the end of the hour, my patience was thinner than paper.
“Class dismissed,” I said coldly.
The room emptied in a blur of shuffling feet and murmured conversation. Olivia lingered, gathering her books slowly, like she was hoping I’d say something. Hoping, maybe, that I’d stop her.
I did.
“Olivia,” I said, my voice sharp enough to snap her spine straight.
She froze, her fingers tightening around her bag.
“Stay.”
The word was an order. She obeyed like it was instinct.
The last student filtered out, and the door clicked shut. Silence fell heavy between us. I didn’t move from behind the desk at first. Just stared at her.
The way her chest rose and fell too fast. The way her thighs pressed together under that short skirt. She was scared. Nervous. But she wasn’t running.
God help me, I wanted her more because of it.
I stalked toward her slowly, eating up the distance.
“You think this is a game, don’t you?” I growled.
Her eyes widened. “I—no—”
“Don’t lie to me.”
I was in front of her now, close enough to see the freckles dusting her nose, the way her lips trembled.
I caged her against the desk, both hands braced on either side of her hips.
“You think because I touched you once,” I said low, dangerous, “I’m going to lose control and f**k you here like an animal?”
Her mouth parted. She didn’t speak. Couldn’t.
I bent closer, lips brushing the shell of her ear. “You’re wrong.”
She shuddered.
I wanted to ruin her so badly it hurt. I wanted to kiss her until she cried. To shove that short skirt up her hips and make her scream my name against the desk.
But I didn’t.
Instead, I forced myself to push off the desk, to put space between us.
“You’re not ready,” I said flatly. “And I’m not going to be the one to break you.”
The words cost me more than I wanted to admit.
I left her standing there, trembling, wide-eyed and hurting.
And I told myself it was for her.
Not for me.
⸻
Olivia’s POV
I stood there long after he left.
The cold from the desk seeped into my palms. My knees felt weak. My whole body trembled, but not from fear. Not exactly.
Something else.
Something deeper.
He could have had me. He could have done anything he wanted — and part of me wanted him to. Desperately.
But he didn’t.
He stopped.
Why?
Because he cared? No.
Nick Reed didn’t care about anyone. That wasn’t who he was. That wasn’t who he could be.
It had to be me.
Something wrong with me.
I wasn’t enough.
Not sexy enough.
Not confident enough.
Not good enough.
Maybe when he touched me, he realized it. Maybe he saw the cracks under my skin and decided I wasn’t worth the effort.
The thought twisted deep inside my chest, sharp and ugly.
I picked up my bag with numb fingers, the weight of it insignificant compared to the weight settling behind my ribs.
Maybe I wasn’t ready.
Maybe I would never be ready.
And Nick?
He wouldn’t wait around to find out.
He wasn’t built for patience.
He was built for conquest.
And I…
I was just another war he decided wasn’t worth fighting.
- Writer
