Sloth (Sinful Secrets 1)

He holds his free hand out, and I stare down at his forearm. The skin on the inside of his arm is smooth and pale, softness stretched over taut muscle.

I glance at his eyes. They’re steely and blue. I keep waiting for them to start to seem less gorgeous—and I’m still waiting. He raises his brows disapprovingly, urging me with just that look to take his hand, and me being me, I fold after only a moment.

“Skittish,” he murmurs, closing his fingers around mine.

“What?”

“You’re skittish. Like a deer.”

With a tug of my hand, he steers me to the right, toward a wall of bookshelves stretching from floor to ceiling.

I open my mouth to tell him I’m not a deer. I’m a sloth. It’s my longstanding nick name, from back in middle school, when I was pudgy and took forever getting ready to go places, but I get the feeling he’d give me grief for it. Instead I tell him, “I’m not skittish. I’m suspicious.”

“Don’t be,” he says.

We walk through an opening in the wall of books and toward one of the library’s outer walls. Punched into it is a door I’ve never noticed before. We stop in front of it, and I look to Kellan, who is pressing some numbers into a keypad beside it. It opens with a soft click, and he ushers me into a tiny kitchen, with the same cinderblock walls as the rest of the library’s rooms. These are painted mauve and adorned with half a dozen of those cheesy inspirational posters that always seem like jokes to me.

I inhale the lingering scent of peanut butter and bananas as Kellan releases my hand, shifts my bags down onto the floor, and steps over to the microwave. I admire his broad back as he sets the paper bag inside. My eyes roll from his shoulders to his ass. I don’t want to stare, but I can’t seem to help myself. I’ve seen him at soccer games a few times, and I always noticed his golden god looks, as well as his model-hot mug shot in the school paper... but up close and personal like this—damn. He’s hot enough to take my breath away.

He punches a few buttons, then turns back around to me. I barely jerk my gaze away in time to avoid notice. He smirks a little, and I arch a cool eyebrow as my pulse skitters. “What? You have a sticker on your ass.”

His lips curve into that radiant smile. “A sticker?”

I nod placidly. “Want me to get it off?”

His eyes dance. “Oh—I do.”

“Okay, well turn around.”

He turns around, and... there’s no sticker, of course. When he asks to see it in a moment, I’ll be empty-handed. Before I can stop myself, I draw my hand away, then slap his ass as hard as I can.

I hear him suck his breath in, and he whirls around, his face a riot of intensity. He catches both my wrists in one of his big hands and steers me to the brick wall with his hips. “Cleo.” He sinks his teeth into my neck. He kisses me roughly down to my collar bone, and my body convulses in a shiver.

He bites me again near my throat, and I feel heat swell between my legs.

“I’m going to have to punish you for that,” he murmurs to my neck. He raises my arms above my head and pushes my wrists into the wall.

I giggle softly. “Just getting the sticker off.”

“I’m sure.” He rocks his hips into mine, and his thickness juts against my lower belly. I swallow a moan, unwilling to give him that satisfaction. I clamp down on my lower lip so hard it stings.

“Tonight,” he murmurs.

Then he releases my arms and turns back to the microwave. I’m thrilled to see his shoulders are heaving. I’m breathless and light-headed as I watch his back, trolling my gaze along his muscular arms as he pulls the bag out. So intently am I watching his body, I actually jump when the kitchen door opens and Laura Lancaster, the SGA

secretary, breezes in.

“Kellan!” She smiles. Her perfume permeates the room as her eyes widen. “Kellan’s friend.” I’ve seen Laura around—she’s a Phi Mu who always smells like she bathed in Coco Chanel—and I remember her being friendly. At this moment, she looks excited enough to launch herself into the stratosphere.

I look to Kellan for a clue to how to behave. He’s leaning casually against the counter where the microwave sits, the hand that just bound both my wrists hanging loosely from his pants pocket. “Laura, this is Cleo.” He waves at me. “Cleo, I think you probably know Laura.” He tilts his head toward her.

I nod. “Hey, Laura.”

“Hi.” She gives me a warm smile and then she sniffs the air. “Something smells delish.”

Kellan reaches into the bag and draws out the biggest croissant I’ve ever seen. It’s fluffy and greasy, and it looks like it’s been rolled in sand. Brown sugar, I realize as my mouth waters.

“Want one?” he asks Laura.