my refusal.
God, she has such a pretty face.
I hate that someone made her doubt herself, the only person out of hundreds to answer our asshole professor in Russian from the very back of a crowded lecture hall. Who challenged and stretched the greatest minds at Kerrington with her curiosity and keen intellect. I’ve never seen her anything but badass until tonight. I’ve wanted Banner for a long time, and with the New York internship looming, I will have her. I’ll make her want me so much, it won’t matter how many states separate us next semester.
“Then it’s a no.” She bites her lip and glances at my mouth one more time like she’ll miss it. If she feels regret, she clears her throat and chases it away, standing from the couch. “We should probably hit the books anyway.”
She moves to step around me, but I catch her wrist and pull her flush against my bare chest. She looks up at me, our wills clashing, both determined to get our way. Our eyes gridlock, neither of us yielding, but underneath her resolve, a shadow of something else lurks.
Fear? Insecurity? As much time as we’ve spent together this semester, I don’t really know her well enough to be sure. And I want to know Banner. Badly.
Fuck a fat girl.
Prescott’s harsh words from earlier return to mock me. For a moment, guilt assails me. He ordered me to have sex with Banner for admission to The Pride, and this same night I’m doing just that. But not for him, not for that. I’ve walked away from The Pride.
Has she heard things like that before? Maybe not to her face. Maybe subtly been made to feel like she’s not sexy as hell. But to me, she is. I honestly don’t know what’s under all those layers Banner wears, but those aren’t the layers I care about. I want to peel back her surface and study her soul.
Study her soul? What the hell? I don’t recognize myself. Who is this guy? And who gave his balls to Banner Morales?
I have to admit I am different with Banner because she’s different. I’m not great boyfriend material. Just ask Cindy. I’m not very attentive, but when I’m with Banner, it’s hard to focus on anything else. I lose interest quickly, but I find myself thinking about things Banner said, about her opinions, days later. She fascinates me without even really trying. I want to know her as intimately as possible.
Her beautiful same-size lips settle into an immovable line. We stand here like she’s waiting for my decision, but she holds all the power. The ball is still in her court because she’s willing to walk away from this, to go back to our books and act like this never happened, but I’m not. I’ve had sex with a lot of girls. The most gorgeous girls on campus and beyond, but I’ve never had Banner, and right now I want her more than everything. More than all the Cindy’s combined. Important rule of negotiation. Know what you’re willing to give up before you start. One thing I know for sure: I’m not willing to give up on this.
I stretch my arm toward the wall and turn out the lights.
With the light snuffed out, my other senses rise, hunting for her in the dark. The smell of her hair and her quick, shallow breaths. My sight adjusts until the heavy black curtain completely obscuring her fades to gray. Light from the outer room spills under the door, revealing just the shape, the outline of her, but still camouflaging details. I cup her cheek, taking a moment to appreciate the softness of her skin, the silky hair brushing my knuckles. I’m not an idiot. She wants the lights out because she’s self-conscious, but from my perspective, she has nothing to be ashamed of.
“I think you’re beautiful, Ban.”
“You do?” she asks, her voice hushed.
My words surprise me as much as they seem to surprise her, because I don’t say shit like that to girls. The prettiest ones usually seem to already know, which makes any admiration I’d express redundant. But Banner . . . she’s so beautiful, and I’m not sure she knows.
“I do.” I push the hair away from her face.
“Uh . . . thank you.” Her laugh isn’t much more than a breath. “The lights are out, so I’m not sure that compliment counts.”
“I know your face by heart. You have seven freckles here.” I swipe a finger over the straight bridge of her nose and drift down to caress her full lips and the tiny dent in her cheek her smile displays. “And a dimple right here.”
I explore the smooth skin of her nape, under a heavy fall of hair.
“Now I want to know your body, too,” I say softly. “Take off your clothes for me, Banner.”
After a sharply indrawn breath, she raises her arms. The rustle of her clothes—the sweatshirt, jeans, socks, shoes—being discarded whisper in the dark. I approximate her by touch, reaching for her arms and closing my fingers around the softness, the velvety skin. I lower my head and run my nose along her neck, discovering.
“You always smell so good.” I’ve wanted to tell her that since the first night we studied here.
“Pretty Pastel,” she replies, her laugh low, nervous.
“What?” I pause.
“The smell. It’s my dryer sheets. The scent is Pretty Pastel.”
“I like it.” I resume my exploration, running a palm over her shoulder, her collarbone until I find the soft, full weight of her breasts, testing them in my hands, cupping them, holding them, brushing the nipples with my thumbs until they pebble and her breaths come harshly.
“You like that?” I ask.
I see her head nod in the semi-darkness. “Yeah. It feels good.”