Chapter 3

I didn't answer. Julian's name kept flashing on the screen. I ignored the buzzing and flipped it face-down on the coffee table.

"Vincent." I looked toward him standing by the balcony door.

He turned around, the cigarette still unlit, his gaze sweeping over my motion of flipping the phone. "What?"

I stood up from the leather chair and walked to the fabric sofa in the center of the living room, sitting down directly. I hadn't dried off—water droplets from my hair and legs quickly seeped into dark stains on the dry cushions.

I tilted my head back to look at him. "Where am I sleeping tonight?"

Vincent looked away, avoiding my bare legs. He gestured toward the hallway. "You take my bed. I'll crash on the couch."

I reached down to touch the wet spot beneath me. "But I just soaked the couch. You can't sleep here now."

Vincent froze.

His eyes landed on the damp fabric, then slowly traveled upward, stopping on his oversized shirt hanging loose on my frame. In the dim light, I clearly saw his Adam's apple bob.

He immediately turned away, striding over and draping a dry towel over my head. "Go dry your hair. Get to bed."

His voice had gone rough.

"What about you?" I asked, clutching the towel.

He didn't look at me, heading straight to his desk and grabbing a stack of papers. "Grading."

I stood up and had barely taken two steps toward the hallway when Vincent's phone buzzed on the desk.

He paused, glancing at the screen. He lifted his eyes, holding my gaze across the room for several seconds, then answered.

"Julian. What." No warmth in Vincent's voice whatsoever.

I stopped in my tracks, my heart suddenly racing.

"She threw my card and keys in the fire! Someone saw her heading toward your building. Vincent, did she show up at your place? If she did, tell her to quit the dramatics." Julian's voice leaked through the receiver, impatient and entitled.

Vincent gripped his phone, his gaze locked onto me. "I—"

Before he could finish, I dropped the towel and walked straight toward him, barefoot.

I stepped between his legs, one hand on the desk, the other sliding around his neck as I straddled his lap without hesitation. The oversized shirt rode up instantly, my bare thighs pressing against his sweatpants with nothing in between.

Every muscle in Vincent's body turned to stone. His hands moved instinctively to push me away, but his palms landed on bare skin—my lower back beneath the shirt, no barriers.

He went rigid, breath catching sharply.

I leaned close to his ear, my lips nearly brushing it as I whispered, "Vincent, tell him I'm not here."

On the other end, Julian was still talking. "You listening?"

My arm around his neck felt his pulse hammering wildly. He tilted his head back to look at me. Those gray-blue eyes—always so controlled—were fracturing, something dangerous and feral breaking through.

"I haven't seen her." Vincent stared into my eyes, his Adam's apple sliding hard, voice dropping to barely above a rasp. "And if she did show up here, I wouldn't send her back to you. Don't call again tonight."

He hung up.

The phone hit the desk with a crack—his last thread of control snapping.

Vincent's hand on my lower back suddenly tightened, yanking me forward and crushing me against his chest. I felt him go completely rigid beneath me, every muscle locked tight—the kind of reaction a man can't fake or hide.

"Amanda." His voice had gone dangerously low. "Do you know what happens when you use someone to get back at your ex?"

I tried to pull back slightly, shifting my weight.

Just that small movement made him tense even harder beneath me, his whole body going taut.

"Don't move." He bit out the words.

"I'm not using you to—"

My words were cut off. Vincent grabbed the back of my head and crushed his mouth to mine—brutal, graceless, all consuming hunger and punishment rolled into one.

When he finally released me, I could only sag against his shoulder, gasping, my lips swollen and tender.

I licked the corner of my mouth, deliberately meeting his eyes. "You're so controlled in your lectures. How come when you kiss it's like you're trying to devour someone? You made my lips swell."

Vincent didn't argue. He pressed his forehead into the crook of my neck, eyes shut, harsh breaths burning against my skin as he fought for control.

But his grip on my waist stayed iron-tight.

"Vincent..." It was starting to hurt. I tried to pry his fingers loose.

"I said don't move." He caught my hand immediately, his palm scorching. He jerked his head up, that handsome face still radiating raw want, but his voice dropped lower. "This time... I'll go slower."

He kissed me again. Nothing gentle about it—deep, relentless, stealing every breath. I felt like I was being pulled under, drowning in him.

When I turned my head to breathe, my lips grazed his neck where his pulse was going crazy. Without thinking, I sank my teeth into his skin.

"Fuck—"

Vincent—always so controlled—let out a strangled curse from deep in his throat.

It was the sound of a man losing a fight with himself.

I felt his entire body lock up beneath me like a vice. The tension coiled in him suddenly peaked, his frame shuddering hard, ragged breathing crashing against my collarbone.

Several seconds of absolute stillness. Then something inside him broke.

Vincent's eyes flew open. He gripped my waist roughly and lifted me off his lap, setting me down hard on the desk scattered with papers and files.

He shot to his feet. The leather chair went sliding backward from the force, slamming into the bookshelf.

I sat on the desk's edge, his button-down shirt bunched up around my thighs, staring at him in shock.

He had his back to me, both hands braced on the desktop, shoulders heaving. In the dim lamplight, I could clearly see the large dark stain spreading across the front of his gray sweatpants.

"Vincent?" I called softly.

He flinched like I'd burned him. This man who commanded absolute silence in lecture halls—his neck and ears were flushed crimson.

He wouldn't turn around. His knuckles were white where he gripped the desk, like he was desperately holding onto the last shred of his dignity.

"Go to bed." Eyes closed, voice wrecked. "Now."

Without waiting for an answer, he strode into the shadows like something was chasing him.

A minute later, the shower roared to life in the bathroom.

I sat there on his pile of wrinkled papers, touching my swollen lips with my fingertips.

I replayed what just happened. Vincent stood over six-three, every inch of him radiating controlled power. By any measure, this man didn't seem like the type who would... lose it so completely from just a few touches.

Unless this untouchable professor who'd kept everyone at arm's length for thirty years had never actually been with anyone at all.