One Dirty Night

I’ve already forgotten.

Chapter Two

OKAY, SO I LIED.

That damn man paraded around my head like a flashing billboard. His jeans hung low on his hips. That naughty smile planted firmly on very kissable, very bad, bad lips.

Dinner was dismal: broccoli with scant ranch dressing and a steamed piece of parsley fish. Yes, it was healthy, but crap, it was boring. Netflix was just a bunch of nonsense. And my heart had forgotten how to beat like a normal person, making its personal mission to keep me twitchy and hot, jumping at the barest breeze.

A noise came from Nick’s room just before his door opened and closed, and he appeared from the corridor.

My eyes flashed to him against my command; my stomach clenched.

Damn him for being so attractive.

Damn him for looking at me as if I were something he pulled off the bottom of his shoe.

He wore his usual black jeans and white t-shirt, both items far too enticing on his lanky, muscular frame. If that wasn’t bad enough, he’d thrown on a casual chequered blazer, rolling up the cuffs to his elbows, showing off forearms that should be outlawed.

His hair looked sexy-messy—styled with a bit of wax to keep it in place. He somehow toed the line between handsome geek and naughty bad boy. Not that he was a bad boy. I’d never heard him bring anyone home for the night…I would’ve heard him through the walls.

I’d often waited in the dark, holding my breath to see if I could catch the soft moans of him masturbating and not once. Not a single time in eight months we’d been rooming.

I couldn’t even use my trusty rabbit vibrator because he’d definitely hear that telltale buzzing and would probably march into my room, snatch it right out of my greedy little hands, and then give me the worst tongue-lashing of my life.

Tongue lashing…between my legs. Yes, please.

Oh God, will you stop?

My skin prickled as he stalked into the living room, keeping his eyes on the beige carpet.

I would never admit it, but I’d fantasised about that one too many times. About him finding me self-pleasuring. Him stalking into my room to spank me. He’d see how badly I needed to be touched and…well, he’d touch me. He’d sink to his knees, yank my hips off the edge of the bed, and bury his face between my—

“Ella.” He froze when he noticed me sprawled on the couch. “I thought you’d gone to bed?”

What? At freaking nine p.m.?

I wasn’t a party hopper, but I wasn’t a nana, either. “Nope. Just studying.” I motioned to the heavy text in my lap. He didn’t need to know the thought of going to bed turned me on. That reading a book turned me on. That every damn thing turned me on.

I’d never been so…itchy before. So desperate to scratch something I didn’t dare to scratch.

For the first time, I noticed the shape of Nick’s lips. Full, but not too full. His face so prim and proper, but beneath that properness an edge lurked, intimidating me in a purely feminine way.

I’d never noticed before.

Why not?

How had I been living with this guy for eight months and all we’d discussed was microbes and disease?

Sitting up from my slouch, I asked, “You heading to work?”

His eyes flashed to the clock hanging over the fairy-light decorated fireplace. (My doing, not his). “Umm, yes. Heading in early.”

My ears pricked. Nick—sweet, bookish, insanely smart Nick—just lied to me. My heart skipped faster. “You do know your shift was pushed back? You made a note of it in the staff room.” It was the truth. We’d been banned from the lab from nine till midnight for rigorous cleaning once a month. He knew that. He also knew that we were encouraged not to work late unless we were in the crux of a fragile experiment.

So where the hell was he going?

My heart sprinted as a thought barrelled into me. Not him too! Had he seen a flyer? The titillation big top for adult orgies?