Upping the ante of the game, it seemed, was not what I expected. Granted, part of my brain had expected him to turn into this raging, snarling wolfman, but I told my brain to shut up and paid attention to the less B-grade horror movie version of what was happening. His hands moved to the back of my chair and yanked it away from the table, nearly spilling me to the floor with the force of the pull, then he picked up my chair and spun it around. Once I now faced him, trapped in my chair and cowering as I had the first time he had me cornered, he leaned down, hands resting on either arm of the chair, his face an inch from mine.
“I’m tired of only watching, of seeing you flaunt yourself in front of me like this.” His voice was as cold as the frosty glare he
had pinned on me, his knuckles white with the grip he had on the chair. I felt my brow furrow in confusion. Flaunting myself? I wore jeans every day except during the dance classes, and never did I
wear those slutty tops most pretty college girls liked so much. Not to mention I generally avoided make-up and such. Personally I thought that most people who wore make up looked like monkeys
Shut up brain.
Snapping back to the present, I looked up at him, eyes wide. Something about my expression caused his to soften and his head
tilted forward to rest his forehead against mine. “I dislike that others can see what only belongs to me.” One hand slid up my arm, past my shoulder, until it laid flat against the side of my neck,
his fingers in my hair. The heat of his palm raised chills up and down my spine, and I resisted the urge to shudder. Forcing my voice to work, I stammered out, “Wh-what do you plan to do ab-bout
My question seemed to amuse him, the corner of his mouth tilting up, then slowly he pushed forward, those sensuous lips pressing to mine for the briefest span of two seconds, then he pulled back again. “Don’t worry about that, my darling rabbit. Let your wolf take care of this.”
Am I the only freaked out by the fact that he made the same comparison that I’ve been using to portray the dynamic between us?
By the time I had found the nerve to speak up again, he was already moving away again, vanishing behind a bookshelf and leaving me in frustrated, confused, terrified-out-of-living-hell soup.
I left the library a few hours later, nervous that he would pounce on me, but nothing happened. I made it back to my dorm room without incident, locking and barring the door and usual, then I threw myself onto the bed. I curled up, pulling the covers over my head, and I tried to fall asleep without thinking about the way my lips still tingled from a kiss given by my stalker.
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