Robin York - Deeper

I stop walking. “West.”

“What?”

“What’s the matter?”

Because there’s something more going on with him than can be explained by disappointment with how my interview went. There’s this energy coming off him, a gathering storm cloud, dark and dangerous. I can feel it when I stand close, and it reminds me of that day when I found him at the library after he’d punched Nate—a physical violence, vibrating atoms, primitive chemicals.

“Nothing. I’m fine.”

I take his upper arms in a firm grip, pull him closer, go up on my tiptoes to kiss him. He just stands there like a block of wood, and when I come down he tries on a smile that’s so pathetically not a smile, I want to wipe it off his face.

“Yeah, you totally feel fine,” I say. “That was such a great kiss, I’m about to rip off my panties and do you in the hallway.”

No smile. No humor in him at all. He tugs at my hand. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Not until you talk to me.”

“Not here.”

“Why not? There’s no one around.”

His eyes dart past my shoulder to the other end of the hall.

“Fuck,” he mutters.

I figure out why he’s swearing—the only likely reason for him to be so tense—as I’m turning around. The sight of Nate standing where there was no one a few seconds ago is more confirmation than surprise.

“You knew he was coming?”

West doesn’t answer. Maybe he overheard something, maybe the secretary told him, but somehow he knew.

“It’s fine, West. I mean, it’s sweet that you’re so worried, but I was going to have to see him sooner or later, I just—”

One glance tells me he isn’t listening to me.

One look at his eyes informs me that West’s attempt to railroad me out of the building wasn’t for my protection. At least, not in the way I assume.

He’s flushed. Focused.

Homicidal.

“Don’t you dare,” I tell him. “Don’t even think about it.”

“You should go,” he says.

Nate has spotted us. He’s about thirty feet away—close enough that I see him go still.

I think if I were closer, I’d see fear in his eyes.

“You’ll get expelled.”

My hand is over West’s galloping heart. I’m not sure he can even hear me, and I’ve already had enough of not being heard today. My dad, the dean of students, the residence-life supervisor who sat in on the meeting—none of them really listened. And now West.

“Get out of here, Caroline.”

He’s pushing past me, moving steadily down the hall toward his prey, and I’m certain— certain that West isn’t going to hit Nate. No, he’s going to beat him until someone pulls him off. He’s going to put Nate in the hospital. Maybe even kill him.

I guess I should be worried for West, or for Nate even, but I’m not. Figuring out what’s about to happen doesn’t scare me. It ticks me off.

West has peed on this particular tree already. Twice.

I grab a fistful of the back of his T-shirt and yank on it. Fabric rips. West whirls around.

“This is my fight,” I tell him. “Mine. Not yours.”

“Get out of here if you don’t want to see this.”

“Do you hear yourself? This isn’t an action movie. Knock it off.”

“Let go of my shirt.”

“It won’t help anything, West. You’ll just get in trouble, maybe go to jail, and then I won’t have you and I’ll still have to deal with this. It won’t help.”

He tries to get my hand off his shirt, but I’ve got a good grip. So he just takes his shirt off. Right there in the basement of the student center, he whips off his shirt and stalks down the hallway toward Nate.

I drop my bag and run.

I never got very good at rugby, but I learned a few things about tackling before the season ended. None of them has anything to do with this graceless tumble into West. I collide with the backs of his thighs, get my hands around his knees, slide down to his ankles.

I’m tenacious, though. I don’t let go. If he wants to fight Nate, he’ll have to drag me along behind him. I’ll cling to his back like a baby monkey. It won’t be dignified, but I don’t care.

“Caroline, for Christ’s sake.”

“I’m not letting go.”

Hands on his hips, he glares at Nate, who’s smirking now. He really does deserve to get punched in the nose.

But that’s neither here nor there. I made my feelings about violence clear when I puked in West’s toilet. I don’t like it. I don’t want it. I didn’t ask for it.

“Get off me,” West says. “This is between me and him.”

“No, it’s not.”

“He called the cops on me.”

“And that was one move in a longer war, and the war is about me, and I say no. No fighting. I hate it. It doesn’t fix anything. It just gives you an excuse to let off steam, which isn’t fair, anyway. I mean, I’ve got steam, too, and I don’t get to punch people.” I look up at West, arms around his ankles, pleading with him. “I get that you’re frustrated, okay? I get it. You’re mad. You want to fix this for me. But you can’t fix this for me. All you can do is make it worse.”

I can see the moment when it sinks in. Maybe not what I’m saying so much as the fact that I’m practically laid out on the floor, tangled up in his legs. He’s not going to accomplish anything this way.

Nate sees it, too. He walks in to Student Affairs without another glance.

The breath explodes out of West in a loud, frustrated sigh.

After a few seconds, when I’ve started to feel silly—I mean, how is it, exactly, that I ended up wrapped around the legs of a shirtless man in such a short span of time?—he gives me his hand. “Come here.”

His palm is hot and damp, his grip strong. When I’m on my feet, he frames my face between his hands. “You’re mine. He hurt you. I want to hurt him.”

“I know.”

“It’s the only thing I can do for you.”

“It’s not, though. It’s not what I need from you. You have to trust that I can do this. It’s my fight.”

“Feels like my fight, too.”

I turn my face into his palm. Kiss him there, where I can feel his pulse in his hand. “That’s because we’re a team.” I smile against his skin. “But I’m the leader.”

He snorts. “You’re not the leader.”

“I am, too. You should’ve seen me in that meeting. I kicked ass.”

“I bet you did.”

“West?” I look up at him. There’s more ease in his expression now, softness in his eyes that I put there. “I need you to believe in me. Even if there are times nobody else does, I need you to be the one person in my life who trusts that I can kick all the ass that needs to be kicked.”

“Of course you can. But it’s not—”

“And then,” I interrupt, because this is important. “And then, even though I know it’s harder and it’s not what you want, I need you to let me do it.”

He gazes past me at the doorway where Nate isn’t anymore.

“West, look at me.”

He does.

“There’s going to be some other chance like this. Sometime when I’m not around and you get a shot at Nate. I’m asking you to promise me you’re not going to take it.”

“Caro.”

“Please.” I touch his cheekbone. Pet his neck. He feels so dangerous, right on the edge, and I need to pull him back, because I know that this decision—right now—is one of those pivot points. A make-or-break moment.

I can’t be with him if he won’t let me fight my own battles.

He covers my hand with his and holds it against the bend between neck and shoulder.

I love his eyes. I love the way he looks at me, what he sees in me, who we are together.

“I hate not being able to do anything for you,” he says.

“You’re doing everything for me. Just by being you.” I kiss him. “Promise me.”

His breath against my mouth is a sigh and a capitulation. “I promise.”

“Thank you.” I stroke his neck and kiss him again. He’s so warm, wired, animal.

Also, shirtless.

When his tongue parts my lips, I go weak against him. The kiss gets serious, fast. My back bumps into the wall, his hand catches behind my knee.

“Let’s go home,” I say.

We don’t even make it to the parking lot before he’s pushing me up against a tree, the bark rough at the back of my head until his hand is there, protecting me.

Then, scorching heat and roving hands. I’m wet, was already wet in the hall, wetter still as I pushed through the door and he gave it a shove from behind me, groped my ass with his free hand in the deepest, dirtiest way.

“Home,” I say on a gasp.

“Yeah.”

“You drive.”

“Keys.”

I fish them out of my purse, although I’m not sure how. West is no help. His hands are all over me. “Here.”

I have to dangle them in front of his face to get his attention.

Back at the apartment, Krishna and Bridget are waiting.

“How’d it go?”

“Did you nail his ass?”

West doesn’t even let me talk. He pushes me in front of him, says, “Give us a minute,” and slams the door to his bedroom in their surprised faces.

“That was rude.”

He’s too busy unbuttoning my pants to answer.

A few quick jerks, a shove onto the bed, a condom retrieved from the desk, and he’s on me, pushing my knees open, testing me with his fingers. When he feels how wet I am, he makes that mmm sound that drives me crazy. “Hurry,” I tell him.

It doesn’t last long, but oh, God, it’s amazing. One confident thrust and he’s filling me, our tongues dancing, his belt buckle jingling as he moves into me hard and deep. We don’t talk. I’m not sure we breathe. He needs to claim me, and I need to claim him, too, his flaws and his anger and his stupid macho protective bullshit, his promise and his body and the way he is, frustrating and imperfect, gorgeous and hot, violent and intelligent and real.

He sucks my nipple into his mouth, laps it with his tongue the way he knows drives me crazy, gets his hand up under me and tilts to put friction where I need it. It doesn’t take much. I’m close. So close already, and he feels bigger and harder and deeper than ever, driving fast, breathing ragged against my neck. “Come on, baby,” he says, and I make this sound like a sob, but I’ve never felt this good.

Tighter and harder, I dig into his shoulders when I start to come, needing to hold on to him, to keep him here, right here, this close. He groans, pushes his forehead into mine, kisses my temple when I turn my head, comes inside me holding my hands, our fingers interlaced, his grip so tight that the ache in my joints is the first thing I feel when I’m capable of feeling anything but bliss.

I wiggle my fingers, and he lets go.

“Holy crap.”

He grins.

“That was—holy crap.”

He kisses my nose, still smiling, and shakes his head.

“Seriously. That’s all I’ve got. I’m sure there are other words, but …”

West starts laughing, his belly moving against mine. “Never let it be said the caveman thing doesn’t turn you on.”

“It doesn’t!”

He keeps laughing, so I pinch him. “Last time you hit Nate, I puked!”

“You just came in, like, fifteen seconds. And that time at the library—”

“Don’t even bring that up.”

“After I decked him. You were hot for me.”

“I was not!”

“You would’ve let me do anything to you that day.”

“No, I wouldn’t.”

“You so would have. I should’ve kissed you. Skipped all those months we spent kidding ourselves. Don’t tell me you weren’t thinking about it.”

“I wasn’t.”

“Right, because you’re such a good girl.”

I get my hands around his head, pull him close, kiss him. “Okay, maybe I was thinking about it. But only because you so clearly needed an outlet for all that rampant testosterone.”

“You would’ve volunteered to be my outlet?”

“Your receptacle. Because I’m a giver.”

“I just gave you an orgasm that made your eyes cross.”

“Well, sure. Giving has its benefits.”

He starts laughing again, and I hug him tight, loving the way his body feels against mine.

Loving him.

When we come out, we bump through the bedroom doorway, West’s hand at my hip, a shit-eating grin on his face that I can’t see but can feel with my whole body.

Happy.

It’s amazing, I think, that we can find so much happiness at a time like this. I mean, yes, sex. But it’s not really the sex. It’s what’s underneath the sex. It’s how he makes me feel, how I make him feel, how we are together. This golden ribbon of something beautiful we’ve always had between us, there even when I was peering into his car and trying not to look too hard at the bare slice of flat stomach reflected in the car window. Even when we were arguing at the library, not-touching at the bakery, kissing on the train tracks.