Roommate Badboy - Wicked Academy

29

Jason set his fork down, the playful glint in his eyes softening into something deeper, more serious. The playful glint in his eyes softened, replaced by something quieter, something unreadable. He leaned back slightly, fingers tracing the rim of his glass as if weighing his next words carefully. The air between them shifted, still charged, still electric, but laced now with something unspoken, something raw.

He exhaled, tilting his head slightly as if considering the moment from a distance, yet his gaze never left hers. "Strange, isn't it?" he mused, voice dipping lower. "How we're sitting here, just the two of us, past the lines we're meant to follow." His fingers stilled against his glass. "It almost feels like it's always been meant to be this way."

The flickering candlelight cast golden shadows over his sharp features, making the words feel heavier than they should have. Stella watched him, feeling the weight of something unspoken settle over them, something delicate yet dangerous, like standing at the edge of an unseen drop.

Jason's lips twitched, something wry tugging at the corner of his mouth. His usual confidence didn't waver, but there was a hesitation in the way his fingers drifted toward her silk-gloved hand before stopping just short. Then, deliberately, he took it, lifting her hand with a touch that was both careful and firm.

His gaze flickered to hers as he brushed his lips over the fine silk covering her knuckles, with a slow, lingering reverence, and somehow, that made it all the more intimate. He didn't kiss her skin, yet somehow, the fabric between them only made it more intoxicating.

"This," he murmured against the glove, voice low, rich, and dangerously smooth, "feels dangerously good."

The words hummed between them, settling into the space they had carved out in this night, just for them, just for now. His thumb lingered, tracing an absent pattern over the silk as if savoring the moment.

"Maybe it's just tonight," he mused, his voice light, but the look in his eyes was anything but. He leaned back with an easy grace, his gaze never once wavering from hers.

"But if it is," he exhaled, his voice barely above a whisper, "then I don't want to waste a second of it."

As Jason kept her hand in his, the tension between them deepened, and Stella felt it. His touch was steady, but there was something almost possessive in the way he held her hand.

She could feel the heat of his gaze on her, not just in her eyes, but trailing down, as though he could see through the layers of fabric. His focus lingered on the daring split in her dress, the way the fine material clung to her form, just enough to tempt him, not enough to keep him from noticing every curve, every line.

His eyes darted back to hers, dark and heavy. His gaze dropped lower again, moving to the daring cut of her dress that revealed her lifted breasts, lingering there for a moment too long, as if trying to burn the image into his mind. And without realising, he wet his lips, the motion almost primal, instinctive.

Stella's voice was a soft whisper, teasing yet pointed. "Something catching your attention?" she asked, fully aware of where his gaze had lingered and knowing she had just interrupted the path of his thoughts.

The grip on her hand tightened just slightly, his eyes darkening even further, as if the room around them had ceased to exist. It was as though time slowed, the space between them charged, both daring and unwilling to look away.

Jason releases her hand, but he doesn't move away. Instead, he lifts his glass, swirling the liquid with a slowness that feels intentional, almost lazy. Over the rim, his gaze flickers to hers before he takes a sip. Then, as if caught in thought, he tilts his head slightly.