Beneath

43 IT IS NOT WHICH WAY YOU RUN

C A M I L A

The elevator dings on the 74th floor. I step out, my gym bag slung over one shoulder.

It's Thursday again, and I'm doing this. It's 4:57 PM and I came here right after Business Relations 4421A, which didn't exactly go my way—a pop quiz I would've known about had I not missed Tuesday's class.

But hey, snowstorms, trauma, love confessions, you know how it is.

I can't joke my way out of this, though. I tried all the way here.

These carpets are black, the walls are grey, and the numbers on the doors are gold. My fingers trace the raised metal indicators.

1

2

3

4

5

I pause, adjusting the layers of baggy clothes draped over my frame, and puff out my cheeks, slapping them a few times. A few stubborn dark curls escape my attempt to tuck them back behind my ears, but the mane will not be tamed today.

As I knock, I fight the urge to sprint away and leave this. I could pretend like I don't know, like she really does love him and they could be happy. Like she's changed. Like it's healthy and beautiful.

But that's never been who I am, and it doesn't start now.

The door swings open to reveal Noah Bello in a lapis blue button-down. As his amber eyes meet mine, my hands steady, my heart swells, and my smile blooms.

All is not lost.

Without thinking, I reach for him, my fingers curling around the fabric of his shirt. I pull him out into the hallway, my gym bag thumping to the floor. His eyes widen, but he follows my lead and the door clicks shut behind him.

Before he can say a word, I tug him closer, my breath mingling with his for one very pretty moment before I close the distance.

Sugar. He tastes like sugar on his tongue and lips.

His hands fly up to my waist as I push him back against the wall, my fingers sliding up into his hair, tugging. He responds with a deep, throaty groan that makes my knees weak.

Noah's hands slide down to my thighs, and in one swift motion, he lifts me off the ground. My legs wrap around his waist, and he pushes me against the wall, pinning me there.

Fuck yes.

The cold surface seeps through my clothes. It's all sensation—his mouth on mine, his body pressed tight between my thighs, his hands gripping me like he never wants to let go.

He pulls back just enough to look at me, his amber eyes dark. "Hey, Rocky," he pants, a hazy smirk spreading across his lips. "While I admire your drive, I don't think sex at the earliest convenience in the hall is the—"

I pull his hips into mine using my legs and his eyes darken, hooded and smokey. He's hard in the exact right place, both of us breathing heavily.

"You were saying?" I drag my teeth lightly along the line of his jaw.

Every inch of me is on fire, and his hands are everywhere—skimming under my sweatshirt, gripping my waist, scraping the curve of my spine. I kiss down his neck, tasting the salt on his skin, his scent mingling with mine. I can't get enough. I never will.

He pushes me harder against the wall, a desperate edge to his movements. His hands shift lower, gripping my thighs as he adjusts our angle. I bite into his neck to stifle the sound in my throat as he hits the perfect spot.