14: Consuming Need Part 01

Cecilia’s POV

“Dinner with Liam,” Maya had chirped, grabbing her favorite tie-dye scarf from the back of her chair. “Don’t wait up! And try to actually get some work done, you two. That project isn’t going to write itself.” She’d winked, her eyes crinkling at the corners, completely unaware of the undercurrent of tension thrumming beneath her cheerful facade. “See ya later!” The door clicked shut behind her, and the sudden silence in the room felt deafening, amplifying the frantic thump-thump-thump of my heart against my ribs.

A few minutes later, a soft knock echoed through the quiet dorm room. My breath hitched. I smoothed down the front of my sweater, a nervous habit I hadn’t even realized I possessed. “Come in,” I managed, my voice a little breathier than I intended.

The door creaked open, and Asher stepped inside, filling the doorway with his familiar presence. He hesitated for a moment, his gaze sweeping over the room before settling on me. “Hey,” he said, his voice low, a hint of something unreadable in his eyes.

“Hey,” I replied, my own gaze locked on his, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken that hung between us. The air in the small room suddenly felt thick, charged with an energy that had nothing to do with academic collaboration.

He closed the door softly behind him, the click echoing in the silence. “So… project?” he asked, gesturing vaguely towards the textbooks stacked on Maya’s desk.

“Right,” I said, my voice still a little shaky. I gestured towards the desk as well, trying to project an air of normalcy I was far from feeling. “Methodology, right?” I walked over to the desk, putting a physical distance between us, a small, futile attempt to create a sense of safety.

Asher followed, his movements slow and deliberate. He leaned against the edge of the desk, his arms crossed over his chest, his gaze fixed on me. The silence stretched between us again, thick with unspoken words and lingering memories.

Our attempts to discuss the intricacies of our experimental design were stilted, each sentence feeling weighted, laced with the unspoken subtext of our shared secret, the raw, undeniable pull that stretched between us like an invisible cord. My gaze flitted everywhere but at Asher, my eyes tracing the faded floral patterns on the wallpaper, the colorful spines of Maya’s eclectic collection of books, the dust motes dancing in the afternoon sunbeam slanting through the window – anything to avoid the magnetic intensity I knew I’d find in his gaze, a gaze that already felt possessive in Maya’s absence, a silent claiming that both terrified and, shamefully, thrilled me. The memory of our tangled limbs, the frantic rhythm of our breathing, the shared, earth-shattering climax that had bound us in a way I never could have imagined, hung in the air between us, thick and undeniable, a silent, potent reminder of the raw, unexpected pleasure we had found in each other’s arms.

Asher cleared his throat, the sound amplified in the quiet room, and reached for a research article lying near my hand. His knuckles brushed mine in the process, a fleeting, accidental touch that sent a jolt of pure awareness, a spark of unwelcome recognition, through my entire being. “So, about the methodology…” he began, his voice a little rougher than usual, a husky undertone that resonated deep within me, making my own throat tighten with a confusing mix of anxiety and a nascent, forbidden desire.

“Look, Asher,” I began, my voice barely above a whisper, my hands twisting nervously in my lap. I finally forced myself to meet his gaze, the words tumbling out in a rush. “That night… with Julian’s birthday and everything… it was a mistake. A huge mistake.”

Asher’s expression, which had held a tentative warmth, a hopeful anticipation that mirrored my own secret yearnings, dropped momentarily, a flicker of hurt, a shadow of disappointment, crossing his features. “A mistake?” he echoed, his voice quiet, his eyes searching mine with an intensity that made my breath catch.

I nodded, my gaze dropping to the worn surface of the desk. “Yes. It… it shouldn’t have happened.”

He pushed himself off the desk, taking a step closer. “But it did, Cece.” His voice was low, insistent. “And you can’t just pretend it didn’t mean anything.”

My heart pounded against my ribs. I finally met his gaze again, my expression a tangled mess of guilt, a desperate, almost pleading need for him to understand the gravity of what had happened, yet a flicker of something else – a raw vulnerability, a hesitant curiosity about what lay beneath the surface of our carefully constructed friendship – lingered beneath the surface of my carefully constructed composure. “It was… my first time, Asher,” I confessed, the words hanging in the air between us, heavy with vulnerability. “I… I’ve never…”

A wave of shock, raw and undeniable, washed over Asher’s face, his hazel eyes widening, darkening with a possessive intensity that both frightened and thrilled me. “I know…” he breathed, his voice suddenly soft, laced with a tenderness that banished all traces of hurt, replaced by a burgeoning possessiveness, a silent claiming that sent a shiver down my spine. He reached out slowly, his large hand hovering near my cheek for a heart-stopping moment before gently, tentatively caressing it. The pad of his thumb brushed softly against my skin, sending a jolt of pure sensation, a forbidden current, through me, chasing away the chill of my guilt with a sudden, unwelcome warmth.

My breath hitched in my throat at his touch, a familiar warmth spreading through me, melting away the fragile remnants of my earlier resolve. I leaned into his hand almost involuntarily, my earlier intentions dissolving under the intense heat of his gaze, the unspoken question in his eyes. A spark of arousal, unwelcome yet undeniable, flared within me, a primal, instinctive response to his touch, a shameful acknowledgment of the desire that still lingered, two days after our transgression. The way his eyes searched mine, filled with a potent mixture of surprise, a dawning understanding, and a burgeoning, undeniable desire, made my skin tingle with a nervous, forbidden anticipation. “Ash…” I whispered his name, the sound barely audible, a breathy invitation, a surrender to the magnetic pull that had always existed between us, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken yearning that had finally found its release in the darkness.

His face slowly descended, his gaze never leaving mine, his eyes locked on mine with an intensity that made my heart pound against my ribs, until his lips brushed tenderly against mine. The tentative touch ignited a fire, a spark that instantly flared into an inferno, and the kiss deepened, our mouths meeting with a hungry desperation, a silent acknowledgment of the magnetic pull that had always existed between us, a frantic, unspoken need to recapture the stolen pleasure, to explore the uncharted territory we had briefly discovered in the darkness.