Page 90 of Give In

Eden

I’d told myself I wouldn’t waste time stopping at my mailbox because I had no interest in getting the key and going to his place.

And I’d kept telling myself that as my traitor body stepped foot on campus and hustled straight to my mailbox.

I stood in front of it, giving it a hefty dose of side-eye as I tried to decide whether to open it.

On one hand, I had no self-control. I’d had to bury my phone at the bottom of my bag so I wouldn’t look at the waiting messages from Damien. I was happy with my last words. If I looked, I’d likely respond with something a lot less ‘mic-drop’ and a lot more ‘I know you are, but what am I?’

If I gave in and grabbed the key, I’d probably use it. And not just because I craved the orgasm Damien dangled like a carrot, just out of reach. Though, according to my body, that alone would be worth the sacrifice of whatever sense of dignity and morality I was desperately clinging to.

No, I’d give in because I wanted to. Part of me, at least.

On the other hand, letting the key sit there was allowing him to control me. I would avoid my mailbox or think of him each time I opened it.

“Or I could give it back,” I murmured to myself.

“What?”

Startled, I looked over to see another student emptying about three months’ worth of stuff from his box. He was giving me the same wary side-eye I was giving my mailbox, which made sense because what kind of sane person glared at an inanimate object and talked to herself?

The kind who was no longer sane thanks to an asshole professor, that was who.

I offered him a smile that was likely bordering onGirl Interrupted-levels of unhinged as I unlocked my box. “Nothing, sorry.”

He seemed to relax marginally, returning his focus to his mail.

I did the same, pulling out stacks of to-go menus and credit card offers. There was a key underneath with a sticky note attached to it.

Knew you couldn’t resist.

-DC

Bastard.

Slamming the mailbox closed, I checked the time. I was already so late, it didn’t make any sense to go to my first class. That gave me just enough time to swing by Damien’s office, push the key under the door, then go grab the biggest bucket of coffee I could before heading to my next class.

As I moved through the halls, forcing myself to go slow so as not to draw suspicion, I mentally wrote the snarky note I wanted to leave with the key. I knew I wouldn’t, though. As much as he deserved a snide comment about how I didn’t have time to meet, no matter how short it was, or a reiteration of how he could go ‘luck’ himself, the probability that someone else would find the note was too high.

He may have been fine with risking his career and livelihood, but I wasn’t. Not for something as childish as that, at least.

My ingenious plan was to ‘accidentally’ drop my mail in front of his office. I’d bend to pick it up and push the key under the door.

It may not have been the cleverest, most stealthy plan, but I’d never had aspirations of evil villainy or intrigue. I was nervous enough as it was, I didn’t need convoluted.

I needed foolproof.

Nearing his room, my heartbeat grew more erratic, and my movements turned stiff and robotic. I gripped a small stack of junk mail in my sweaty hand, the key strategically placed at the bottom. Reaching my designated spot, I held my breath and dropped my mail.

And the freaking key.

Foolproof plan, my ass.

Rather than of lithely dipping to gather my envelopes and discard the key in one fluid movement, I ended up on my knees, sprawled forward to catch the key before it bounced into view of anyone else.

Hey, stupid, it’s just a key. No one knows whose it is.

If it weren’t for the fact I was ass-up in the freaking hallway, I’d have laughed at how illogical my instinct to hide the key had been and how ridiculous I must’ve looked, flailing around on the floor.