Page 29 of Beyond the Lines (Pine Barren University #1)

I lose track of time as I fill page after page. In one, I focus on just our faces, the moment my expression shifted from pain to desire. In another, I draw the hickey he left on my neck, surrounded by patterns that look like waves or flames—I can’t quite tell.

Another becomes an abstract tangle of lines that somehow still captures the feeling of his fingers inside me, his mouth on me. And, when I finally pause, my hand aching and smudged with graphite, I look down at what I’ve created.

Holy shit .

These aren’t just sketches.

They’re… intense.

And undeniably erotic.

Beauty and filth. Lust and anger. Guilt and excitement. Pain and pleasure. Tenderness and fury. Every contradictory emotion I’ve been feeling splayed across the pages in black and gray.

I snap the sketchbook closed.

No.

I am not letting myself feel anything real for Declan Andrews. This is just physical attraction—intense, inconvenient, maddening physical attraction—and there are too many good reasons not to give into it.

My phone buzzes, startling me out of my spiraling thoughts.

It’s Em:

10 mins until lunch. Coast still clear.

I look down at my graphite-smudged hands and the closed sketchbook that now feels dangerous, like it might burst into flames if anyone else saw it. I should rip these pages out and burn them. But instead, I carefully tuck the sketchbook into my desk drawer, where no one will accidentally find it.

Standing, I pace the room, my skin suddenly too tight, too sensitive under my clothes.

My whole body thrums with a restless energy I can’t shake.

The drawings were meant to get my mind off him, but instead they sparked something, bringing every touch, every sensation from that bathroom back in vivid detail.

“Fuck,” I mutter.

I’ve got ten minutes until I need to meet Em.

I should head right out the door and be five minutes early, for once.

Or, failing that, take a quick shower, call Mike, or organize my desk—do literally anything except what I’m about to do.

But the echo of Declan’s touch burns through me.

My fingers twitch, and my core aches with a hollow, insistent need.

Ten minutes. Or eight, really, because lunch is a two-minute walk away.

After a moment’s hesitation, I retrieve my sketchbook, flip it open to the most explicit drawing—the one that captures the moment right before he made me come, the one that would make me actually die if anyone else saw it—and prop it against my pillow as carefully as a mother handling a newborn.

“Just… get it out of your system,” I tell myself, my voice sounding strange in the quiet room. Clinical. Practical. Like this is a routine task to be checked off a list, not a dangerous indulgence that risks yet again blowing my feelings and emotions sky-high. “Just… release the tension.”

I slide my hand beneath the waistband of my leggings, under my panties, and gasp at how wet I already am. Not just a little turned on—I’m practically soaked. Just from drawing, just from remembering. And my fingers glide easily as the memories crash over me?—

Declan’s between my legs, his tongue hot and insistent.

His fingers stretching and filling me.

I close my eyes, lost in the sensations, then force them back open to stare at my drawing. The rough strokes of the pencil somehow capture the desperate hunger of that moment perfectly.

I push two fingers inside myself, trying to recreate the fullness I felt with his fingers inside me. It’s not enough—not nearly enough—but my thumb finds my clit, and electricity shoots through me.

It feels like he felt, but I’m missing something at the same time.

Him .

His name escapes my lips before I can stop it, and shame and arousal twine together in my stomach, each intensifying the other. This is wrong. This is so, so wrong. And so incredibly hot.

My free hand fumbles under my shirt, groping my breast roughly. I pinch my nipple, like he did, then imagine it’s his teeth grazing the sensitive peak, and whimper at the sharp jolt of pleasure-pain.

I work my fingers faster, pressing harder, my breathing turning ragged. My hips buck, seeking more friction, more pressure, and more everything. The drawing stares back at me, its chaotic lines capturing how he looked kneeling before me—hungry, intense, and full of desire.

My heel digs into the mattress as I arch my back, chasing the pressure building inside of me. I’m so close already. Too close, too fast. This isn’t supposed to be so easy, so overwhelming .

Memories collide and blur—the way his hand cradled the back of my head when he kissed me in the diner, the darkness of his pupils when I took him in my mouth, and the reverent way he traced the curve of my breast. Reality and fantasy merge until I can’t tell which parts happened and which are just desperate wishes.

“God, please, please…”

I’m not sure what I’m begging for. For the memory to finally leave me alone? For Declan himself to somehow materialize and finish what we started? The moment is as confusing and hot and raw as the emotions that have been fighting inside me for days.

My phone chimes—Em’s follow-up text, no doubt—but I’m too far gone to stop now. My thumb circles my clit with brutal precision as I pump my fingers faster, harder. My thighs begin to tremble, that tightening coil in my belly about to snap.

Heat rises from my core, spreading through my limbs like wildfire. My vision blurs, the sketch before me dissolving into smudges of graphite as my eyes lose focus. I’m at the edge, teetering, my body wound tight as a bowstring.

The pressure builds to an almost unbearable peak, and then?—

I come with his name on my lips, my body convulsing in waves of white-hot pleasure. My hips buck wildly against my hand as I ride out the orgasm, every nerve ending singing. For a moment, there’s nothing but sensation, nothing but heat and release and bliss.

Then reality crashes back.

I’m alone in my dorm room, hand shoved down my pants, staring at a graphite drawing, with my roommate waiting for me at lunch. Cursing myself, I scramble off the bed, then check my phone.

Two texts from Em:

5 minutes!

Followed by:

I’m ordering you extra fries. Heartbreak carbs don’t count. You’re welcome.

Rushing to the bathroom, I scrub my hands vigorously, then splash cold water on my flushed face. My reflection stares back at me, cheeks flushed pink, pupils still dilated, and lips bitten red.

I reapply some lip balm, tug my sweater down, and run my fingers through my disheveled curls. Better. Not great, but better. And by better, I meant there’s probably a fifty-fifty chance of my roommate figuring out what I just did.

Back in my room, I carefully close the sketchbook and return it to its hiding place. My body still pulses with the aftershocks of my orgasm, a pleasant, liquid warmth spread through my limbs.

The rational part of my brain knows this solved absolutely nothing. If anything, I’ve only made it worse—reinforcing the connection between Declan and pleasure, and feeding the attraction I’m trying to deny.

But as I grab my jacket and keys and race out the door, I can’t ignore the relief coursing through me. For the first time in days, my mind feels clearer, the obsessive thoughts temporarily silenced.

Maybe now I can sit across from Em and have a normal conversation without Declan’s name flashing in neon letters behind my eyes. Maybe. But probably not. And as I lock my door, a sudden thought hits me…

Tomorrow I have to actually face Declan.

Sit across from him.

Talk to him.

Look him in the eye.

After what happened in that bathroom, and what just happened in this room.

Oh god.

“I swear the dining hall somehow manages to make pasta both overcooked and undercooked at the same time,” Em says as we walk back from lunch. “It’s like a violation of the laws of physics.”

“A culinary paradox,” I agree, tucking my hands into my jacket pockets, still feeling comfortably full from lunch and still buzzed from my… starter. “Like fancy restaurants charging more for less food…”

Em laughs vigorously, then launches into her theory about the dining hall’s unwavering commitment to disappointing students’ taste buds, but I largely tune out. Because, holding hands as we walk back to our dorm, my mind is still for the first time in days.

We just finished lunch and, shit food aside, being able to talk to her for an hour about everything but Declan had been a godsend. Especially after my… moment… back in the room. She didn’t ask about him, I didn’t mention him, and it was wonderful .

So, of course, right now would be when I spot him .

Declan.

Head down in his phone, walking straight toward us.

“Oh shit,” I mutter, letting go of Em’s hand and ducking behind her so fast I nearly take out an innocent sophomore passing by.

“What are you doing—” Em starts, but I grab her shoulders and use her as a human shield.

“It’s Declan,” I hiss, hunching down to hide behind her five-foot-three frame, which would be laughable if I weren’t completely desperate. “Don’t look! Oh shit! Shit! He’s looking at you. Uh, wait—yes, look, but like, casually! Like you’re not looking for him specifically!”

Em sighs deeply. “You realize that you’re five-foot-five, right? And that I’m shorter than you?”

“Just… expand! Take up space! Channel your inner diva!” I whisper, trying to make myself impossibly small.

Em snorts but squares her shoulders as I attempt to contort my body into the least visible shape possible, pulling my hood up and practically crawling behind her legs. I’m being ridiculous, but the last person on Earth I want to see right now is him .

“Is he gone?” I peek through the gap between Em’s arm and torso.

“No, he’s?—”

“Hey, Em.”

Declan’s voice sends an electric current straight through me. I freeze, crouched awkwardly behind Em like the world’s worst game of hide-and-seek. I know he can see me, but so far, he’s doing an awfully good job of pretending he’s got the eyesight of a ninety-year-old.

“Heyyy, Declan!” Em’s voice rises about three octaves. “ Fancy running into you here! On this path! That countless people use! Every day!”

“Right,” Declan says slowly.

“I thought the hockey team was playing away this weekend?” Em stammers, desperately trying to cover up my awkwardness.

“Yeah, some issue with the stadium, so the game got switched at the last minute.” He pauses. “Is your back OK?”

“My back?” Em squeaks.

“There’s some weird growth behind you,” he says, and I can hear the smirk in his voice. “Looks bad.”

“Oh! Yes! My back! It’s… something serious. Very sudden-onset. The doctor says I might need to be put down.”

Declan laughs, and I know he’s sharing a smile with Em. “Well, when you see Lea, tell her I said hi, I miss her, and I’ll see her tomorrow.”

He misses me?

Argh!

I count to ten before whispering, “Is he gone?”

“No, I’m not,” Declan calls from somewhere behind us.

I jolt upright so fast I almost knock Em over, but when I whip around, there’s no one there. Just the empty path and the sound of distant laughter. My face burns so hot I could probably melt the ice at the Pine Barren rink.

Em skips beside me, thoroughly unrepentant. “That was incredible! I should have filmed it!”

“Don’t you dare laugh,” I warn, but it’s too late. Em dissolves into giggles, clutching her stomach.

“You should have seen your face!” she wheezes. “And the way you were trying to make yourself invisible!”

“I haven’t seen him since… you know,” I say as we approach our dorm building. “The Great Bathroom Incident. ”

“Is that what we’re calling it now?” Em asks, swiping her ID to let us in. “Because that doesn’t conjure the moment anywhere near well enough.”

“Better than ‘that time I let my brother’s teammate mouth fuck me in a public bathroom,’” I mutter, grateful the lobby is empty.

“Clever,” Em acknowledges as we head for the stairs. “I like that it’s very SEO-friendly.”

We reach our floor, and once safely inside our room, Em flops onto her bed and fixes me with a look I’ve come to recognize as her “I’m about to say something outrageous” expression.

“You know what you need to do, right?” she asks.

“Invest in an invisibility cloak?”

“You need to bang it out.”

I nearly choke on air. “Excuse me?”

“Bang. It. Out.” She punctuates each word with a pillow thump. “Get him out of your system. One night of hot, steamy, no-holds-barred, no-strings-attached, come as many times as you can sex, and bam—sexual tension gone, awkwardness resolved, and everyone moves on with their lives.”

Heat rushes to my face as I drop into my desk chair, pointedly not looking at my sketchbook in the bottom drawer—the one containing page after page of Declan. But those drawings—and the… recreational activity that went with them—didn’t help.

“I don’t do casual,” I say, ignoring the irony that what happened in the bathroom was exactly that. “Or one-night stands.”

Em shrugs. “You’re a walking, talking emotional mess right now, Lea. If not Declan, maybe you need to at least try flirting with someone else.”

“Why, so I can traumatize another innocent bystander with my emotional baggage?” I scoff.

“No, so you can realize that Declan isn’t the only fish in the sea.” Em sits up, suddenly animated. “What about Ping’s thing tonight?”

“Another party?” I groan, because that’s the last place I want to go. “The last one didn’t exactly end well for me.”

“It’s for her Gaming Club. Just a few people playing cards, board games, and that kind of thing.

No rager, no getting lost in the crowd, and no hockey players—since they wouldn’t be caught dead there…

” Em’s eyes are hopeful. “Come on, it’s been days of you hiding in here drawing… whatever you’ve been drawing.”

“I haven’t been hiding,” I say.

“You literally just army-crawled behind me to avoid Declan.”

“That was a strategic retreat.”

“Please?” Em pouts.

I hesitate. The thought of a small get-together does sound nice.

No blasting music, no sweaty strangers, just a few people playing games.

Normal college stuff that doesn’t involve bathroom hookups or awkward art classes or long deep-and-meaningful conversations at diners until the middle of the morning.

“No one from the hockey team?” I ask.

“The gaming club and hockey team Venn diagram is two circles with approximately three miles of space between them,” Em assures me. “You’re safe.”

I sigh. “Fine.”

Because what’s the worst that could happen at a gaming party?