Sordid by Nikki Sloane

believed he was until this night was over.
    The muscles in his back corded and tensed. He crashed into me so hard the couch shook, and I gasped. Without prompting, I had to reach up and grab the armrest to brace myself. It was all that kept him from accidentally slamming my head into it.
    “Fuck, shit,” he growled.
    The tension in him grew ten-fold, and I watched, fascinated. He shuddered and closed his eyes, letting a look of intense pleasure overtake him, then abruptly he was backing up. He pulled out and his hot, wet dick was set in the hollow where my leg joined my body. He rocked it back and forth as he came. Warm drops flicked on my belly, hip, and skirt. He was throbbing on my skin while he exhaled loudly, sounding like he was falling apart.
    His rocking came to a stop, and his breathing began to slow. It was an odd sensation when he left my body. The ache was significantly reduced, but the warmth and fullness I liked were gone as well.
    “That was,” he whispered in my ear, “even better than I imagined it’d be.”
    I sucked in a breath. “You thought about . . .?”
    His serious demeanor slowly blinked back into place. “Fucking you? Of course I did. What did you think I was doing the whole time during class?”
    He brushed his mouth across mine, almost too fast for it to count as a kiss, and pulled back from me. His gaze swept down along my body, then returned to mine. “Stay right there.”
    It wasn’t a request. He climbed off the couch, tugging his undone pants up around his hips and strolled to the dark room off to the side. The resident advisor’s room came with a private bathroom. As the sink began to run, I tugged my bra back in place and pushed the hem of my skirt down to cover myself. I also attempted to button my blouse, but my fingers were shaking too badly. What had we just done?
    The water shut off and rustling rang out, telling me he was doing up his pants, and it was followed by footsteps. I hurried to sit up, unsure what to do about the mess we’d made—
    Luka had a handful of wet towels, and as he approached, his eyebrow arched. Was he mad I’d covered myself? He said nothing. He took a knee beside me on the couch and flung my skirt up, wiping the towel across my skin. I hissed at the touch—the towel was cold. But my face heated until it was on fire. He cleaned me up, his focused gaze between my legs, and then he moved on to the skirt. When he seemed satisfied, he ran the towel over the leather.
    I was shaking in my core as he stood, disappeared once more into the bathroom, and returned. The utility belt was snatched off the floor and slung around his hips. Then, he crossed his arms and peered down at me. It was unnerving. Was he expecting me to say something? To do something? I grabbed the panties that clung to my ankle and stepped my other foot into the leg hole, and as I stood, I drew the panties upward.
    My body ached, and I stood too fast.
    Luka was there to catch me as I threatened to topple over, and I fell into his embrace. I felt sick with emotions, and didn’t like the feeling of his arms around me. No, worse. It was that I liked his arms holding me; that was what I disliked. He’d . . . oh, God.
    He’d raped me. Hadn’t he?
    “Are you okay?”
    I stiffened and fought to appear sober. “Yeah.”
    I just needed to get away from him, and think about what my next step would be. Did I report this? Could I stomach going through all of that? Everyone would know how stupid I’d been to come up here alone with him. My mouth went dry. What if no one believed me?
    His embrace closed in, pressing me against him. His thumb and forefinger grasped my chin and angled me up into his kiss. I was sure he could feel me trembling, and it was the reason his arms tightened around me. His mouth was gentle. Luka was trying to console me, yet it only made the word no swirl louder in my brain. I’d been captive under his power long enough.
    I ended the kiss a little too soon for him, and