Eden

His fingers suddenly snap in front of my face.

“What?” I gasp as I’m jerked out of terrifying thoughts that have turned Saint-Fucking-Angelle into the god that all the mean bitches at this school swear he is.

His clenched jaw tells me he’s gone from irritated to furious. “Are you listening to a goddamn thing I’m saying?”

I don’t even see any point in arguing with him. “It’s nothing personal. I’m just having a bitch of a time concentrating today.”

At that moment, I’m overwhelmed with dizziness and sway on my feet as the hallway blurs around me. I let out a frightened little cry, but then I’m steadied by strong hands on my shoulders.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Mallory?” he snarls, holding me still.

“Lightheaded,” I murmur, grabbing onto his arm for extra support.

His muscles spasm beneath my fingertips and he regards me for several moments, his mouth turned down in a deep frown.

“When did you last eat?”

I try to think back over the weekend, but honestly, I can’t recall if I’ve had a proper meal since Friday.

“I-I’m not sure,” I stammer at last.

That really seems to piss him off even more. “The fuck, Mallory? You trying to starve yourself to death?”

“It’s none of your business.” I try to wiggle out of his hold, but I only succeed in getting him to grasp me tighter, pulling me into his broad, solid chest.

He smells good. Why does he always smell so good?

“Stop fucking struggling, Ellis.” He leans down to whisper at my ear, “I like my possessions to be in working order. If you don’t take care of yourself, I’ll force feed you from my hand. Is that what you want?”

I gulp at the threat and the heat it provokes deep in my belly. Leaning back, Saint stares down at me and then lets out a long exhale that fans my face with a minty scent.

“Come with me,” he grumbles, taking my hand and turning to head back down the hallway. I’m helpless to do anything but follow after him.

He leads me out of the back of the academic building, and we walk across campus toward his dorm. He doesn’t say a word to me as we ride the elevator up to his floor, nor does he offer an explanation for his actions when we reach his room and he practically shoves me inside.

“Sit,” he orders, pointing to his bed.

My brain’s mush, and I can’t think of a witty retort, so I follow his directions and drag my feet across the room. I sink into the mattress and watch as he digs through his fridge. He pulls out something wrapped in brown paper and a shiny red apple. Straightening, he makes his way toward me and shoves both items into my hands.

“Eat.”

I glare up at him.

“I’m not a fucking child,” I hiss. “I don’t need you bossing me around.”

He arches a brow. “Clearly you do if you’re letting yourself get into this kind of state. Would you rather pass out on the quad, wide-open and vulnerable for Laurel and her minions to draw dicks on your face with permanent markers?”

I almost let out a burst of laughter at the ridiculous scenario. Laurel wouldn’t draw dicks on my face. That’d be far too common of a prank for her.

I manage not to laugh, but I can’t help my grin. Saint rolls his eyes in return, and then leans down, placing his hands on either side of my hips so that we’re eye-to-eye.

“Eat, Ellis,” he orders in a low voice. “Before I pin you down and feed you something meatier.”

My breath catches and my cheeks heat, and I don’t know if it’s because I’m so tired and not thinking clearly, but I’m tempted to accept his second offer.

I give myself a mental shake, banishing the thought away.

“Thanks, but I’ll stick to the food.”

Smirking, he stands and moves to lean against his desk with his arms folded. With his gaze locked on me, I know I don’t have the option to toss the food he’s given me. So, even though my stomach turns at the prospect, I take the item in the paper and unwrap it. It’s a chicken salad sandwich, and it actually smells … really good.

My stomach gurgles again, but it’s in hunger.

I glance up at him before I take a bite of the sandwich. The chicken salad is creamy, like the kind from my favorite diner back in Georgia. My eyes slide shut, and an involuntary moan escapes my lips as I savor the delicious sandwich.

Opening my eyes again, I meet Saint’s stare. His gaze is dark and hot, and my heart begins to race because I can read his desires so clearly.

“Why haven’t you been eating?” he demands when I’m halfway done, his voice rough.

I shrug and take another bite, so I don’t have to answer right away.

“Mallory.” There’s a warning in his tone that’s impossible to ignore.

I swallow and release a heavy sigh. “I haven’t had an appetite.”

“You need to take better care of yourself,” he admonishes. I feel like I’m being scolded by an angry teacher or parent, which is really fucking weird considering everything Saint and I have done together.

I roll my eyes, hating how high-handed he gets with me. “I’m fine,” I insist. “You can just back off, all right? I can take care of myself.”

“Clearly. Nothing says self-sufficient more than a little murder, mayhem, and starvation.”

God, he’s such a dick.

I choose not to respond to that and focus back in on my sandwich. As it hits my stomach, I start to feel better. More stable. Thankfully, Saint lets me eat without badgering me for a few minutes, and once I’ve polished off the sandwich, I make quick work of the apple.

“Feeling better?” he asks when there’s nothing but a core left in my hand.

Though I hate to give any indication that he’s right about anything, I bob my head. “Yeah, I am.”

He pushes away from the desk and prowls toward me. I almost expect him to ask me to do something fucked-up, but he takes my garbage from my palms and says, “Good,” before turning to dispose of it.

I watch him as he moves around the room, and it’s a strange experience, having him take care of me like this. It feels so out of character for him, but at the same time, it’s kind of … nice.

But definitely a little disarming.

I begin to wring my hands in my lap, uncertain what I should say or do now. The urge to thank him is there, but I don’t want to give in. No doubt, he’ll figure out a way to use my gratefulness against me.

Instead, I ask a question that’s poking at the back of my mind.

“Where were you this weekend?”

His shoulders stiffen, then he slowly turns to face me.

“Missed me?” He grins, but I can tell he’s deflecting. There’s something off about his expression. Something that makes the hairs on the nape of my neck stand on end.

“I would’ve thought you’d show up at my door Saturday or Sunday to give me shit about what happened. To … to demand some sort of…”

“Payment?” he offers with a low chuckle. “Reward? Penance?”

I purse my lips, my irritation growing. “You know what? Forget it.”

Pushing from the bed, I stand and start to leave, but he blocks my path.

“You don’t think you’re getting away from me that easily, do you?” he asks, his big body towering over me.

Folding my arms over my chest, I blink up at him. “You didn’t give a shit the past few days, apparently. Why start now?”

He reaches out and snares my chin between his fingers, bringing our faces close together. “Watch your mouth, Ellis, or I’ll stuff my cock between your lips to shut you up.”

A breath rushes from my nostrils. “You’re a piece of shit.”