Climb on My Stepfather (Ashley and Alex) novel Chapter 71

3: Gage.

When I wake up, she’s gone.

It’s like having a claw hammer buried in my skull.

I dive out of bed with a bellow, clutching at the sheets like I’m going to find her hidden in there. Where the hell did she go? Where the fuck did she go?

The anger has returned with a vengeance in her absence.

I scratch at my chest until blood shows up in angry welts. When she was in my arms, the snakes were kept at bay. Now she’s gone and they’re bigger, more vicious.

“Stella!”

I rampage through my apartment, knocking trophies off shelves. Pictures of me with the university president, the governor. People who mean nothing to me.

There’s just her now. There’s only her.

Just before I reach the kitchen, I stumble to a stop in front of a picture of my father. Standing beside me as confetti rains down, the marching band behind us, batons raised. Gone. The only other person to ever mean anything to me.

Gone. The snake fangs dig into my stomach with more force and I almost go down on my knees. Need her. I need her here now.

Do I even have her phone number?

My laughter doesn’t hold a single note of amusement. I brought her here to live with me last night and I don’t even have her phone number. Just an email address. I slide down the wall and bury my face in my hands, trying to breathe through the chaos in my head. Think. Think.

It's not an easy feat. Thinking. I haven't gotten my cock into her yet and every cell in my body is blisteringly aware of that fact. When we walked through my door last night, she was clinging to me, so trusting, her angelic face softened in sleep and I couldn’t do it. I couldn't spread her legs open in my bed and fuck her the way I need to. Rough and fast.

She had an orgasm from a couple licks of her nipples.

Sex with this girl is going to be phenomenal. I'm salivating for it. I’m planning the next fifty positions I’m going to take her tight little body in. And there will be fifty more after that. Fifty more, fifty more, fifty more until the end of time, because she’s mine. She's the antidote to the ugliness growing inside of me, so where the hell has she gone?

Surging back to my feet, I tear at my hair, frustration burning up my esophagus—

But then I see the note.

There is a paper with words on it taped to my refrigerator.

I don’t breathe until it’s in my hands. Until I've read the daintily written script.

Good morning. I have political science at 8:20. Hope I see you later. -Stella “Hope I see you later?” I growl. “You hope?”

Right now, in this moment, there is only one thing that matters and every second that passes without her is unacceptable. I won't be able to think straight until she’s back in my arms. “I need a favor,” I say, cooling my hot forehead on the stainless steel of the refrigerator. “I need a copy of Stella McCartney's class schedule.”

A beat of silence passes, the dean beginning to stutter. “I can't just...that’s private information, Gage. If she wants you to have it, can’t she just give it to you?” He laughs. “There isn't a girl on campus that wouldn't be thrilled to have you so interested—”

“She's not other girls.” My temper is rising, hot and sharp. Uncontrollable. I want to pick up the refrigerator and throw it across the room. A clammy layer of sweat has formed on my back. I'm a mess and she’s my lifeline. I want the calm back. “I don’t even think she has a phone, so I can’t text and ask where her class this morning is located. Send me the schedule.”

“Ah. Huh.” He’s still uncomfortable. There are rules against this kind of thing because of stalking. And yeah, he’s probably right not to give me her schedule, because I will absolutely be stalking Stella. Crazy, considering females have never been more than a temporary diversion to me. Not this one, though. Not this one. “You're putting me in a tough position here, Gage,”

says the dean, his leather chair groaning down the line. “It’s unethical.”

“So is my off-campus apartment paid for by the university. Technically, wasn’t that considered a gift, so I'd come play football here?”

He coughs. A few more seconds go by. When I hear the tapping of keys, my fist that was preparing to bash in the cabinet door relaxes. “I'll send it from a private email. Please keep this between us.”

“Yeah. It's our secret,” I say, hanging up.

What's not going to be a secret? The fact that Stella is mine.

I'm going to make that infinitely clear this morning.