“I heard Rowan came running for you,” Meagan says, and I assume it’s to Sam because we don’t talk.
“Of course he did. I mean everything to him, and soon I’ll be his wife.”
God, her bravado is beyond delusional. Only Samantha would think being ignored positions her to be someone’s wife.
I snort at the look of devastation in her eyes that night back at the hospital.
“Something funny, trash?” she shouts from her perch, and I ignore her.
I really think she has a degradation kink. I should ask Rowan. My gut lurches at the idea that he would know. The feeling confuses me. Why the hell would I care where the prick sticks his dick?
An image of him pressing me against the wall, and the feelings that stirred in me at his words as he worked my body into a frenzy comes to mind. I feel my cheeks flush at the reminder of how close I was as he called me a slut. I can’t like Rowan. Is he attractive? Fuck yes, but he’s an even bigger douche. So what if his body looks lickable, or that I wanted to follow the trail of water as it cascaded down his muscular chest to the well-defined V leading to a spectacular-looking dick. He’s as big of a jerk as his junk is, super fucking huge.
“Did you not hear me addressing you, skank?” Sam tries again, jolting me from the dangerous path my thoughts were traveling.
My mouth sets in a straight line, and my eyes roll like they’re doing summersaults as I begin to count, trying to remind myself it’s better to be the bigger person in this instance.
Don’t embarrass this ho. She’s not worth it.
“Maybe you’ve actually learned your pl-.” Her sentence is interrupted by the husky tenor of an unexpected voice.
“Don’t finish that sentence unless you want me to remind you of your place,” Liam instructs.
What alternative universe have I landed in where Liamon Washington, the same guy who essentially told me I was wasting my time because I wasn’t good enough, is coming to my defense? Not that I needed it. She was about one more snide remark away from being read.
My gaze snaps up, our eyes locking. He looks better than when I last saw him last week. The dark circles no longer sit under his eyes, and his beard is now trimmed low. He’s wearing his usual ripped jeans, a thermal shirt with a navy flannel button-up over it, and a pair of combat boots. His pectoral muscles look carved from stone with how his shirt lines his chest. I don’t know if he notices me looking, but I swear he makes them flex, and I have to dip my chin to hide the blush creeping up my neck behind my hair.
“Whatever, Liam. I’m done with the bitch anyway. She bores me,” Sam mumbles.
“Bores you or intimidates you?” Shay asks pointedly.
I look at her and see she’s at the end of her patience, and class hasn’t even started yet. I shake my head quickly, and she huffs when she notices, gritting her teeth and folding her arms across her chest but says nothing else.
I’m sure I’ll get an earful about not letting her flay her later, but again Sam’s an attention whore and the best way to deal with that is to suck the oxygen out of the air instead of fanning the flames of her toxic personality.
“That bitch could never intimidate me. She’s not even in the same stratosphere,” Sam snarls. And now I’ve had enough.
“She was good enough to be one the original Selected and not a replacement for dead girls,” Liam challenges.
Am I wrong for bursting out into laughter at this? If I am, Shay’s riding to hell with me because she does the same.
She growls but says nothing in response as the rest of the heirs walk in. August and Karl’s eyes lock on me, both smiling, happy I’m finally back at school. They’ve been to the house daily, sometimes staying the night to keep the nightmares at bay.
I shut my mind down when images try to bombard me. Today will be a good day, even if I have to fake it until it’s true.
Rowan sits next to Shay, close but still at a distance, August and Karl take up their positions to my left and my right after they each kiss a cheek, causing me to flame red, and Liam sits in front of me, looking back before facing forward like he’s a sentry on duty. It’s weird, but I feel protected in a way I haven’t since returning home.
Rowan and Liam could still use a few slaps upside their domes, but for now, I enjoy the peace their protective energy brings, and because I’m a petty bitch, I turn to Sam, watching her as she takes in this display of solidarity. Malice fills her arctic eyes and she glowers.
Tipping my head to the side, I arch a brow, smirk, and wink.
Checkmate bitch.
SEBASTIAN
I thought I was finally done with this place and having to be in the same space as Vivian. My return to Calloway Academy has had her visit my office twice today under the misguided assumption that my return is for her. I’m here for one thing, and Vivan Taylor is not it.
I scan over the fifth personnel file on my desk. Verifying each person’s information matches Liam’s files is tedious, but his meticulous attention to detail makes my job far more manageable.
This person is exceptionally dull. They’ve been married for forty years and spend weekends collecting bird feathers. I snort at the idea of a man skulking through the woods trying to find the feather of a bird that’s eluded him for decades.
Sighing, I run my fingers through my loosely styled hair. I was so annoyed with having to be back in this building I forgot to add my styling gel. I check my watch- today’s band matches my gray three-piece Tom Ford suit. There are still another four hours left in my day.
For fuck’s sake. I want to punch myself for coming up with the idea of staying in my position. I could be working on my grad school portfolio or hitting the gym. Maybe even rubbing one out since I can’t have sex with my usual hate fuck.
It’s been far too long since I’ve had a beautiful woman at my mercy. I never played with Vivian. After finding her riding my father’s dick with my engagement ring on her finger, I fucked anything with legs and a pussy between them. It wasn’t until I went with one of the guys from the frat house to this BDSM club that I learned how much I needed control after everything happened- how much I loved the idea of determining when and how often a woman is pleasured. The height of euphoria on a woman’s face when she’s riding your tongue and coming for the seventh time in a row or how distraught she looks when you take her right to the edge over and over and over again.
I wonder for a moment what the spitfire would look like riding that edge for a whole night. I can picture the frustration in her slate eyes and the anguish on her face when her orgasm eludes her time and time again. The way she’d claw my back as I make her crash over into oblivion once I finally let her taste what was just out of reach for so long.
Groaning, I reach up and rub the back of my neck. I really shouldn’t be having thoughts like this at school or about a student. It doesn’t matter that we’re only four years apart. Until I’m done here, she’s off limits in the only way I can ever allow myself to have her. The others can fall- I won’t allow myself to make that mistake ever again.
There’s a knock on my door, interrupting my thoughts. It’s for the best, though. The last thing I need at school is a case of blue balls.
“Come in,” I announce.
My door opens and the girl I was just telling myself was off limits walks through. I have to bite the inside of my cheek until it bleeds to prevent myself from pulling my lips between my teeth. Emma Bish-Bradford is gorgeous.
“Hello, Mr. Grant,” she says, walking fully into the room and thankfully leaving the door open.
I grunt at the sound of Mr. Grant on her lips and imagine her calling me ‘Sir.’
Closing my eyes, I massage my fingers against my forehead.
Get your shit together, Bash.
“Now, we’ve had this talk already. Please call me Sebastian,” I instruct, my voice firm, and I see scarlet dust her cheeks. How prettily she turns red. I can almost imagine the shades of pink I could turn her luscious ass while she rides my fingers.
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.