5. Chapter Five
Chapter Five
T he next morning, I crossed campus, heading for my first class, in clean clothes. Fortunately, Mr. Owens had found my garbage bag and kept it until I came to retrieve it. Unfortunately, I only packed five or six shirts, a few skirts, and two pairs of jeans, so I would need to find out, sooner rather than later, where the laundry room was. And steal some quarters.
Whispering Ivy College was so weird. All the buildings seemed to be connected by hallways so you could go just about anywhere without having to step foot outside. But I needed the fresh air, even if the frigid January wind tore into my clothes and sank a relentless chill into my bones.
I hadn’t even heard footsteps behind me before a rough grip took my arm. I yanked back, teeth bared, but didn’t have a chance to protest before I was airborne and flipped upside down over a broad shoulder. Familiar combat boots hit the ground as I hung there, my face a few inches from the ass of none other than Connor.
“Are you out of your damn mind?” I fumed, pounding my fists against his back. “Put me down right now!”
“Shut it,” he snapped, his grip only tightening. “Dean Bennett wants a word.”
“Then he can call like a normal person. My number’s on the paperwork.”
Miracle of miracles, I’d found an outlet in my hole, behind a stack of boxes, and was able to charge my phone.
Connor snorted. “No reception on campus. You’ll need to walk about ten miles in either direction before you get a bar.”
Was he serious? Was this 1994 or something?
“Put. Me. Down!”
He ignored me.
The way his shoulder dug into my stomach, the possessive way he held me like I was his prize or plaything… Yeah, the anger in my veins wasn’t the only thing pumping heat through my body. But I’d rather bite my tongue off than admit it.
He carried me right through the main building and down the hall. We stopped at the reception desk outside the dean’s office, and Connor planted me firmly on my feet, gripping my shoulder for a moment before releasing me.
My heart raced, irritation and…something else…twisting together as I glared up at him. I liked how his hand felt while clamping down on me, squeezing a little too hard. I might even have liked the way his jaw worked as he chewed on the end of a straw. And don’t even get me started on the faint scent of cedar and rain and something else dangerously addictive radiating off him.
What the hell was wrong with me? My mom was dead, and it was my fault. I wasn’t at Whispering Ivy for a fuck-a-thon. Did I just have raging hormones? Or was I a legit nymphomaniac with sociopathic tendencies? Either way, I needed to focus. I had to find out about this Lifewell thing.
“Hey, Trouble.” He greeted Ms. Tissdale with a smile, and I swear I could hear her granny panties disintegrating.
Her eyes lit up. “Oh, you!” She fished a container from her drawer. “I saved these blueberry streusel muffins just for you, Connor. Couldn’t let anyone else get their hands on them, now could I?”
She glanced at me, more accusatory than necessary. Why leave a damn basket of muffins out if you didn’t want people to eat them?
Next time, put his name on them, lady.
“Mmm, you spoil me, Ms. Tissdale. You know blueberries are my weakness.” Connor picked up the container, drumming his fingers on the lid. He leaned in closer to her, lowering his voice. “Bet they’re as sweet as you are.”
She let out a soft laugh, her eyes lingering too long on him. “I’ll let you be the judge of that, honey.”
I turned away. Gross. Why did I have to hear them flirting? Any second, and my ears would start bleeding.
I wouldn’t have been surprised if she licked her lips at him, but hey, I’d fuck anything with a cock, so who was I to judge whatever they had going on?
Connor jerked his head at me. “She’s here to see the dean. She’s not to leave until I come back for her.”
My lip twitched, barely holding in my ragey response.
Ms. Tissdale’s gaze flitted to me then returned to Connor. “I’ll keep her right here, just for you.”
“Thank you, gorgeous,” he said as he strode out.
Dude definitely had some mommy issues.
“Go on in,” Ms. Tissdale said dismissively. She returned to her typing. “The dean is expecting you.”
I adjusted my skirt—thankfully, I wore panties today so I didn’t give everyone we passed a good look at my bare ass while Connor carried me over—and squared my shoulders before entering.
“Close the door,” Xander—Dean Bennett—said.
His voice was sharp, curt. It wasn’t a request.
I obeyed, wondering if I should lock it behind me, just in case.
“Have a seat, Tuesday.”
“So, what’s this all about? Missing me already?” I plastered a smirk on my face as I perched on the edge of the chair across from his desk.
The same chair I’d sat in the other night while he jerked off on me.
The faintest flicker of amusement crossed his face, but his eyes stayed impassive. “I’ll get straight to the point. I tried to reach your mother a number of times. It goes straight to voicemail.”
I kept my expression neutral, but my pulse jumped. I’d expected he might try calling her at some point, but the lie I’d come up with didn’t feel half as solid now that he was staring me down.
“Oh. Yeah.” I shrugged, giving a casual toss of my head. “She’s on a six-month cruise with her new boyfriend. Real rich dude. Treats her like a queen.”
The skepticism in Xander’s gaze tightened around my neck like a noose.
I reached up and touched my throat. I could still feel Malcolm’s fingertips digging into my skin.
“Interesting. So there’s no way to contact her for the entire time you’re with us at Whispering Ivy? This is what you want me to believe?”
“It’s true,” I replied, keeping my expression as blank as possible. “She wanted to ‘disconnect’ from the world.”
Mom was as disconnected from the world as a person could get. That much was true. She hadn’t wanted it. She’d been doing well, and—
Damn. Now was not the time for waterworks. I reached up, rubbing my eyes as if I were tired, and faked a yawn.
He steepled his fingers, watching me intently with his electric stare. “I see. Interesting timing, wouldn’t you say?”
I met his gaze, forcing a smirk. “Not my problem if you can’t reach her. Maybe she’ll send you a postcard.”
“Cute,” he said, voice dry.
“Besides,” I went on, “the money part is all taken care of, and I’m eighteen now. A legal adult. Why do you need to speak to my mother?”
“Actually, I’m less concerned with her availability and more concerned with where you picked up the term Lifewell.”
The word hit me like a slap, though I didn’t let my expression falter. He knew. Of course he knew.
His eyes searched my face, waiting, watching, trying to find an answer I wasn’t about to give.
Don’t trust anyone. Don’t trust anyone. Don’t trust anyone.
“What is Connor? Your fucking spy? Do you have him reporting back everything I do? Did he tell you I masturbated in the shower?”
Xander’s face colored. “No, he didn’t mention that. Where did you hear the term Lifewell, Tuesday?”
I shrugged, doing my best to seem nonchalant. “Heard it in passing. It’s a catchy name, don’t you think? Kind of like a band name.”
He cocked his head, his gaze darkening, but he didn’t press me further. Instead, he rose slowly and walked around his desk in his pristine three-piece suit, each step a controlled, deliberate movement until he stood just behind me. His hand brushed against the back of my chair as he leaned in close.
“You know, Tuesday,” he murmured, his voice a low purr, “when I was seeing your mother, I never had any…improper thoughts about you.” His voice softened, the words like silk against my skin, decadent but also slippery. He was a fucking liar. “You were just a kid.”
“Uh-huh,” I replied, because that’s the eloquence one would expect from a girl who got a perfect score on her verbal SATs, right?
There was a faint tug, a subtle shift, almost like the air itself was thickening around us, pressing against my thoughts… Molding them?
I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, trying to shake the feeling, but the sensation grew stronger, coaxing me to let down my walls and just…speak.
My mouth opened slightly, a phrase balancing on the tip of my tongue before I even knew what I was going to say. Why was I feeling like this, almost eager to tell him everything, for all my secrets to just spill out?
But then, just as suddenly, a flash of sharp resistance struck me like lightning.
No .
I pressed my lips together.
Don’t trust anyone. Don’t trust anyone. Don’t trust anyone.
The dean leaned in slightly, his gaze fixed on me, steady and intent. Wanting. Pleading. Begging. My heartbeat thundered as I wrestled against the urge to give in to the desire so obvious in his brilliant blue eyes.
God, he wanted me.
“But you’re not a kid now, are you?” His warm breath breezed against my ear. “You’re an adult now, Tuesday. A grown woman.”
But he wasn’t after my body. He wanted something else… Knowledge? Something he couldn't reach, no matter how hard he tried. And it sure felt like he was trying. Like he was reaching into my soul and digging for answers.
Something dangerous was happening here, a seduction that had nothing to do with sex.
“And ever since you walked into my office the other night, I can’t stop thinking about you,” he went on, his fingers trailing down the side of my neck. “Specifically, I can’t stop thinking about you on your knees.”
Okay…so maybe it did have something to do with sex.
A fiery spark shot down my spine and pooled deep in my belly.
I turned to face him, arching a brow, feigning nonchalance. “Oh? So, you’re suggesting I do what? Suck you off?”
A slow, satisfied smile spread across his handsome face. “It would be the polite thing to do, since I so generously admitted you to Whispering Ivy.”
I crossed my arms, forcing a laugh to disguise the searing heat blazing through me. “Like you had a choice in the matter. I’m here whether you want me to be or not.”
He traced his hand along my shoulder, his thumb brushing against my neck in a way that made my skin tingle all over until I couldn’t take it anymore.
I rose to my feet, took a step closer to him, and knelt.
I took my time unbuckling his belt and unbuttoning his tented pants. His breath hitched as I dragged the zipper down, tooth by agonizing tooth. His cock strained against the fabric of his boxer briefs, begging to be freed. I hooked my fingers into the waistband and tugged them down.
We both moaned as he sprang free, the swollen head already glistening with precum.
Wrapping one hand around the base, I gave him a few slow pumps, his shaft hot against my palm.
“Your mouth, Geuls,” he demanded, using the same name he’d used to ask me to pass the butter during dinner when Mom and I lived with him.
I flicked my tongue out, swirling it around the tip of him, tasting the salty bead of precum. A low groan rumbled in his throat as I took him into my mouth, inch by delicious inch. I hollowed my cheeks, sucking hard, breathing through my nose.
I found a rhythm, bobbing my head, taking as much of him as I could. He was thick and heavy against my tongue, and I wanted him to throw me to the ground, take control, and fuck my face. To finally give me a reason for it to be okay to let my tears flow freely as I choked on his cock.
As if reading my thoughts, his hips began to rock, thrusting shallowly into my mouth. I moaned around him, the vibrations making his chest heave. I reached between my own legs and rubbed myself through my panties, the damp fabric a teasing friction against my aching clit.
His movements grew erratic, his breaths coming in pants and gasps. I could tell he was close.
I took him deeper, sucked him harder. And then he flew over the edge, shooting thick ropes of cum into my mouth. Groaning, he brushed a thumb over my bottom lip, then cupped my chin, tipping my face upward as I gulped down his release. His other hand tangled in my hair.
Then he was pulling.
“FUCK!” I yelled, spewing cum all over us both as I felt the too-sharp tug against my scalp.
He yanked again, and this time my glued-on wig came off in his hands.
My eyes smarted with tears as I struggled to my feet. “What the hell, Xander?”