Chapter Eight
Maverick .
She won’t look at me. She does everything but look at me.
Not even a glance. The way she flushed pink when I interrupted her almost kiss with Jonas, she still didn’t look at me.
Like I didn’t fucking exist and everything she did during my lecture on Ed Kemper was all too distracting.
Every lip bite while taking notes, on paper, not her laptop, which was annoyingly endearing.
And fuck me, when she crossed and then uncrossed her legs flashing her pale blue panties, I had to hide behind my podium, which I never do, to hide my thickening erection.
Yet she continued defying my presence like what happened between us was just a figment of my imagination.
That’s fine. I’ll make her look at me.
“Miss Monroe, a word please?” I narrowed my eyes on Jonas when he took her backpack. “Alone.”
He kisses her temple and I watch him watch us through the peep-window of the door so I decide to make this private conversation even more private by taking it into my office.
When she rushes past me, I get a faint whiff of jasmine and berries from her perfume and the pomegranate of her shampoo.
I close the solid door behind me and lock it.
My office is partially designed like Whitmore’s.
A large antique mahogany desk, a large overly cushioned swivel chair behind it, and for those that are brave enough to sit in here, two very uncomfortable wooden chairs not meant to keep someone here for long, which she’s sitting in one.
Legs crossed, arms folded over her chest as though she’s hiding them from me like I didn’t taste her succulent flesh against my tongue and sucked her hardened nipples into my mouth while she rode me only a mere twenty-seven hours ago.
Not that I’m counting.
No, she looks as though she’s embarrassed about it all. Like she regrets me.
“That’s the Harrington Curse, Mav. We’ll love a woman with our entire soul, give it to her and she’ll take it with her when she finally leaves because they know we just ain’t good enough for them to love back.”
I shake my father’s voice out of my head. I could never love a woman like Raven Monroe. Besides, a woman of her pedigree would never fall for a man without some absurd title like Duke or Prince. No, a woman like Raven Monroe absolutely belongs to a shit like Jonas Anderson.
While I round the desk then leaning against it before her, I decide to mirror her; ankles crossed, arms over my chest, scowl on my face. “This conversation will work a lot better if you look at me, Raven.”
She inhales quietly and then exhales in the same manner as if trying to take control of her emotions.
I’m sure after what happened yesterday, she’s riddled with all kinds of them.
They’re probably eating at her. Shame. The possible guilt of cheating on her…
Jonas . I refuse to even think the word ‘boyfriend.’ The word itself feels cursed when it’s aimed at anyone else.
Not that I should be her boyfriend. I’m more than an entire decade older than her.
Her eyes focus on me but she’s not giving me direct eye contact. She’s staring between my brows to give the illusion she’s giving me eye contact.
Smart girl. Most likely a tactic she learned at the asylum. I wonder what else she learned while being locked away and treated like a burden. I’m sure that’s how her family treats her.
“What happened yesterday morning can never happen again,” I begin and her eyes shift to the tip of my ear.
“I spoke with Dean Whitmore,” her eyes dart to mine.
Ahh… so threats work on her. “And given that you refuse to speak and since you made it to class today, I’m assuming you won’t be dropping my class? ”
A blink and then she uncrosses her creamy thighs and tilts her feet, her toes inward, she bounces a knee, the only thing that tells me her defiance is waning and her anxiety is up.
Does my presence make her nervous? Does it irk her?
Make her wet ? Is she thinking about how she rode me on the carpeted floor of the library until her knees were red and raw?
The very scent of her arousal is still trapped in my nostrils since I used her ripped thong while I jerked off this morning.
“Very well, Raven. You’ll be turning in your Nurture versus Nature debates on paper.
Handwritten. On Thursdays before the debates on Fridays so you don’t have a chance to hear other arguments so I know you didn’t plagiarize your peers.
When you hand them in, it will be to me and only me by the end of day on Thursdays .
Seeing as you refuse to speak, your presence won’t be required on Fridays beginning next week.
I’ll mark you down as present . If you do not hand in your assignments by the end of day, on time, I will fail you.
Not mommy, not daddy, not even dear old grandpa can help you.
You are not special just because you are defective , Miss Monroe. Do you understand me?”
Her eyes narrow, pure anger and disgust centered on me at the mention of Eugene Monroe.
Yeah, Siren I did my fucking research. She stands, grabbing her pale purple designer backpack that probably cost more than my first car.
Granted, I had purchased the thing at a junkyard and fixed it up myself, working for months on it to bring it back to life, but still.
Before she can storm past me I yank her by the arm and tug her warm, lush body to mine. “Do you understand, tongueless ?”
She flinches at the word or probably the way a growl escaped me or even at our close proximity.
God, she smells fucking fantastic.
I run my nose along hers, over her cheek and into her hair, keeping my lips by her ear. “Tell me, does Jonas know you creamed all over my slacks, riding me like a bitch in heat?”
She closes her eyes, willing me away, inhaling, as though her little breathing technique will work here.
It won’t. Her silence irks me, so I tug her closer and give her a little shake.
I want to smell the fear in her pheromones rolling off her body like they did yesterday when I chased her in the library.
“I could touch you, here, now, again and you still wouldn’t scream for help, would you, little mute ?”
I’ve gone mad. Delirious.
“You’d be a good girl for me wouldn’t you? All those years locked up in a padded room, touch starved. If I lift your skirt and reach into those pale blue panties you’ve been flashing me all goddamn morning, they’d be soaked through, wouldn’t they?”
I reach down, tracing her fishnet covered thigh as I inch her skirt up, listening to her breathing become more erratic, feeling the small rise and fall of her chest against me. I fucking love it. The way her pupils are dilating until only the edges of her irises are that warm honey.
I turn us, switching our positions so quickly her backpack falls and I hold in my smirk. I wrap my hand around, grabbing a handful of her delectable ass and assist her with sitting on my desk and step between her thick thighs that are begging me to kiss my way up to her warm center.
I stick my hand through a hole in her stockings and run my middle finger over her panties which I’m delighted to find are so tiny they’ve slipped between her warm, hairless pussy lips and the crotch of them are indeed, soaked . Filthy girl.
I let out a dark chuckle, poking at the lace where I feel a swollen little bud. With my other hand, I untie her combat boot and tug it off. “I knew it. You’re a needy little slut, aren’t you? Lift your ass, I need to peel these off so I can see just how ready you are.”
Eyes heavy and full of lust, in mere seconds I have her stockings and panties dangling off her ankle and she’s spread before me.
Swollen. Pink. Glistening. Creaming. A trimmed triangle of hair on her pubic mound. I almost growl like a beast. Too fucking perfect.
“Such a pretty little cunt on such a pretty little mute .” I growl.
She flinches again, shaking her head as if she’s finally been broken by this trance we’re both in by the word mute like I’ve offended her and tries to close her thighs weakly but I hold them open.
She wants this. Wants me to take control.
I know because I see the muscles in her thighs.
She could’ve closed them in a cinch to reject my advances.
I place my open palm on her chest to hold her down and with my other hand I run my thumb over her swollen pretty clit, swiping down, rubbing her nectar over and over the little bud until she bucks.
God she’s fucking beautiful like this, splayed out before me like a wanton slut in her uniform, ready to take me.
I have half a mind to tear her button up open again, hear the soft thuds of the buttons landing on the carpet and shove my dick inside of her until I hit the wall of her womb over and over again until I spill my entire load inside of her and she has to go back to her… Jonas with my cum leaking out of her.
Would they go to his or her dorm room later and he’d find me inside? Unknowingly lick me out of her? Would she shower beforehand and rinse me out like it never happened? Ignore me again?
That thought, the thought of her ignoring me sends me into another frenzy and I pop my thumb into her sweet little hole… only to be met with resistance. I pull my thumb out and step away from her completely. Impossible. She’s twenty-four years old. “Raven?”
Her eyes pop open.
“Are you… untouched?”
A blush so crimson creeps up her neck to her cheeks as she cups her sex and then closes her creamy thighs. Her reaction to mine reminds me exactly why we shouldn’t be doing this. She is my student. I am her professor.
Just like that, this spell she’s had me under is broken.
“Get dressed and get the fuck out.” I sneer.
I won’t take a virgin. I don’t like virgins.
I especially don’t want to have to clean up blood off my cock.
I like them slutty. Willing and submissive.
I don’t want to have to train her. Although…
the thought of teaching her exactly how I like it, to ruin her for anyone besides me, makes the salivating beast inside of me want to unravel and cast aside all decency of the gentleman I’ve trained myself to be.
She slides off the desk and straightens to fix herself.
We’re both avoiding the other’s gaze. When she bends over to tie her boot on, flashing me her pussy lips and round ass, it’s when that uncontrollable urge I have when she’s around me breaks, pulling me back in.
I drop down to a knee behind her, hook my arms around her hips, rip the fucking stocking apart and lick the nectar clinging on her panties like a fucking animal.
She tenses until my nose is pushing against her panty-covered asshole and I do my damnedest to suck her engorged bud into my mouth, inhaling all of her scent like a line of cocaine, going straight to my brain and my cock.
The thought of knowing Jonas is probably going to take her virginity unsettles me in a way I can’t describe.
“Are you going to fuck Jonas?” I ask against her clit.
No answer. Of fucking course. The answer is a probable yes.
I trace her puffy lips with my tongue, sucking them into my mouth. “Let him tear into you so I can fuck you properly, Siren.”
What the fuck am I even saying? Why have I given her a nickname and why does she taste so fucking divine?
I lick up her pussy, to her ass, sucking on each globe like a tit, messily salivating all over them, reaching a hand over to pull them aside, with the other I spread her ass apart, then shove my tongue into her pink, virgin asshole, feeling her tense around my tongue.
“Let him inside of this pretty little cunt, rip you open and then come back to me. I’ll fuck you with my fingers, my cock, my tongue.
I’ll fuck every hole you have until you’re a dirty mess. Make you my darling little cumslut.”
I’m deranged and so fucking close to creaming in my slacks again I slide my hand down, unfastening my belt and pants and pull my cock out. I stand up, looking down at her tight asshole wet with my saliva and give it a spank, growling at the sight of my print against her alabaster skin.
I get closer and jerk my cock once, twice, five times and shoot my load directly on her delicious little anus I’ve been holding open until my vision turns a violent white.
When I’m done I see the tip of my cock is nestled inside her ass. Through the blur I must’ve made an executive decision with my basic self to not leave a mess because it truly is just the tip invading her. Not even the full of my crown.
More cum pumps out of me at just the sight of me inside of her and I’m so fucking tempted to shove the rest of me inside, using my cum as lube and keep fucking her until I feel her tighten around me .
I’m a madman. Vile .
I yank her back by the hair roughly, her back to my chest, angry at her, at myself, at her fucking virginity.
So pure and innocent with those big doe eyes and long sooty lashes, seducing me with nothing .
Not even a fucking word or a flirtatious smile.
I’m a weak man in her presence and her presence alone.
She’s gotten under my skin in a matter of eighty fucking hours.
Pathetic .
“Get on birth control. When I take you,” apparently I’ve blurred every fucking line I have ever had as a man and as a professional. “It will be raw. I want no barriers between us. I want to watch my cum leaking from every single one of your holes.” I growl.
She turns to face me, a scowl written so harshly on her face, amber eyes narrowed, she slaps me, breaking whatever spell she cast on me. She shoves me out of the way, strong little thing, and slams the door to my office shut after fixing herself.
I let myself drop into my chair, the squeak breaking the silence. I rub my cheek, the scent of her still on my lips, I open the bottom drawer of my desk and pull out the bottle of Macallan and the tumbler I keep for special circumstances. None such as these.
I should report myself. I should report her. Us.
But if she won’t speak, why should I? I’ve worked hard to be where I am. I didn’t have mommy or daddy’s money. I had me, myself, and I.
So if she doesn’t speak, why should I?
Because it’s wrong, Maverick. It’s so, so, so fucking wrong.
And yet, I can’t find not even one fuck to give.