Five
Scarlett
A fter speaking with several professors today, I feel like I’ll never get any incriminating evidence on McAllister. Not a single person would even listen to my side of the story, and more than once, doors were slammed in my face. He’s like a tenured god in this place, and a measly student isn’t going to change that. It’s amazing how my reputation can go from stellar to trash in the blink of an eye. White-hot rage courses through me as I make my way across campus. Playing by the rules is getting me nowhere, forcing me to do something drastic.
Dr. McAllister kept meticulous records of our conversations on his university email. If I could somehow gain access to that, I would have the smoking gun I so desperately need. The irrefutable evidence I’ve been seeking.
It’s time to steal information from my old mentor, and I know just how to do it. Maybe we get dealt fucking terrible parents for a reason. At least I learned a thing or two about survival and deception.
Thanks, Dad, for showing me the importance of being resourceful and always having a backup plan, you piece of shit.
Speaking of the Devil himself, there he is. Dr. Sterling fucking McAllister walks out of his office and heads towards the staff parking lot. An unhinged, crazy idea, one that questions my sanity, comes to mind. I’m done. I have no more fucks left to give.
Is my idea unethical, manic and one hundred percent illegal? Hell yes.
Will that stop me? Not a fucking chance.
The shadows of my past will guide me now. It’s time to step into the darkness and use every dirty trick I’ve ever learned. The predator has become the prey, and Sterling McAllister has no idea what’s coming for him.
I crouch behind a bush until he’s in his car, then sprint back to mine as fast as I can. I’m going to follow the bastard and reclaim my life.
As I tail him at a safe distance, my heart pounds with a mix of adrenaline and fury. Just seeing his smug face fuels the rage coursing through my veins. The campus slowly disappears behind us as I tail him through the winding streets of Cleveland, my mind racing with possibilities. The sun dips lower, casting long shadows across the pavement, and panic flits at the edge of my consciousness. What if he notices me? But desperation powers my actions now.
He finally pulls into the driveway of a large, upscale house in a wealthy neighborhood. The kind of house that screams affluence but stops short of being ostentatious—full brick with tall columns and manicured gardens. I park a few houses down and watch as he exits the car and heads inside. A million thoughts swirl in my mind, but one stands out; I need to find out what he’s hiding, and why he’s been so adamant about stonewalling me.
With the text conversation this morning with Whit, where I basically admitted to having a few wild kinks I’ve never even tried, and now stalking my professor, I momentarily wonder if I’ve lost my mind. A laugh bubbles up from my chest, startling a couple of pigeons on the sidewalk. Yes, the answer is yes. I’ve definitely lost it, but I also find it incredibly freeing. Releasing myself from societal norms and going a little crazy after everything I’ve been through feels oddly liberating. Although stalking may be crossing the line. Maybe.
I jot down his address on the back of a receipt and pull away. I’ll be back. However, tonight I apparently have plans with a giant, blond playboy—Whit, who can charm the belt off a sheriff, and I still can’t believe I agreed to it.
As I roll my windows down, needing the fresh air, I turn the heater up because it’s freezing. Don’t judge, it makes sense. My music blares through the speakers, filling my car with an upbeat rhythm. I need this distraction.
I stand in the center of my room, the chaos of my closet unfolding around me like a whirlwind. What the hell am I going to wear tonight? My hands move swiftly, tossing random shirts and pants over my shoulders in a flurry of fabric and indecision. Then, bingo! There they are—my favorite black leggings, snug and undeniably classic. I don’t care what people say, they are real pants, and I wear the shit out of them. They hug my curves just right, they’re comfortable enough for a night out, yet always give a hint of sexy with their second-skin fit.
I slide into my gray over-the-knee boots, feeling the leather hug my legs. At least my bottom half is ready. I tap my foot against the floor as my fingers twist through my long hair, wondering what shirt to wear.
My smile grows when I see my absolute favorite shirt hanging in front of me. It’s a funny, slightly oversized bookish tee, yet it accentuates my shape perfectly. I bought it one late night when I stumbled upon it in a thrift store, and I’ve never bought something so fast in my life. I throw it on and glance in my floor-length mirror. It’s perfect.
I kick the mess of clothes on the floor into my closet incase Whit comes in, which I highly doubt. I feel like this is a pity date for running into me. Surely he’s not really interested in a girl like me.
My nerves skyrocket when I hear a knock on my door. I check my watch, and it’s seven o’clock. Damn, he’s punctual. I grab a nearby jacket and a small purse, shoving my chapstick and phone inside before I take a deep breath and open the door.
Holy sweet mother of sin, there stands Whit, dressed entirely in black. He looks like he just stepped off a rock concert stage, and I feel a rush of excitement at the sight of him. His button-up shirt is casually undone at the top, sleeves rolled up to reveal a canvas of delicious ink etched across his forearms and chest. His hair is styled in this messy, grunge, panty-melting sort of way, and those piercing blue eyes of his roam over my body with an unabashed, wicked gaze that makes my heart race.
He pulls a beautiful black rose from behind his back, running the soft petals along my lips.
“I was going to go traditional until I saw this gem. It seemed more fitting for someone as unique as you,” he says softly, his eyes locked on mine. The velvety petals leave a delicate trail along my lips, sending shivers down my spine.
“Roses with thorns of endless beauty,” I whisper, barely audible, as the moment draws us closer.
He continues to trace the outline of my lips with the black rose, his touch gentle yet tinged with intensity. The scent of the rose mingles with the night air, enveloping us in a bubble of intimacy.
As we stand there, frozen in time, the world seems to fade away. Leaving just the two of us, connected by this delicate flower.
With a light chuckle, he pulls back slightly, still holding the rose. “Do you know the legend of the black rose?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.
I shake my head, curiosity piqued. “It’s said that black roses symbolize not just mystery, but also the promise of a new beginning,” he explains, his eyes never leaving mine. “A fitting flower for us, don’t you think?”
He takes my hand, placing the rose gently in my palm. The petals are soft, a stark contrast to the thorns beneath. “To new beginnings,” he murmurs, bringing my hand to his lips and placing a tender kiss on the rose.
I take the rose from him, my heart racing. “I need to put this in some water,” I murmur, unable to tear my eyes away from him.
He smiles, letting go of my hand, and I turn towards the kitchen. As I walk, the scent of the rose lingers in the air. I place the rose gently in a vase, filling it with water as the petals glisten under the soft light of the kitchen.
Suddenly, I feel his presence behind me. “Are you always this careful with flowers?” he asks, his voice low and teasing. Whit’s warm breath whispers along my neck, making me lean into his touch.
I smile, turning to face him. “Only when they hold a special meaning,” I reply, my eyes meeting his once more.
A smirk spreads across his lips, those damn lips that look like they’ve been sculpted by an artist. And when his eyes land on my shirt, that smile widens.
“Fuck, what am I going to do with you?” he asks, his voice low and gravelly, sending chills along my skin.
Curiosity piques, and I can’t resist the playful challenge. “What did you have in mind?”
His groan is pure satisfaction, a sound that ignites something deep in me—a confidence I didn’t know I possessed. I’ve always been comfortable in my curves, sure, but catching the attention of a man like Whit is a new and thrilling experience. It sends my heart racing and my cheeks flushing.
“You’ve got me all kinds of distracted,” he admits, leaning against the counter, arms crossed like a predator sizing up his prey. “So, this is the famous shirt that will make you rain down fire on me should it get messed up?”
“Precisely.”
In an instant, Whit grabs my waist, pulling me flush against his hard body. I have to crane my neck back to look up at him, but the moment I do, his lips crash down on mine. I gasp as he plunges his tongue into my mouth. His lips are soft, but possessively determined. A sensual combination of cedarwood and leather with a touch of bergamot fills my senses, making me melt further into him. He smells like a rugged fantasy that I’m compelled to wrap myself in.
One hand trails up my body, then grasps a handful of hair, angling my head perfectly for him. He’s dominant and possessive, claiming my mouth as if he’s a starved man and I’m his last meal. He bites my lip then pulls it into his mouth, making me whimper.
He pushes us backward and flips us around quickly to press me against the wall. My fingers instinctively grip his shirt, pulling him closer.
“Mmm, you sure know how to light a fire, little girl,” he growls, using the hand that was in my hair to wrap possessively around my throat. A thrill of ecstasy mixes with fear, and I lean into his force instead of pulling away, savoring the dizzying sensation.
“Just so naughty,” Whit praises, his warm breath ghosting my skin as he leans in, his lips brushing against my neck. A soft moan escapes my lips, echoing in the small space. I can’t help but clench my thighs together, desperately seeking relief for the ache building deep inside me.
“Was this your surprise for the night?” I breathe, my voice barely above a murmur, half hoping it’s true, but desperate to believe it. I’m not this kind of girl, but Whit drives me absolutely wild. His dark laugh reverberates through me, igniting every nerve.
“Is that what you wanted? You want me to put on my mask and fuck this tight pussy with my knife until you’re writhing and begging for my fat cock? Is that what you dreamed about when you were in your bed last night? Wishing I would come take this cunt by force, breaking through every single wall you surround yourself with until you submit completely and irrevocably?”
His words lay my fantasies bare before me, each syllable striking a chord I didn’t know I had. I feel the blush creeping into my cheeks, and I know he sees it as confirmation of his filthy words.
“Whit...” I whimper, my voice breathy and laced with vulnerability. The heat swirls around us, thick with unvoiced desires and fevered promises that set my thoughts spinning.
“It’s okay, little flame. I’ll ease you in,” he murmurs, his lips moving against my jaw, leaving trails of warmth. “Now, about this shirt...”
His fingers trail down the front of my body, laughing as he outlines the bold words emblazoned on my t-shirt: Don’t bully me, I’ll cum.
His devilish eyes rise slowly to mine, and I lose myself in their depths as heat floods through me. “And here I thought my sweet little Scarlett was innocent,” he tsks, a playful smile spreading across his lips, dripping with mischief. I hastily bite my bottom lip, fluttering my lashes to distract myself from the rising embarrassment. The sound of his deep voice sends a shock of excitement coursing through my veins.
“I like to read, okay?” I stammer, feeling the warmth radiating from my flushed skin. It’s a feeble attempt to shield my shame in this sultry moment. But trying to look away proves futile when he grabs my chin, forcing me to face him directly.
Those blue eyes of his shimmer with shadows of desire, and it twists something deep within me.
“Don’t. Hide. From. Me,” he commands, his deep, husky voice wrapping around me like a warm blanket, fluttering my heart painfully in my chest. “Unless you want to be punished like the girls in your books…” he trails off.
I gasp, reeling at his words, feeling shock mixed with intoxicating thrill. “How—”
“How did I know what kind of dirty little books you read?” he interrupts, grinning wider. “I paid attention yesterday, little flame. More than you realize.”
His thumb glides over my bottom lip, sending a shiver dancing down my spine. “So, are you going to behave, or do I need to show you what happens to naughty girls?”
My breath hitches, torn between fear and the wild excitement racing through me. The atmosphere around us crackles with electricity, but I manage to stammer, “I—I’ll behave.”
“For now,” he murmurs, locking his gaze onto mine, a storm brewing with unspoken promises. He releases my chin, yet the imprint of his touch lingers, a reminder of the power he holds.
A confusing mix of thrill and fear washes over me. Why am I not terrified right now? I’m definitely less experienced than Whit, yet here I stand, ensnared in his presence, hanging onto every word like he’s cast a spell on me. It’s as if he holds a magnetic pull I’m utterly powerless to resist.
“Keys?” He extends his other hand, palm open and expectant. The fog of confusion lifts as he gestures towards my door.
I fumble through my purse, handing them over with shaking fingers. He locks my door, asserting control, before leading me down the stairs. The cool night air nips at my fevered skin, contrasting against the heat radiating from Whit beside me.