Chapter 8
LOCHLAN
Something’s wrong.
Not what’s currently on the screen in front of me.
Fuck no.
Everything involving watching Galina furiously finger fuck herself to orgasm is right, in all the ways.
I groan, my fist pumping the periwinkle blue lacy thong that I yoinked from her room the other night up and down my pulsing erection as precum leaks from the head.
On the screen in front of me, Galina throws her head back against her pillows in ecstasy and squeezes her eyes shut.
Her back arches from the bed, her legs shaking as her fingers plunge into her cunt, her palm grinding against her clit.
Her other hand is kneading one of her mouthwatering tits, her fingers pinching and rolling the pale pink nipple as her mouth opens in a silent scream.
I grunt just as she starts to come, my balls drawing up tightly as I join her in crashing over the edge. Cum explodes from my swollen head, thick ropes of it landing on my hand, my thighs and my abs, soaking into the panties wrapped around my twitching shaft.
Up until a week ago, I’m not sure I could tell you the last time I jerked off.
I just…don’t.
Part of that is because, historically speaking, I’m never without options. I have a fairly lengthy list of girls in my phone I can text pretty much any time I need to blow off some steam who will drop what they’re doing to come over and assist.
One of the perks of being me, I guess.
That behavior, however, has come to an immediate, grinding halt, coincidentally at exactly the same point that whacking off with a pair of stolen panties became part of my daily routine.
…Usually several parts of my daily routine.
I'm sure it will come as zero surprise that this behavioral change and my newfound habit of choking my cock like it owes me money arrived exactly at the same time Galina Nikitin inserted herself into my world.
Yes, she didn’t do it on purpose. I know.
I also don’t care.
Whatever divine intervention, or fate, or just dumb fucking luck brought Galina into the library during the Para Bellum party that night, it happened.
It happened, and she had the audacity to capture my undivided attention. And now, my newly rediscovered habit of jerking off like a horny teenager notwithstanding, I like that she did. And I really like that she did it by revealing a part of herself to me that I can’t stop thinking about.
I grin as I watch Galina sprawl naked across her bed, legs spread, arms to the sides, tits rising and falling with her breath in the aftermath of her orgasm.
No, I don’t mean her revealing these parts, though I do not mind taking all that in.
I mean the dark, deviant, secret parts of herself that I’m guessing she shows no one. At least, not without a mask and a costume on, as her villainous alter ego.
At first, I thought that what I saw that night in the library might just be her creating content.
A fictional fantasy to push her brand on social media and appease her fans.
But the more I watch, and the more I peel back her layers, the more I’m starting to think that the curated “bit” here is the Galina Nikitin that the rest of the world interacts with.
And that means the real her is the one who wears a Venetian mask while talking about red flags and morally gray men on BookTok.
Sure, Velvet Villainess is a persona she adopts, just like the perfect, dutiful daughter, model student persona she adopts as Galina Nikitin. But what’s underneath the Villainess mask, driving that persona, is real.
That’s what I saw the other night, and it’s the reason my attention is now solely focused on her.
Which is why I know that something’s wrong.
Again, nothing—and I do mean nothing—is wrong about her sprawled out naked on her bed rubbing her pussy for my hidden cameras.
Maybe it's wrong for me to watch the cameras. There are lines, even with stalking someone, and I'm sure that spying on Galina in her most vulnerable and personal moments is a mile or six past any of those lines.
But…no.
I don’t give a shit even if it is.
No regrets.
What I mean about something being "wrong" pertains to Velvet Villainess. Galina always posts her VV content on Sundays, Wednesdays and Fridays, regular as clockwork.
It’s now Thursday, and she hasn't posted a thing since the “POV: when he puts you on your knees and uses your mouth like his good girl” video.
For what it’s worth, the POV of literally putting her on her knees and using her mouth like my good girl was fan-fucking-tastic.
Ten out of ten. No notes. One million percent would face-fuck again.
But after that… She went quiet. Not literally quiet, as demonstrated by the five times since the night at the old harbormaster’s office that I’ve watched her scream her release into her pillows when she makes herself come.
But as Velvet Villainess?
Nothing.
And I can’t help but worry if something about that night threw her off.
I get that the masked men in Galina’s romance books don’t trouble themselves about being “worried” in any capacity about their psycho-level "overtures" toward their ladies coming off as a little much.
But this is real life.
I might be interested in Galina in a more than slightly psycho way. I might be stalking her, and watching her change, shower, and masturbate via the hidden cameras I broke into her room to place.
But I’m not stalking her just because I think she’s hot.
I’m fixated on Galina because of Velvet Villainess. I’ve seen that other side of her. I’ve peeked beneath the good girl mask and seen what hides beneath it.
Now, I realize that everything I’ve done so far…and will probably continue to do…is the most psycho way possible to show it. But the truth is, I like her.
A lot.
I frown.
Did I push too hard the other night? Move things along too fast? I’m pretty sure Galina is a virgin, and she was clearly a little out of her depth taking my cock in her mouth. That said, there’s no way she’d never given head before.
Still, she seemed off when she left that night. And she’s been off ever since.
I need to know why, so I can rectify it. To do that, I’m…escalating things.
How very Seamus O’Conor of me…
I smile and high-five as I push my way through a crowd of Privateers fans to get into Blackwood Hall.
It’s not like I’m unaccustomed to being stopped every ten feet on campus to pose for some underclassman’s selfie or to talk football with other jocks.
I’m usually more than fine with it because, again, I’m a fucking attention whore.
But today, as I try to make my way to a certain classroom, I’m fucking annoyed by all the motherfuckers who get in my way, because I’m on a mission.
I already have a literally perfect 4.0 GPA here at Knightsblood. But I’m shooting for Columbia Business School next year, which means I’m trying to collect all the “extra love” this year that I can.
Seeing as I took Professor McGrath’s class my sophomore year, obviously killed it, and that he, like most people, eats out of my palm, coming on as his TA was a slam dunk.
He basically has me do nothing, which means I can sit in the back of the classroom and get other school shit done.
But today, that’s changing.
Big time.
I straighten my tie and the walk into the classroom with a purely shit-eating grin on my face.
That grin stays right where it is as I march towards the front of the classroom, not the back.
I can feel the classroom’s eyes on me, but especially Galina’s as I drop my bag off next to Professor McGrath’s desk and then take my place behind the lectern facing the class.
Twenty-five curious expressions face me. But only one of those faces looked up at me the other night with my cum all over it and pure lust in her eyes.
I clear my throat and smile, extremely thankful for the podium hiding my now-massive erection.
“First things first…” I smile broadly. “I’ll be teaching this class for the remainder of the semester.”
Predictably, chaos begins to bubble up—chaos that I gobble down like a snack before calmly raising my hand.
“Professor McGrath is going to be fine. But unfortunately he was involved in a car crash last night and will be stepping away from his teaching duties to focus on his recovery for the foreseeable future.”
I take questions then, doing my damnedest not to look at Galina, because whenever I even glance her way all I can see is her on her knees with my cock stuffed down her throat, and honestly, it’s real difficult to focus on whatever the fuck these little shits are saying with a throbbing hard-on.
Yes, Professor McGrath is going to be okay.
Yes, the syllabus and teaching materials stay the same. Yes, I will be the one grading them for the duration of the semester.
Yes, Trevor, there will still be a midterm and a final. No, also Trevor, you gushing about how cool I am and how great a wide receiver I am will not excuse you from assignments and tests, but by all means, keep the praise coming.
I don’t tell them that Professor McGrath’s “car troubles” weren’t so much accidental as they were deliberately manufactured.
By yours truly.
I also don’t tell them that Mitch McGrath, while an excellent teacher, has been hiding a massive drinking problem since his wife left him four years ago.
A drinking problem that follows him into class every day inside his “coffee thermos”, stays at his side, and then drives home with him every night.
The guy goes home half in the bag on a fucking nightly basis.
Honestly, it was just a matter of time before he crashed into a family or ran over some poor kid on a bike. So if anything, I just saved someone, and him, by making sure his brakes failed last night.
You’re welcome, world.
I answer a few more dumb questions before my attention is rudely yanked to the way that shitweasel Trevor keeps trying to engage Galina in conversation. The way he’s planted himself right next to her. The way his eyes keep dipping to the hem of her uniform skirt riding up her thighs.
My jaw clenches before I shift my attention to the class at large and clap my hands together.