34. Haven #3
Guess Bastian can’t be my sugar daddy, because he refuses to sugarcoat anything.
Jeez, but the gasp I fucking gasp. “That’s not your choice—“
“Everything about you is my choice now.”
I drop my head, my hand rising absently to stroke the side of my neck. When I realize what I’m doing, I pluck it away and sit on it.
There’s no way I’m looking up at him.
And here I was just thinking about how he never treats me like a kid. But his tone of voice, those short, brook-no-nonsense sentences?
My poor independent brain suddenly doesn’t know up from down. Is this what being disciplined feels like?
“Your housing. Your education. Your future. All of it runs through me.”
“I didn’t ask for—“
“You showed up at my door. Bleeding. Broken. Begging.” His finger traces my bruises. “What did you think would happen?”
“I thought you’d help me.”
Frustration narrows his eyes. “I am helping.”
“Would you do it?” I snap, my chin still down, but my eyes flashing up to glare at him through my lashes.
“Would you go back to class all bruised and battered? What do you think they’ll say about me?
It’s already out that I live in my fucking car.
You have no idea what it’s like being on the receiving end of that kind of attention. ”
He blinks, as if surprised by my barrage of angry words. Then he leans back his head and laughs.
I’m close to shouting now. “How is this funny?”
He crosses his arms over his chest, studying me for a moment before looking away. “I know exactly what you’re going through, Haven.” He pushes away his bowl, considers his wineglass for a moment, and then tosses back what’s left in one gulp.
“But we’re not here to talk about me.” He glances at my wineglass. “Are you done?”
There’s still an inch of wine in the bottom. I drain it like he had, and he takes it without a word and sets it down on the counter beside the fridge.
…I know exactly what you’re going through…
Was Bastian bullied too? I guess if he was half as smart in elementary school as he is now, he’d probably have drawn the wrong attention more than once.
Shit. Never judge someone until you’ve walked a mile in their shoes. Even if you’re muddy and barefoot and he’s wearing…
“Why are you looking at my feet?” Bastian asks as he takes a bottle of amber liquid from the top shelf of one of his kitchen cabinets.
Does he have eyes in the back of his head or something?
I quickly straighten. “Wondering what shoes you wear.”
“What shoes, or what size?”
Thank God he has his back turned, because my face just caught fire. I quickly press my hands to my cheeks, trying to soak up the heat before he comes back with two glasses.
Wine for me.
Bourbon for him.
He heads around the kitchen counter, coming right to my side, so close I can feel the heat of his body. I flinch at the soft clink my glass makes as he sets it down beside my hand.
“You’ll go back to class,” he says. “And when they make fun of you living in your car, you’ll laugh at them, because it won’t be true.”
My hand wraps around the glass as I try to summon that coolness to my face.
He’s too close.
His voice too intense.
My entire body is coming alive just from being in his aura. My skin flushing. My nipples tightening. My clit tingling. If he stays here much longer, there’s going to be a wet spot on this fucking kitchen stool when I get up.
“But it is,” I whisper, wanting this conversation to be over, but refusing to give him any ground.
“Not for much longer.”
My breath hitches when he scrapes a finger over the slope of my neck, moving my hair away.
To better see the bruises on my skin?
Or so that he can kiss my neck?
“I called in a favor. Gamma Alpha Zeta will provide you with full room and board this semester.”
My hair falls back into place.
I keep my eyes straight ahead, watching Bastian as he leans on his elbows beside me, face turned to me. Scanning my face. Watching my reaction.
“Now if anyone wants to make fun of you, you get to laugh in their face.”
My chest puffs out as I take a full breath. I turn, trying not to lean away, but Bastian is so close it’s like I’m waiting for a kiss.
Maybe I am.
Would I push him away if he tried?
His gaze is so steady on mine it feels like he’s delving into the depths of my rotting soul. And maybe it’s the booze giving me some backbone, but I force myself not to look away.
“I’d rather spit in their eye.”
“Would you?” He takes hold of my chin. “Then show me.”
Bastian’s never looked more commanding. Head tilted back, eyes hooded. So laughably in control, it shocks me that he’s a teacher and not a general in some army.
“What?” I whisper, my brain refusing to process his words.
“Spit.” He swipes his thumb over my bottom lip. “I want to see that fire you’re so proud of.”
I’m frozen. The wine makes everything fuzzy except his eyes.
“That’s what I thought.” He tugs away his hand, but I can still feel the ghost of his touch on my skin, tingling over my lip.
“All bark, no bite.” A flicker of a smile. “But we’ll fix that. By the time I’m done with you, you’ll bite exactly when and where I tell you to.”
I laugh.
He doesn’t.