Chapter 32
32
Sonny
H ayes returns with two crystal glasses, handing me the one in his left hand before he takes a sip of his own, then sets it down on the table between us. It’s the third round of drinks he’s gone off to grab for us. I casually place mine down beside his and among the other two abandoned, half-full glasses sitting beside me. My eyes dart around to make sure no one is watching before I gingerly grab his glass back up in my hands as if nothing happened. It’s an old party trick Poppy used to pull whenever someone brought her an open drink.
“Never trust a drink you didn’t pour yourself,” she would sing, and her voice still rings in my ear to this day as a gentle reminder.
Surely, Hayes wouldn’t try to slip anything into my drink. He doesn’t come across as someone even capable of such sinister things. But it feels good to have a little piece of Poppy here with me, even if it is just a symptom of her paranoia.
“Are you having a good time?” he asks, leaning closer into me so I can hear him over the loud music and chaos happening around us. It appears most have found their dates and paired off into random spots for more intimate conversations while large groups hop around to the upbeat song booming through the speakers.
We’re taking a break from dancing for the past hour with his rowdy group of friends.
Nodding, I hold my drink up. “This helps,” I admit without an ounce of the shame I’d usually have saying such a thing out loud if I were sober.
Hayes chuckles, then looks around us before coming even closer, so his mouth is directly beside my ear. “Do you want to go somewhere quieter?”
I consider the question for a moment, letting him simmer in the uncertainty that has clouded his face as I weigh my options. I like Hayes. I trust him. I’m sure that if he tried anything I wasn’t comfortable with, he would stop the moment I said the word. And if he didn’t, I think he’s small enough for me to kick his ass and run away like Poppy suggested.
So, what’s the risk? My intoxicated mind can’t seem to find one.
Which leads me to shrugging my shoulders and nodding my head.
Five minutes later, we’re walking through the maze of hallways and shuffling through the shadows, hoping no one else is around.
“What if someone catches us?” I giggle, allowing Hayes to tug me down another hall with his hand wrapped around my wrist, dwarfing it. As the realization of where we’re headed hits me, I hiss, “What if Dr. Whitlock catches us?”
“He’s never here this late,” Hayes assures, guiding me through the familiar doorway.
He doesn’t bother turning on the lights as he makes his way over to his desk, leaving us shrouded in darkness and relying on the small bit of moonlight casting through the wall of windows to guide our way. As Hayes falls into his chair, I glance up at the office sitting above. The drawn shades and the lack of lighting behind it confirm Whitlock truly isn’t sitting behind his desk right now, rolling his eyes at our drunken antics like he’s so far above it.
My attention is brought back to Hayes when his fingers snake around my hips. He gently ushers me into the space between his feet, so my backside butts up to his desk and I have to look up at his smirking face. My head spins as the alcohol takes hold of me.
Too many shots. Poppy used to say I always went one shot further than I should have.
“This used to be Emrys Landry’s study,” he tells me, turning his gaze to marvel at the space with wide eyes.
I know from the research I did before coming here that Emrys is the founder of Nocturne Valley and the one who built the Landry chateau. To be sitting in his office feels significant and foolish. Especially considering what we’re about to do.
I don’t think Hayes realizes what a turn of his words are, though.
“Who knows how Whitlock got his hands on it,” I scoff.
It doesn’t surprise me at all that he has this special space. The man somehow gets whatever he wants.
“Thanks for coming out tonight,” Hayes says in a near whisper, his words a little slurred.
“Thank you for inviting me.”
It was nice to separate myself from my laptop and venture out of my dorm, even if I ended up drinking a little too much and embarrassing myself.
As it turns out, being hunted is just as fun as it sounds.
Brushing his fingers up and down my arms, he leans in to nibble on my ear, occasionally breaking off to place soft kisses along my neck. Guilt wraps my chest into its iron grip, reminding me of every reason this shouldn’t happen.
I have no intention of taking this any further than a quick hookup, and Hayes is a good guy. He deserves more than that.
He deserves someone honest. Someone real.
He doesn’t even know my name.
“Hayes, I’m not sure if we should—” I begin to protest, but he covers my mouth with his in a sloppy, drunken kiss.
I’m swept up in it, my body too relaxed and my mind too slow to make any moves to stop him.
Finally, he pulls away, placing his hands on my upper arms to steady me when I almost topple over. “If you want to stop, we can end this right here. I’ll respect your decision without question. But I like you, Poppy. I know you’ve got a lot on your plate, but this doesn’t have to be anything more or less than what you want it to be,” he assures.
Truthfully, I should like Hayes too. Maybe in another life, I could. He’s almost perfect.
Brilliant, handsome as hell, funny, respectful—all the best things wrapped into one. Yet, for some odd reason, I can’t see myself in the future with him. I don’t get those nauseating butterflies whenever he’s near.
Not like I do when a certain annoying man is around. The one who shouldn’t even be on my radar.
My gaze swings over to his closed door, wondering where he is right now. Who he’s with.
No. I can’t even go there.
So what, though? Why does everything have to be so serious all the time? Why can’t I ever let myself have fun?
It’s what Poppy would do.
Turning back to Hayes, I offer him a reluctant smile.
“I like you, too,” I admit, testing the words on my tongue. Perhaps saying them aloud will make them come true.
“Good,” he smirks, pulling me back into his chest. “What about a trial run? We can give it a shot tonight and see where it goes. If you regret it tomorrow, then we’ll never speak of it again.”
“A trial run . . . ”
“Yeah, why not?”
Nodding so hard, my head spins again, I agree. “I can do that.”
With his hand on the small of my back, he guides me down onto his desk, never breaking our kiss. My legs wrap around his hips as his lips trail down my neck, my chest, and eventually over my shoulders as he pushes the straps of my dress out of the way. Time seems to pass by in random blinks as the alcohol settles deeper into my system. One moment, he’s hovering over me, tugging my bottom lip between his teeth. The next one, he’s standing again, his unskilled fingers tugging my gown and bra over my head to expose my entire body to the cold night air. His hands grope my breasts, lips and tongue running over them before he’s kneeling between my legs.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs into my thigh, swiping his hand across my thong before hooking a finger around it and tugging it down. He doesn’t waste any time diving right in and placing his cold lips against my warm skin.
His mouth works sloppily against my clit, somehow managing to pass by the most sensitive spot to focus on whatever is next to, above, or below it. I’m so frustrated after only a few moments, I lift my hips and grind into his face, hoping for some sort of friction in the right places. When even that doesn’t work, I let my head fall back against the desk, crossing my arm behind my head to relax and find some semblance of pleasure from whatever the hell he’s doing.
Something shifts to my left, so subtle that I’m sure I’ve imagined it.
Sighing, I gaze into the ceiling and try to picture something that will help me along—cursing myself when a particular dark-haired, older man pops into my mind.
No one has to know .
I could be imagining anything. I should be imagining the man who is currently in the fight of his life to bring me to climax, but I won’t allow myself to be ashamed. Not when this held so much promise, only to be so spectacularly horrible.
Visualizing his dark, infuriating eyes gazing up at me from between my legs, those adept fingers working inside of me, I settle further into the desk.
When the shift to my left happens again, I twist my neck to peer into Dr. Whitlock’s office—through the blinds that have now been opened the smallest amount—and lock gazes with the very person I’m envisioning with his face between my legs. With a gasp, I squirm against the slick wood to alert Hayes that we’ve been caught, but he only takes the movement as a signal that I like whatever he’s just done with his teeth. Instead of stopping, he grinds his nose and chin into me further.
Panicked, I look back into the office, hoping my drunken imagination just went a little too far. But there he is, those near-black eyes boring straight into mine. When I go to sit up, he slowly shakes his head, lifting one finger to his lips in a silent command.
What the fuck?
Dr. Whitlock takes that same finger and points downward, instructing me to lie back down and relax.
And for some reason beyond my comprehension, I obey.
Slowly reclining, I don’t dare take my eyes off the professor, choosing to lean into this wild fantasy rather than fight against it. Hayes continues working feverishly against me, completely oblivious to our company. I have no idea how much time has even passed at this point, but it can’t be long.
Dr. Whitlock leans one arm against the edge of the window and shifts his weight into it, his sleeves rolled up to expose perfectly toned, fully tattooed forearms.
My hand reluctantly snakes around my side, leaving a blazing trail in its wake as I slowly begin to knead my breasts, circling my hips against the desk again. With him this close, his heated gaze practically burning through my soul, it’s much easier to imagine the twisted scenario where he steps outside of that office, walks up to me, and takes over.
I can practically feel it touch against my skin at the thought.
Instead, he stands there, eyes wild and body deathly still. The only indication that this is affecting him in any way is the abuse his bottom lip is taking from his hungry gnawing. It’s enough to get heat gathering in my core, an orgasm finally within reach.
So, I continue. I knead and grind, completely ignoring the man who has his hand wrapped around my thighs, his tongue lapping against my center in all the wrong places. I can faintly hear the sound of metal clanking against metal as he unfastens his belt, then unzips his pants before the rhythmical beat of skin on skin fills the quiet air, and I know he’s searching for his own release.
What would he do if he realized our professor is witnessing this?
Our professor is witnessing this . And it’s the only way I’m even close to an orgasm .
God, the thrill of it has my entire core pulsating.
Hayes’s hand rhythm picks up as he finally finds a spot that is even remotely pleasurable. Or maybe I’m so turned on that any touch is pleasurable at this point. Either way, I reach between my legs and grab onto his hair, begging him not to stop. Just as the tension in my body builds and I can feel my release coming, I turn my face back toward Dr. Whitlock and let him watch me explode into a million tiny little pieces.
Hayes pulls away and stumbles back to his feet before I can form a coherent thought. I sneak a peek back toward the office, relieved to see the blinds closed again. Hayes will never know what we’ve just done.
He trips around the desk and falls into his chair, seeming to struggle to focus on anything for a long period. His glossy eyes glide around without ever fully stopping on anything. I wonder what else he took tonight. The high I felt from a few shots of tequila and champagne has already begun to dwindle down to nothing more than an uneasy stomach and a faint headache.
Then, I remember the glass Hayes handed to me before I switched it with his . . .
Did this asshat really try to slip something into my drink?
“We should probably get you back to your room,” I suggest with a bite in my tone that wasn’t there before.
I’d love to lay into him for what he’s done, but I’m fully aware that we have an audience and he likely won’t remember any of this tomorrow. I’d rather confront him when he’s fully sober and watch him try to slither his way out of this.
Sliding off the desk with my arm across my chest, I begin the search for my clothes. He had thrown them everywhere in his haste to get me undressed.
Hayes makes no move to stand. Once I have my bra fastened and go to step back into my gown, I twist my neck to gaze over my shoulder and am startled at the resentful glare he’s leveling me with.
I can’t help the rage that takes over.
“What’s your problem?” I snarl, unable to keep my face from twisting into a scowl.
“I see how you are now. Once you’ve had your fun, you aren’t into returning the favor.”
Rearing my head back, I gape at him. So many words sit at the tip of my tongue—insults and comebacks that would destroy our friendship if I were to mutter them out loud. He should be arrested for what he’s done tonight. How many other times has he used the same tactics to get other women to sleep with him because he’s incapable of offering them any sort of quality lay?
Poppy would do it. She’d tear him a new one and then walk out as if nothing happened. But I can’t do that. Not with Dr. Whitlock listening.
I’m so embarrassed that I almost fell for it. That I hooked up with a man even capable of such an atrocity.
I spot my heels on the floor and snatch them up, quickly slipping each one on to cool myself off before I offer a retort. Hayes doesn’t even seem to realize I haven’t responded, his head is swimming so badly. Once I’m fully dressed and ready to walk out, I throw my hair over my shoulder and lean forward, so my face hovers directly above his.
“Find a way back to your dorm and sleep it off, then come find me and apologize for being such a dick.”