Chapter 8
EIGHT
FRANKIE
Jesse is wrecked.
“Man, I went in hard last night. It was too easy.”
The fact his last conquest only left an hour ago tells me he overindulged last night.
“Was it worth it?” I ask, handing him some coffee from the jug.
“Of course. Summer was as dry as the desert in my hometown. I had to make excuses to head out of town just to get laid.”
Ali chuckles from the breakfast bar as he smears jelly on his toast.
“You should have come home with me. I came here for a rest.”
Jesse flips him off. “Rub it in, why don’t you? We don’t all have a fucking harem attached to our houses.”
Ali’s family is a little unconventional and enjoys incredible wealth. Somehow, his father manages to keep his wives and his toys—as he calls them—separate and allows his son into the playroom when he’s home for the holidays. Ali keeps us entertained with many stories of wild parties and orgies conducted on his father’s yacht and Jesse is aching for an invitation to one of them.
Me? Not so much.
Santi wanders in, bleary-eyed.
“Fuck, I need coffee. What a night.”
He fixes his gaze on me. “Where were you? You missed out on a great homecoming.”
“Sleeping.” I lie as I pretend I wasn’t at the gym for most of the night.
“Well, you’re a fool because this place was heaving with willing chicks last night and they were upset you were MIA.”
“They’ll get over it.”
Santi gulps his coffee and says with satisfaction. “Interest is high for the challenge. I’ve set the date for two weeks from now to allow everyone time to settle in and make their choices.”
“Choices?” I raise my eyes.
“Choice, as in do they want to commit to one person for an entire semester. It’s not for everyone.”
“It’s not for me.” Jesse says with determination. “I mean, I’m happy to officiate, but it would be like caging my dick. Freedom is Rockwell and home is my prison. I don’t need another one.”
I nod, accepting that this won’t be for everyone, and I understand Jesse’s reasons. He lives in a strict religious town where sex before marriage is frowned upon and punishable by stoning. It’s archaic and desperately wicked and it’s my intention that by the end of our time at Rockwell, Jesse will come and work for me. He doesn’t need that shit in his life, but for now he plays the dutiful son and heads home every holiday to work on their farm.
The only reason he’s here is on his grandfather’s instruction. It’s a test if you like, or some may call it a hall pass of his own. He will be required to leave Rockwell when he graduates and marry a local girl before setting up his own farm and working for the good of the community.
Like hell he will.
“That’s fine.” I turn to Ali. “What about you?”
“No way. I may change my mind if I find someone worth hanging onto, but for now I’m out and, like Jesse, will officiate.”
Santi grins. “I haven’t decided yet. I like the controlling aspect of it, and having a toy to play with at will is right up my alley.”
I’m curious. “Anyone in mind?”
“Anyone with a pulse.” Jesse adds, earning him a wicked grin from Santi.
“Pretty much.” He groans. “It will ease the pressure on my dick. I swear I injured it last night.”
Scooting back in my chair, I stand and run my fingers through my hair.
“I’m off to shower. Who’s got history first period?”
Jesse nods. “Sadly, me, although I could have used a free one. My head is banging.”
His chair drags across the tiles as he moves and says with a groan, “I’m heading to the shower in a bid to revive my body. Catch you in ten.”
* * *
As soon as we make our way into the classroom, the conversation stops. I’m used to that. Silence appears to follow in my footsteps.
Kennedy catches my eye and smiles provocatively, and I sneer as I pass. Fuck, when will she get the message?
We tuck ourselves at the back as always and Miss Cash clears her throat.
“Okay, World War One is our topic this semester. Please open your books.”
When the hour is up and the bell rings, I nudge Jesse, who fell asleep after ten minutes.
He jumps and knocks his book to the floor with a clatter.
As he bends to retrieve it, he bumps heads with Georgia Gray, a girl he’s fucked a few times already.
“Hey.” She hands him the book and I smirk at the written invitation in her eye.
“Hey Jesse, it’s good to see you.”
“You too babe.”
A sweet smile with an invitation attached is the best way of bringing Jesse back to life, and he grins.
“I never saw you at the party last night.”
She shrugs. “I was there. You were, um, otherwise occupied.”
“Maybe next time, then.” Jesse shrugs it off and makes no apologies and for a moment, her expression changes to one of distaste. Then she fixes a firm smile on her lips.
“Yeah, perhaps next time you’ll notice me.”
He shrugs. “Come and find me. I’ll notice you then.”
He glances at his phone, where several texts have lit it up like a Christmas tree.
“Fuck, gotta get these. Later, baby.”
He turns to me and swings his eyes to the door in a desperate bid to get away, and I put him out of his misery and say loudly, “We’ll be late.”
As we move away, he whispers, “Fuck. That girl won’t get the message.”
“Why, what happened?”
We head to our next class and he groans. “I mean, she’s a lovely girl, but forgettable. We fucked a few times, and it wasn’t memorable, so I moved on. The trouble is, she won’t back down. Notes in my locker, texts to my phone and waiting for me after class. I can do without this shit.”
“Perhaps you need to attend The Claiming after all. She’d get the message then.”
“No.” He shakes his head. “I can put up with her shit. I’m not interested in chaining myself to one woman just to keep another away. I’m a big boy. I’ll deal with it.”
I immediately forget about Georgia. She is no different from any of the others who think they have a shot at becoming our girl. I may be big headed, but it’s true. Pussy comes easily at Rockwell and not just from the students.
My father told me a story when he and my uncle Angelo fucked their teacher in the supply cupboard. I’m interested in adding that experience to my Rockwell memories and Miss Sloane is the likeliest to oblige.
She is our art teacher and fresh out of teacher college and I don’t miss the subtle ways she grips my attention. The way she rests her hand on the back of my neck, her fingers brushing against the skin. The way she bends her lips to whisper against my ear and her tits rub against my arm. She is one eager invitation waiting to be accepted and part of me wonders if I should fast forward the inevitable to shake a certain new student’s image from my mind.