Total pages in book: 33
Estimated words: 31985 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 160(@200wpm)___ 128(@250wpm)___ 107(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 31985 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 160(@200wpm)___ 128(@250wpm)___ 107(@300wpm)
…Except, it’s the opposite.
He’s not the hunter here. I am. It’s the role I slid into the first day I decided that I’d be losing my virginity to him. It’s the role I played in sitting front and center, batting my eyes at him, letting the tip of my pen slide over my wet, pink, glossed-over lips while he taught the lesson of the day.
But no, no one would see it that way. No one would want to. The narrative is far more juicy and far more in-line with what everyone wants to think if they look at it the other way. That an older—a much older—man, in a position of power, nonetheless, seduced and took advantage of a young, innocent, good girl. They’d say that he used his position of authority. That I was naïve. That I wasn’t experienced enough to be wary of his charms.
…No one wants to even suggest the utterly shocking idea that a young girl like me might just want a man like Oliver Bard. Badly. Desperately. Feverishly. No one wants to admit that a girl my age has desires. That I have fantasies—dirty, filthy, vivid ones. No one wants to go there in their heads, because the idea of him being the monster in this scenario is just, well, easier.
I know this could blow up in my face, but I’m willing to chance it. Because I know in my heart that I’ll regret not going after this tonight for the rest of my life if I don’t. I’ll always wonder, and if he gets away, what’ve I been saving it all for? Who have I been saving it for? Like I said, I knew the second I saw Oliver Bard that I wanted it to be him. I saw a powerful, dominant, older man, and every fucking cell in my body said, “Him. It’s going to be him.”
Him, and no one else.
This is wrong, I know that. But I don’t care. Because I’ve made up my mind, and I know what I want. And what I want is him, no matter what.
Even if this is borderline illegal. Even if it’s morally reprehensible. Even if I’m a high school senior, and he’s my professor. Even if he’s thirty years old, and I’m only sevente—
Tick. Tock.
My eyes swivel to the clock, and suddenly, I freeze as a warm shiver teases through my core.
Eighteen. I’m eighteen, as of five seconds ago.
And now, it’s time.
2
Oliver
The thudding of my pulse hammers through my ears, deafening me to anything else but the sound of it.
…Well, almost anything else. Because beyond that, there, lurking in the background and echoing my pulse, is the other sound I hear.
The clock.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. My eyes scan the pages of the essay assignment in front of me, but I’m hardly reading it. At all, actually. My mind is anywhere else but the history of the legislative branch, fucking trust me on that. Because tonight, my mind, like it always is when she’s around, is lost.
All of me is lost around her. The walls shatter. Morality crumbles. Thoughts I’d never in a hundred years imagined I’d have come roaring like forbidden fire into my every thought, consuming me from the inside out. Around her, I’m weak—lost, adrift.
Around her, I’m hungry.
No, I haven’t acted on any of the illicit, filthy, and before tonight, downright illegal fantasies that’ve played through my head since the second I laid eyes on Anastasia Penworth. Of course, I haven’t acted on them. Obsessed, yes. But not career suicidal. Morally suspect, but not bankrupt.
…Not entirely at least. Not yet.
Tick. Tock.
The clock continues its march towards what comes next, and my hand clenches into a fist on the desk, the other in danger of snapping the red marker in my hand. It’s almost midnight.
It’s almost her birthday.
No words have been spoken between us—at least, hardly any that don’t pertain to class, or school. But I know damn well that it’s not just me who’s been waiting and wanting. And I fully grasp how that sounds exactly like the words a predator would use to legitimize his illicit thoughts. I understand that “she wanted it too” is practically a soundbite-ready quote for the ten o’clock news right before they show the creep being shoved into the back of a squad car.
Believe me, amongst the myriad of filthy, extremely wrong, and incredibly illicit dreams I’ve had involving Anastasia, there’ve been one or thirty others involving my ass being thrown into prison. But in a few minutes time, that’s not going to matter. In a few minutes time, Anastasia Penworth is turning eighteen.
…In a few minutes time, she’s legal.
And soundbite or not, I know damn well that we’ve both been thinking it. Dancing around it. Letting our eyes linger longer than they should. We both know why we’re here tonight—why she pulled her ridiculous little stunt of getting up in the middle of class to mouth off to me. Anastasia might have a bratty streak in her, but she’s not a bad student or a troublemaker.