Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 82255 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82255 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
“Oh God.” I slap my hands over my chest and shiver as Mr. Carter reaches down and seizes the bottle of whiskey, examining it.
“You are really making quite the first impression here,” he snarls.
“This isn’t fair,” I blurt out, realizing how lame it sounds. “I didn’t ask him to come here. He just barged in—”
“A convenient excuse.” He stalks toward me, and I step backward, bumping against my bed. He leans in, and for one delusional second, I think he’s going to kiss me. But instead, he presses his palm against my soaked mattress. His body is so close to mine I can smell him. The scent of masculine sweat and cardamom. I stupidly inhale a deep breath, and he notices. What the hell is wrong with me?
“Is there something you’d like to report, Miss LeClaire?” he asks, his tone acerbic.
I know he’s referring to the mattress, but I don’t have any proof, and even if I did, that’s not a war I’m ready to start with Louisa. I’m not a snitch, and there are better ways to get back at her than involving the school staff.
“No, sir.” I tilt my chin up to meet his eyes.
His nostrils flare, and I take note of it. I take note of everything from his sweat-soaked T-shirt clinging to his broad shoulders and muscular abs to the way his pants hang loose from his hips. I’ve never felt like a hormonal teenager before, but my hypothalamus is working overtime to pump out those feel-good chemicals in his presence. I’m practically biting my tongue to keep myself from saying something stupid. Because right now, his attention, good or bad, is everything. I want his approval like I’ve never wanted anything else before. I want to tell him to push my knees apart and show me how mad he is. Punish me the way I can see he wants to. But Mr. Carter has more self-restraint than I do. He coldly chooses to deny me, stepping back into his own space and leaving me alone. Always alone.
“If that’s the road you want to take, so be it.” He holds the whiskey bottle up. “I’ll be confiscating this, and I expect you to report to the groundskeepers at six a.m. tomorrow for your punishment. Work hours and detention after school for the next week.”
“But what about Ethan?” I demand childishly. “What will his punishment be?”
“That will be all, Miss LeClaire.” He turns on his heel and exits just as quickly as he arrived, sealing me into my room with the faint trace of his scent. A glance at the clock confirms it’s already one in the morning, and tomorrow is officially going to suck.
CHAPTER EIGHT
SEBASTIAN
BACK AT MY HOUSE, I drain the bottle of whiskey into the sink and throw the remnants into the trash, taking satisfaction in the sound of it shattering. Leaning over the counter, I close my eyes and try to gather my thoughts, concentrating on what I need to do this week. But instead, all I can see is her. Standing there in soft cotton shorts and a wet tank top with her pink nipples poking through.
Irrational thoughts flood my mind about what happened in that room. Did she let that entitled prick touch her? Kiss her? Did her lips touch that bottle after he did?
It’s not fucking logical or sane, but the uncertainties continue to plague me as I sit down at the kitchen table and stare at the wall. This girl is getting inside my head, and I can’t focus on what I’m supposed to be doing because my dick is so goddamn engorged, I can’t think straight. She’s a temptation straight from the devil’s toy factory. I’ve survived years of celibacy without issue, but after two days of Stella LeClaire in my life, I’m ready to fuck anything in sight.
It would be tempting to walk across the campus right now and hate fuck Misty Hargrave. I know she’d let me do anything I wanted to her. Maybe it would even purge these fucked-up thoughts playing on repeat inside my head. But it wouldn’t satisfy me. Not like Stella would.
Christ.
I close my eyes, and all I can think about is spreading her thighs apart and stuffing her full of my cock while she screams my name from those blood red lips. Teachers aren’t supposed to have these thoughts. It goes against every moral fiber I’ve ever tried to hold on to. But morality is a blurred line when I wrap my fist around my cock and allow my imagination to run wild. I want her to be a virgin. I want to be the first to ruin her. I want to debase her and torment her and call her every filthy thing I can think of while I fuck her and fill her with my come.