Total pages in book: 192
Estimated words: 182641 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 913(@200wpm)___ 731(@250wpm)___ 609(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 182641 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 913(@200wpm)___ 731(@250wpm)___ 609(@300wpm)
I pull my hips back, groaning as my hands replace her pussy on my cock. She whimpers from the loss, and a rough chuckle escapes me as a growl rattles her throat. Eyes on her dripping center, I tear the condom from my skin, my dick swelling angrily once freed. I yank once, twice, and cum spills, hot and thick, trickling down over her clit, warming the sensitive nub and making her entire body twitch.
I want to stay and watch, to rub my head over it, then trail it down her slit and push back inside for that after-sex finale, dragging every last bit of tension from our bodies.
Allow her to come again.
But I don’t.
On my feet, I tuck myself back into my jeans, buckling the belt as I lean forward, yanking the tie off the thick, gold-and-white curtains guarding the window.
One of her eyelids pops open, then the other, slowly. The signs of a well-fucked woman.
“Satisfied?”
She smiles coyly, shrugging as she stretches her torso. “I will be once you get caught, and I can torture you for answers.”
“What kind of torture you got in mind?”
She wants to smile wider but fights it.
“Question.” She pauses for a breath, hers still labored. “Why hunt if not for the kill?”
She doesn’t have to say it. I know she’s talking about the dumb fucker we rolled over the hill.
A pretty little privileged girl who pulled up to find a man leaning over an unconscious one should have run off screaming at such a sight, yet here we are.
“Sometimes the tricks are understood better when coming from the clown.”
“But a clown wears many faces, so who’s to say this one won’t hide in the shadows?”
“He can hide all he wants; I’ll hear him coming. He, on the other hand, won’t be hearing shit.”
Small creases form along her forehead, smoothing out as she puts it together. “His eardrums.”
I don’t confirm or deny, and because my subconscious is on to something, I press my knee into the spot beside her satiated body, grasping her chin to hold her gaze to mine.
“Keep the blond James Bond out of your bed.”
Surprise flickers through her. At my words or just remembering I was in here when he was, I don’t know. Don’t care.
She lifts a single brow. “How would you know if I did?”
Trailing my knuckles along the swell of her breast, I bring my eyes back to hers. “Fuck around and find out.”
An unexpected scoff bubbles out of her, and I run my tongue along my bottom lip.
Her thighs clench, and I groan, then bend forward and tie the sash from the curtains over her eyes.
I’m down to twenty seconds, if that, but I take two to press my body into her naked one and bring my mouth to her ear.
“Thanks for the ride, Rich Girl.”
And then I’m gone.
Chapter 3
Rocklin
“Ms. Milano, I completely agree. I’ll speak to the student’s adviser, and we’ll come up with a proper punishment,” I say into the air, my phone on speaker.
Bronx, the oldest by six months and the chameleon of our girl gang of three, rolls her eyes, sticks her tongue in her cheek and pumps her hand in front of her mouth. Always with the dirty mind, our sassy little Scorpio.
I clear my throat to hide a laugh and toss my lipstick at her, which she blocks with a pillow before falling over on the sofa in full-on dramatics as if this conversation is boring her to death.
“I know you will, Ms. Revenaw. We can always count on you girls to help guide the others into notable achievements,” our sweet, yet incredibly underqualified dean—reason number one why our families were so keen on hiring the woman in the first place—sings our praises.
“Of course. We’ll make sure she’s given exactly what she needs, so when the next exam approaches, she will be prepared.” I push on my eyebrow to perfect the arch, shifting in the mirror to make sure my uniform is pressed properly. “Cheating is most definitely unacceptable.”
My eyes lift, finding Delta’s porcelain face in the mirror as she slips behind me, whispering in my ear, “Unless you’re the headliner in the nation’s most prestigious prep school musical ensemble or the world’s youngest Olympic diving champion or the next Pablo Picasso. Then it’s entirely acceptable, yes, Coco Rocco?”
“Don’t forget the tallest!” Bronx whispers.
I flip Delta off at the use of the rhyming nickname, and an airy laugh leaves her.
She and I were born two weeks apart, but it might as well have been two decades.
Delta is all regal and renaissance. She breathes grace and poise, whereas Bronx and I have to remember ours the older we get. Being the sole grandchild of a notable senator will do that, even if her mother is all the things she aspires not to become. Like a conniving, title-and-trust-fund-chasing bitch, for example. Delta is the very opposite.