"What in Hell are you doing here?" I whisper emphatically.
"I'm in class," he says, grinning like he's enjoying every second of this.
"I noticed, smartass, I mean why do you have to sit by me, and not by anyone else? There are tons of other seats available. Why this one?"
"Because I want to be here," he says simply. "Because I like being here." He leans closer and whispers in my ear. "Around you."
Oh dear Lord in Heaven. This is so not going to end well. "I like how I make you feel," he continues. "Oh really?" I ask. "How do you know how I feel?"
He smiles, making me want to punch him. "Because," he whispers. "I make you moan. I make you cry out in pleasure." His grin widens as he watches me fight off my blush. "And you like my hair. You like to run your fingers through it and pull at it."
I squirm in my chair, wondering where the hell the Professor is. "We are not talking about this here."
"So there's something?"
"What?
"You said 'this'. The word implies that there's something here. Between us."
"Okay, dude, I don't even know your name."
He smiles. "I'm sure you can figure it out. For now, you can call me 'Colt'."
"'Colt'? Is there a last name to go with that?"
He smiles again. "Like I said, you'll figure it out."
Rolling my eyes, I turn back to the front of the room as Professor Grimes finally walks his old ass in here. He's tall, with balding grey hair and glasses, wearing a navy blue three-piece suit and a purple dress shirt. His mouth is turned down in a frown, even though he just walked in, and he doesn't bother talking to us before writing things on the board.
It's a struggle to make it through the whole class. "Colt" sits agonizingly close but is careful not to touch me. If he was trying to do that whole hard-to-get thing, it was working. It is working. I never thought I would be grateful to write so much that my hands might fall off, but here we are. It keeps my mind off the hot guy who just talked about making me moan. I don't dare look at him, because I don't want him to catch me looking at him and then derail my whole train of thought yet again.
Looking up, I see that there's only fifteen minutes of class left. 'Okay,' I tell myself. 'This will work. Just fifteen more measly minutes. You're in the Home Stretch, everything'll be fine.'
Oh I am so naïve.
Why, you ask? Because Colt seems to notice me looking at the clock, and laughs to himself softly. Choosing to ignore it, I go back to writing. Thirty-seconds later, if that, I feel a hand on my knee. Shooting a glare at Colt, I shove his hand away and go back to my notes. He waits less than fifteen seconds this time, maybe even less than ten. I let out a sigh and try to move his hand again, but he unexpectedly grabs it in an iron grip. Confused and slightly alarmed, I glare at him, and he catches my chin as I turn away. Raising my brows in surprise, I look at him questioningly, only to be met with a white-hot glare that burns my insides. He turns my head towards the Professor and releases my chin, then he leans in close and whispers in my ear in a growling tone. "Move my hand away again, and I'll bend you over my knee the second we get out of this room." A tinge of excitement courses through me, and he notices it. "Honestly, I'm thinking about doing it anyway." My breathing quickens at the thought of him spanking me. "We still don't know each other," I tell him.
He growls again before saying, "We will. Forget about that for a while. Do what you want," he tells me.
'Oh, man do I want this' He seems to be able to tell, and takes it as a yes.
"I'm a strict man. I'm thinking five for each time you try to take my hand away, and every offense after that." I'm practically hyperventilating at this point. "Ooh, you like that don't you?" I bite my lip and nod, grateful that we're in a corner in the law row of seat and nobody else is really around us. "That's five more, you're up to fifteen," he says, sending another shiver straight to my core. "I need you to say it."
"Yes. Yes, I like it. I want you to do it.
"Another five, you're at twenty now. Yes, what?"
"Yes, Colt. Yes, Sir. Yes, Master. Whatever you want me to say, yes."
He smiles. "Colt will work fine. Sir and Master make me feel old."
This time, I smile. "Fine. Colt, it is."
"Occasionally, you can call me Sir, but Id prefer Colt." Sighing. He looks at Professor Grimes for a second before turning back to me. "When is your next lecture?"
"About an hour after this."
I don't have to look at him to know he's smiling. "Perfect," he says. "Oh we're going to have some fun, Tally."
He puts his hand on my knee again, and I struggle to concentrate from that alone. So, when his hand starts to travel up, I struggle to even make my brain work. Suddenly, the words on my paper make no sense, and I can't bring myself to write any other notes. I squirm in my seat, as his hand continues to travel up. Looking around, I check again to make sure nobody can see. His hand reaches the apex of my thighs, and I feel like I'm going to combust right here, right now.
Colt leans in to whisper in my ear, "Breathe. In and out. That's it. Just breathe, you'll be fine."
I nod, unable to say anything. "I'll let that one pass," he says, and only then do I remember that I'm supposed to be verbal.
His hand finally reaches the apex of my thighs, and honestly, it's a wonder I'm not soaked completely through my jeans. His hand begins to move in slow, tortuous circular motions. Biting my lip and closing my eyes, I see fireworks against my eyelids. He begins to speed up, and I vaguely notice that his breathing is speeding up, starting to sound like my own. I grab his arm, pressing my head against his shoulder and struggle to look normal. Right now, we probably look like a couple of some sort, and I probably look like I'm hugging him. Or at least, hugging his arm.
"You have no idea," I whisper between panting breaths. "How hard this is right now. None whatsoever."
"I know how hard I am right now," he whispers back, and I nearly groan as his words send another fit of excitement through me.
Suddenly, Professor Grimes dismisses us, and I realize class is over. I hurriedly get my things together, and am just about to leave when Colt grabs my arm, pulls me close and whispers huskily in my ear. "Go to your dorm. Drop off your things, and meet me in the elevator. If I'm not there, wait for me. I don't care if it takes half an hour, you don't leave that elevator, until I come to you, or it's time to go to your next lecture. Understand?"
"Yes, Sir."
He smiles. "See you there."
I don't think I've ever walked so fast in my life. There were literally points where I thought I would trip and fall because of my speed. But, eventually, without falling, I make it to my building. When I get there, I rush to the elevator, half hoping that I somehow missed him and that he's already there, waiting on me. He's not, and I shove aside the disappointment, before rushing inside and pushing the button for the second floor.
A second before the doors are supposed to close, a hand shoots out to hold it. The doors reopen to reveal three girls standing there, waiting to get in. The one in front, who held the door open, looks like your typical Rich Bitch. Black pencil skirt, white blouse, green cardigan, black flats, pearl necklace and earrings, and a black Gucci purse. Her dark red hair is tied back, and she looks at me with a hint of a frown before stepping inside. The two girls behind her look similar, a blonde wearing a knit cardigan sweater that hangs to her knees, jeans, and a white shirt, with a white Chanel purse on he arm. And another wearing a red jumper-cable turtleneck sweater, black slacks, a black Prada purse in her hand. Her dark brown hair is pulled into a tight bun at the back of her head. They all stand in front of me, and press the button for the third floor. The second the doors close, the first one, the red-head turns to look at me. "So," she says in a condescending tone that she's trying to make polite. "You're new, what's your name?"
"Talia," I answer. Tally seems like something they would joke about.
"Hi, Talia," the ginger drawls in a country accent. "I'm Rebecca Carlyle" She holds out a hand for me to shake, and I take it, doing my best not to hesitate. "Of the Houston Carlyle's," she adds. Nodding, I don't say a word. The blonde turns to me with a smile plastered on her tanned face. "I'm Bria Corsetti," she says, holding out her hand. Again, as I shake it, she adds, "Of the Manhattan Corsetti's." Then, the last one turns around, looking at me with inquisitive eyes. "Veronica Aldridge." She gives me a firm handshake. "Of the Los Angeles Aldridge's." Nodding my head, I try to look like I know exactly who she's talking about, even though I've never heard of any of their families. Suddenly, Bria walks over and pushes the button to stop the elevator. Confused, I start to panic, wondering what they want.
"So I saw you with my dear Colton today," Rebecca says, dropping the polite facade.
'Colt. Colton. Well, he was right. I figured out one part of his name. Now for the last part.
"Um. . .yeah, I know him." Then, to say I don't buy her "my Colton act", I say, "Of course I know Colt."
Her eyes widen and narrow just the slightest bit. "Well, he's off the market."
"Is he? Because your 'dear Colton' just asked me to meet him in this elevator where we kissed last week."
She sucks in a breath and leans in close. "Look here, bitch. Winston Harris is one of the wealthiest men in the area. And when the old bag does, everything is set to go to Colton. Get it?"
'Harris? Isn't that the Chancellor's name?' I ask myself confused. 'Maybe he's a cousin or a nephew or something.'
"Winston Harris? Like Chancellor Harris? Any relation?"
They look at me like I'm stupid and laugh. "Oh," Veronica says. "She really is new."
Bria stops long enough to say, "Winston Harris is Chancellor Harris."
"What? Wait, you said that when he dies, everything goes to Colt, I mean, Colton. Why is that?"
Their eyes practically bulge out of their heads. "Do you even know his full name?" Rebecca asks. She doesn't wait for me to reply before saying, "Colton Andrew Harris. Son of the Chancellor, Winston Harris."
What.
The.
FUCK?!!!!!