“You’ve made it worse all on your own, sire.” He chuckles around a mouthful of pancakes. “Just talk to him. Maybe in a more equal setting where you’re not his professor.”
Seek him out and talk to him. Simple. I can do that.
After grading papers all afternoon, a lecture where I’m sure no student paid a lick of attention, and drinking more coffee than I would normally consume in a week, I’m ready to return to my bed. But something else presses on me. Something I can’t ignore.
I need to find him.
I need to talk to him.
The air outside my office building has chilled in the night-time temperatures, forcing me to do up the button on my jacket. If I can just convince him to listen and I can talk straight, I’ll be able to convince him to date me. Maybe even have a repeat of the other night.
I shake my head.
Don’t think of that now.
But it’s too late. All my brain can do is focus on the way he screamed into the pillow, on how good those noises would sound if it were my cock inside him instead of my fist.
My feet move before my brain, faster than my racing thoughts can catch up. Soon I’m leaving campus and heading toward a nearby block of dorms. A pounding booms in my head, and when I turn the next corner I realize it’s coming from the frat party at Theta Chi’s house.
It’s been a while since I was young enough to attend such an event, but my legs don’t seem to care; they race my body inside as though my life depends on it.
Writhing bodies drunkenly brush against one another, red solo cups litter every hand, and I’ve never felt so out of place inside a university setting in my life. Some students recognize me with wide eyes, but mostly people ignore me in favor of their friends.
This is a part of my life I left behind long ago. Should I even be seeking out someone still in this stage? Before I can answer my own self-doubt, my feet move once more, fuelled by some daemonistic part of my brain.
I must find him.
I must see him.
I must explain.
Upstairs, in a room filled with various liquor bottles and students dancing to a thumping beat, I spot him. He’s wearing a skirt with hold ups, and whatever part of my brain is driving wants to run my hands underneath and squeeze the globes of his ass. A woman dances next to him in a similarly short skirt and flowy top. A smile lights both their faces.
The glittery red lipstick he’s chosen dazzles under the cheap spotlights. I wonder what it’ll look like smudged by my thumb? Only one way to find out.
My feet move forward of their own accord, but someone else beats me to the prize—some jock from the hockey team if his jersey is anything to go by. Tyler’s hands wrap around his neck.
I freeze.
What’s happening?
Chapter Three
Tyllie
Why does this feel so wrong? I keep smiling, keeping fighting through, but something inside me is ringing, vibrating with disgust. Why can’t I just enjoy myself?
A low growl warms my ear and drips down my neck, and I know without looking who is behind me. It’s the same daemon who’s been following me for the last few days. The same one who asked to pay for my body.
Despite the war going on inside my head, my body has no problem leaning into him, my hands falling from Brad’s neck.
Brad looks hurt for a moment, confused as to why we can’t continue with a regular hookup, but when he meets my gaze he smiles and turns away to find some other conquest.
“What are you doing?” he whispers just loud enough to hear.
“Er ... existing. Didn’t realize I needed permission.” Seriously, why does this guy set my cock on fire and make me feel like I’m the center of the universe? And why do I love the possessiveness? The ownership? There’s something wrong with me. Some kind of daddy issue I should probably work throughin therapy. Right now I want to find out how far I can take this before he snaps.
I’ll take payment. In orgasms.