The way his palm cups my entire skull, the other locking my waist like a man anchoring a restless animal—fingers dug in, promising they won’t let go—makes my muscles quake.
What if Mutton was right? Because the way that Aiden’s looking at me right now?
Maybe hecouldlove me again.
Or maybe I’m delirious from oxygen loss and the high of being fucked with his instrument of punishment.
He blinks. Breathes once, twice. Then slides out of me, the heat between my thighs instantly replaced with cold air, and his cum oozes down them until it tickles. He zips himself up, pushing me back a step, as if he remembered something more important than me.
“Let’s go.”
Still catching my breath, I smooth my skirt down. “I need to clean up first.”
His gaze snaps to mine, jaw tightening like I told him I was moving to another country.
“I want you to wear what I gave you inside. Be uncomfortable.”
“Do youwantme to get a UTI?” I tilt my head. Ever the sweetest smile. Worn like a weapon.
Hands on his hips, he sighs through his nose and glances at the stall. “Fine. I’ll wait here. Do what you need. Make it quick.”
I don’t.
I take my precious time peeing, blotting, finding the least scratchy way to remove the mess he made. The mirror catches my smirk after I exit the stall. His reflection is a dark silhouette leaning against the door, impatiently watching. Waiting irreverently.
Paying attention to my nail beds, I wash my hands delicately and thoroughly in the sink.
When I finally close the tap, he snags my wrist before they’re dry, jerking me toward the hall. “Done wasting time?”
“For now,” I hum, only to watch the muscle in his jaw tic.
We step out into the corridor, Aiden with my bag on one arm and his on the other. The low hum of conversation and the echo of footsteps from other students, intruding as if nothing had happened. But I’m still raw between my legs, and the ghost of his handprint is blooming on my ass like a bruise-shaped signature. I’m sure everyone can see the peek of it from beneath my short skirt.
“Where are we going?”
“Library.” His daddy voice leaves no room for argument. “You’re going to start studying for classes.” Warm hand firm and steady at the small of my back, he guides me like I’m an unruly pet. “I expect straight As, Ashlyn. You’re smart and capable. Anything less means you’re wasting your potential.”
“Mm. Or maybe I’m busy wasting your time.”
He tugs the wooden door open and leans in close enough for his breath to feather my ear. “And I won’t tolerate that, either.”
On the second floor, he steers us to a long table topped withemerald-hooded pull-chain lamps where a fewThetasI recognize from Greek events are camped out—Tade Kim, the vice president, among them.
Tade gives us a single nod before turning back to his textbook. No one else speaks. This is the sports crowd. Football, hockey, swim team… The jerseys only get a handful of minutes between classes and practice to cram, and they treat each one like gold.
Aiden drags an armless chair out for himself and settles in. I move to claim the one beside him, but his arm snakes out, hooking around my hips and hauling me sideways onto his lap.
“Right here,” he murmurs, adjusting me until I’m locked in place. “So I can watch you.”
I roll my eyes and reach for my tote bag. “May as well get me one of those kid leashes.”
His mouth curves—not quite a smile. “Don’t fucking tempt me, baby girl. You’re already on thin ice.”
Like some tutor from hell, Aiden hovers over my shoulder as I pull out my math sheets. His thigh is a solid wall under me, every shift of muscle telegraphing itself through the seat. One arm slung around my waist tells everyone in the room exactly who I belong to. The moment my pencil drifts toward the wrong digit, I feel the twitch of disapproval ripple through him.
“Do you want to do this for me?” I whisper, not looking back.
“It’s simple, Ash. Look.”