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“I’ll let you know,” he says. “Just make sure your burner is always close. Also, make extra sure no one but you has access to it. That’s your only mission right now, apart from waiting for my instructions. That burner phone is the fucking center of the universe, got it?”
He reaches over my lap to pop the passenger door open. I don’t need a special invitation to get out. All the luxury in the world wouldn’t be enough to make me put up with his presence a second longer than I have to, or to look at him when he blows me a kiss. I only catch it from the corner of my eye as I turn around. I could kick the door of this outrageously expensive car shut just to do some damage and hope that it slams into his face, but that would produce too much noise.
The prickling feeling at the back of my neck returns as I head for the door. My ankles twist in my heels as I struggle along the gravel pathway while Romano’s car engine hums quietly to life.
The tower feels like a relic of a medieval castle with ghosts ready to float out of its walls any moment, so I rush up the stairs to my office, panting when I finally open the door into its warmth and cozy light. I finally breathe out in relief, my eyes traveling to the laden book shelves, right to the spot where I’ve hidden a bottle of old scotch behind leather-spined books. Students come here during office hours to discuss their grades and ways to make them better, and I don’t want them seeing it. When you’re not much older than your students, you need to appear flawless, untouchable, incorruptible, barely even human.
But there’s no risk of discovery tonight. Plus, I’m in the worst situation imaginable, my brain still sputtering itself back into gear after Romano almost pushed my face into his lap earlier. I’m a resilient person, but I’m sure I wouldn’t have come back from that. Having to suck off a man she despises would break any woman.
So I start toward the shelf where I’ve hidden the scotch, the anticipation already burning my throat.
“You sucked him off in the car.” It’s a statement, not a question, coming from a dark voice that shouldn’t be here. I spin around, knocking against the bookcase and causing a few books to dislodge and thud against the floor.
He’s here.
Micah is leaning against the wall next to the door, arms closed over his chest, feet crossed at the ankles, looking like he could kill someone.
I revisit my previous statement. This is the worst situation imaginable. This right here is the worst possible feeling, the sinking one in my stomach at the way those dark eyes drill right down to my core. I shift on my feet, suddenly feeling naked.
“Micah, it’s not—” I stop before the words leave my mouth. What am I going to tell him? That it’s not what it seems? I wouldn’t believe myself, and everything in his dark demeanor tells me that if I say those words, he’ll make it hurt. He’s heard them too often from my mouth.
He pushes himself off the wall and eats up the distance between us, growing larger with every step he takes. Everything about him is deadly, and it shows in the way he moves. He’s at least a head and a half taller than me, and much broader, taking up my field of vision completely within seconds. By the time he invades my personal space, his scent of leather and dark chocolate seeps into every cell of my body, taking possession of me and making me wonder how come I didn’t notice it the moment I walked in.
I look up at his face, choosing to keep my mouth shut. I can’t think of anything to say anyway. My eyes trace his sharp jawline, and I find myself craving to do the same with my fingers, as if my touch would have the power to persuade him of what words can’t. He’s close, too close, so close that my breathing turns shallow in front of the most handsome face I’ve seen in my entire life. Micah Royales is a hard man, radiating danger, but up close he’s an arresting, beautiful prince. I should be desperate to get away from him, yet here I am, pushing my back into the shelves behind me and wishing he’d trap me here with his body the way he did back at my apartment.
Fuck, I’m a completely irrational mess in front of him.
He slams his hand against the shelves next to my head, his leather jacket gaping to reveal a black shirt underneath it that molds to smooth, hard muscle. Saliva pools in my mouth, my head filling with thoughts of how those stony edges would feel under my palms.
He leans in and scents me like an animal, wrinkling his nose.
“You smell like him.”
“Sure, because I’ve been in his car. But not all the porn scenarios that take place in your head actually happen in real life, Micah.” I should get a fucking prize for actually bringing forth a coherent sentence from my lips. As for admitting to seeing Romano? He already knows. It would be just plain stupid to lie.
He grins, revealing perfect teeth that somehow look as deadly as the rest of him.
“Oh, you’re about to learn about the porn scenarios in my head. Get down on your knees.”
His words knock the air from my lungs.
“What?” I whisper.
“I told you that if you kept seeing him there would be consequences. You don’t get to play his whore without playing mine, too.” Dimples form in his cheeks as his grin widens. Fuck me, he’s dashing. I want to slap myself because this isn’t making any sense.
“You can’t force me,” I protest.
“Which is why you’ll be doing it of your own volition.”
I stick out my chin.
“What if I say no?”
Micah tilts his head to the side, and I’m done for. He lets his natural power flow, becoming a wicked seducer. The effect clouds my head like a damn narcotic, and I understand why all the girls are so crazy about him. Not that I wasn’t aware of his power before, but I never dared look at him that way. After all, he’s a student, and I’m a professor.
“I won’t force myself on you if you refuse to play along,” he drawls. “That’s not my way. But I am going to tell the Flaming Skulls that you’re fair game. They don’t rape women either, but they’re going to keep trying to get under your skirt, they’ll be crude about it, and they won’t give up.” He leans in to the side of my face, his lips lightly brushing my cheek as he says, “Ever. They’re going to come after you day after day. Night after night. It’ll never stop.”
His tone and his words team up to paint a clear picture—psychologically, it will feel like being raped by an entire gang of bikers. Every. Fucking. Day.
