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“Where did he come today, professor? Jerk your hips forward if it was your cunt, or bite down on my thumb if it was your mouth.”
I don’t do either, still stunned and trying to make sense of what’s happening. But then Micah flashes me a bad-boy smile, and the fight dies down inside me.
I attempt to push a plea out of my mouth and get him to go inside the apartment so we can talk, but I choke on his thumb. His finger slips through the side of my panties, running between the lips of my pussy. I haven’t had sex in six months, ever since Santi and I broke up, so I’m not precisely smooth down there, but Micah seems pleasantly surprised. It earns me a satisfied groan.
“Daddy likes a hairy pussy, does he?” He laughs like he just caught me kneeling behind a dumpster with a dick in my mouth. “What a lucky coincidence that I do, too. Did he unload his cum in here, or is this all your own juice?”
I struggle against the cage he formed between his impossibly hard body and the door when Santi Rossi appears in the doorway across the landing.
The statistics professor and I met the day we signed our contracts, and because we hit it off so well, we asked to be assigned close apartments, thinking we’d be great friends. One thing led to another. Now I wish that first night of Netflix and chill had never ended in comfort sex, and we’d really stayed only friends. He’s fun to be around, but he’s a compulsive cheater.
Santi stares at us with an open mouth, his hand on the knob. Damn it, he shouldn’t even have been home. He usually spends his weekends with his friends in New York, hooking up with college girls he can’t ethically sleep with here.
Every hope I had of him not recognizing Micah is pulverized when the Heathen King turns to Santi and gives him a wink. I shake my head as much as his grip on my face will let me, not even wanting to imagine what this must look like to Santi. Me with my garters showing, trapped against the door by a biker who’s got a hand up my pussy and his thumb in my mouth. Not to mention that said biker is a King and a student on campus. Not technically my student, but he could take my classes anytime if he chose to add some ethical philosophy to his studies of weapon engineering.
So he could become my student, which means we’re completely off limits for each other.
Taking advantage of Micah’s attention resting on the open-mouthed Santi, I drag my face to the side and escape his hold on my jaw, freeing my mouth.
“Micah, stop this!” I try to push him again and fail.
“Oh, I’m sure you can explain to Professor Rossi here how this isn’t what it seems. Just like you were explaining to me earlier about what happened at the Vanguard. You could tell him that you being crammed against the door is just—”
“Come inside,” I shriek, swiveling around and bending down for my keys.
I don’t need to see him to know that he’s still smirking at Santi while I fumble on the floor for them. Something hard pushes against my buttocks when I turn the key in the lock, and the air whooshes out of me.
Micah has a raging erection, and I’m about to be alone with him in my apartment.
But the urgent matter right now is getting out of Santi’s eyes.
I grab Micah’s forearm and pull him inside before I slam the door, leaving a stunned Santi behind, as well as my scattered groceries.
“Are you crazy?” I shriek out. “That was Santi Rossi!” I point to the now firmly closed door. “He’s a professor of statistics at Norton King’s, and he’s my colleague. Who just fucking saw us!”
“And what’s he going to do about it?” He cocks that devilish, pierced eyebrow. “Tell?” A laugh vibrates in his chest, filled with both scorn and power. “I reckon he values his balls too much to risk that.”
“It might give me trouble I don’t deserve. That thing with your stepfather—” I throw my keys on the small table by the door and run a hand through my hair, trying to pull myself together. “It isn’t what you think. It’s not an affair, it’s more complicated than that.”
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
The Heathen King paces my living room, grabbing my silk camisole off the back of the armchair and lifting it up to his face. He breathes in deeply, his eyes snapping up at me over the hand in which he holds it. My back snaps straight at eye contact, and I can’t make another sound until he slowly lowers the camisole. “Explain it to me then.”
I bite down into my lower lip because I can’t tell him the truth even though I’m so not fucking his stepfather. But lying to him isn’t an option either, he’d see right through me. The Heathen Kings have experience with the worst kind of criminals, and they have extensive training interrogating them. Also, they have ways of getting the truth out of people that would give the Spanish Inquisition a run for their money.
“It’s not what it seems,” I repeat, unable to find something else to say.
Micah throws his head back, his chest vibrating with laughter.
“Sure it’s not.” He drops the camisole back onto the armchair and walks over, fully aware of how I shrink in on myself with every step he takes. I watch him approach, his features barely visible in the stark winter light flooding my living room from the window behind him. It surrounds him like a cold aura, his shape merely the outline of an icy god.
I’ve had to put up with many cock-sure students since I started on campus, and I’ve developed thick skin. I even held my ground in front of a King once—even though he was one who didn’t deserve the title. But now I find myself closing my arms around me and stepping back from Micah Royales.
“Explain. It. To. Me. In detail,” he orders.
I rub my arms, shifting from one foot to the other like a flustered girl in front of the school bully.
