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4
We pull up outside large ornate gates and wait for them to open. I drive through and find a spot to park in the back, next to a Beamer and a Lambo.
I whistle loudly. “Welcome to the lives of the rich and famous.”
“More like rich and forgotten. These kids might have more money than sense, but they are still the black sheep of their families. They are here so they don’t become tabloid fodder and bring shame to their family name,” Sugar says with just enough disdain to let me know this is something of a hot topic for her.
“So, are you going to play my mommy?”
She cuts me a look that would have a grown man whimpering, but all it does is make me laugh.
“You’re on your own. I just wanted you to arrive with company, set a few tongues wagging about the new girl. That and I’m taking the car back. Yours will be delivered to your dorm tomorrow.”
“Dorm? Oh, you left something out of the information pack, I see. Dammit, Sugar, you couldn’t spring for a single room? Fuck, at this point, I’d take a tent in the woods.”
She grins and opens the door, sliding one leg out before standing with effortless grace and closing the door.
Slipping into character, I follow suit, my pleated school skirt rising as I slide out. I feel eyes on me, so I don’t bother to adjust it.
Sugar steps around to my side of the car and holds her hand out for the keys. I’m surprised she let me drive.
Reluctantly, I hand them to her and pout, aware of the growing audience, but I don’t acknowledge them. I don’t want them to think I care one way or another about them. Confidence is key, whether that is in a boardroom, a prison, or a college, and I’ll be damned if I let some punk-ass kids think they can intimidate me.
Leaning close, Sugar places her lips against my ear as she plays with the edge of my navy blue tie nestled between my breasts.
“Remember, you’re an eighteen-year-old student with a few anger issues and non-existing parents who like to travel. You can be a bitch. Just don’t slip so much that they realize there is more to you than what they can see.”
“This is not my first rodeo, Sugar,” I remind her, wrapping my hands around her forearms as she leans me against the car in what looks like an intimate embrace.
“Girls or boys?” She asks me softly, her nose skimming my jaw.
It takes my brain a second to click that she’s asking which way I’m going to play this. As much as I like dick—and I do, I really, really do—I have zero problems playing for the other team if the mission requires it. Hell, sometimes I dabble just for fun anyway.
Some things women are naturally superior at, like knowing their way around the female form.
“Not sure yet. I want to see what the power structure is like here first. I’ll find an in, but I’d like to have a Plan B and C just in case.”
“Then let’s appeal to the masses,” she whispers a kiss over my lips, cupping my head before pulling back and winking.
She faces the crowd and, with a filthy wave, climbs back into the car, adjusting the seat for her longer legs.
I don’t look behind me as I watch her leave, knowing her stunt is working from the whispers behind me. She has done just enough to make all the boys’ dicks hard and the girls curious but not rabid. Sugar’s lips on mine make them think I might play for the other team, meaning I’m not the competition they might have assumed I would be.
Once Sugar is out of sight, I see the crowd has begun to disperse a little. A few groups remain—the little cliques, wanting to show their importance—but to me, they are just ants in my way.
To my left is a group of four girls. All are stunningly pretty in a way you know they’ll grow into beautiful women if they don’t let the trappings of fame and money lead them to a life of excess.
Three of the girls stand side by side. An ebony-haired girl with dark skin and charcoal eyes, a redhead with a dusting of freckles and light hazel eyes, and a petite Asian girl with black hair and a bored smile watch as I make my way toward the building in front of me.
The one with long sandy blonde hair, big blue eyes, and even bigger tits, standing slightly in front of them, is clearly the ringleader. She sneers at me as if my very presence offends her, which makes me grin a little maniacally, but I remind myself that drawing blood on the first day will probably be frowned upon.
They don’t hate me yet, even if they want to, but give them time. The day is young. Right now, they are feeling me out. Friend or foe, useful or expendable, predator or prey.
I ignore them, turning away and deeming them unworthy of my worry. I know that will piss them off more than anything else I do. These girls love nothing more than being the center of attention. Take that away, and then what?
As I pass a black Tesla on my left, I notice a person sitting in the driver’s seat. From his form, I can tell he’s male. With his head tipped back, I can’t make out much else.
Well, other than the blonde head bobbing up and down in his lap.
He must feel my eyes on him because he lifts his head, blond hair whipping across his face as pretty green eyes clash with mine.
He glares at me, but bigger men have tried and failed to make me shake in my pants. He’ll have to do better than that. Besides, I’m not wearing any pants. Hell, I’m not even wearing any underwear. You never know when a little crossed-legged snatch flash will come in handy to defuse or distract.
He reaches out, grabs the blonde, and grips her head hard, yanking her down and choking her, but his pretty green eyes never leave mine.
I’ll give him his dues. He’s hot as fuck in that whole I’m-going-to-rip-off-your-panties-before-I-rip-out-your-heart bad boy kind of way, but I have bigger fish to fry and dicks to find—AKA Mr. Dmitri Aslanov himself.
I run my tongue over my bottom lip before winking and turning away. I put a little extra sway in my hips, knowing my short skirt is flashing a lot more than it hides. It’s above the regulation length, but a glance at the others shows me I’m not alone. Hell, the girl I picked out as ringleader, who is walking toward me, has hers rolled up so high I can see her panties. I’m not sure it can even be considered a skirt. A belt perhaps.
Now, I’m no prude, so if I think it’s short, it’s one step away from being devoured by her penis flytrap.
As I’m about to step past her, she tenses and twitches, easily telegraphing her next move. When she sticks her foot out to trip me, I’m ready. I merely step over it and swing my foot back, hitting her in the back of the knee with enough force to send her sprawling to the ground.
Damn, I haven’t even made it through the doors yet. It must be a record for me.
Pulling open one of the glass double doors, I’m instantly hit with that classic school aroma. It’s hard to decide what the dominant smell is—books, cleaning solution, perfume, hormones, or desperation.
The corridor is empty, so I amble down it, smoothing a hand down my crisp white shirt as I take in my surroundings. This building is predominantly for admin. None of the classrooms are located on this side of campus.
As I gaze through the glass panels on the wooden doors, I see rooms designated for other purposes. One is the faculty lounge one looks like a private kitchen—which must be for staff use—and one has blinds pulled down over it.
I head to the end and toward the door with the golden plaque identifying it as reception. My heels provide the only noise until I reach the office door, where I can hear a raised female voice arguing with someone.
“I don’t care who your grandfather is. You cannot expect to keep getting away with your inappropriate behavior.”
“Inappropriate behavior? I was in biology. I was just making myself familiar with the topic,” a male answers with mirth in his voice.
“Yes, well, we’ll see about that when Mr. Aslanov is back. I believe he gave you a warning last week. He won’t like that you ignored him.”
I wait for the witty comeback, but surprisingly, I don’t hear one.
“Eavesdropping? How tasteless.”
I turn at the sound of the voice, pissed with myself for not hearing the approach.
And there he is, Dmitri Aslanov, standing before me in all his panty-destroying glory. He’s gorgeous in a way that even a nun would bend over for him.
I will not be another simpering idiot. Something tells me that’s what he gets from the rest of the female population. Instead, I roll my eyes and ignore the flash in my head of me riding him like a bucking bronco.
“I need to go in there and speak to the receptionist, but they are blocking the way, and I didn’t want to interrupt them.”
“So, you thought you’d just listen to them talking instead? Didn’t your mother teach you any manners?”
“No, but my daddy sure did like to spank me.”
