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She frowns for a moment, but then she schools her features and relents, "Okay."
She's too damn nice, my Annie. She doesn't do well with saying no to people, never wanting to hurt anyone's feelings.
I grit my teeth as the prick pulls a chair right up next to hers behind her desk.
I damn near cheer when I see her sit gracefully in her own chair and roll it a bit away from him, though. Good girl.
At first, she seems to just suffer through it—politely of course. She glances longingly at her computer screen, though. I know her fingers are itching to type out more of the story she's currently working on.
Something this guy would never understand about her. But I do. God, I do. I understand everything about her. And while I've never been a big romance novel reader, I read every one Anne publishes.
Because it's a part of her. She wrote it. It came straight from her imagination. Her innermost thoughts.
And Christ what an imagination she has. I'm unashamed to admit that I've stroked off many a night to the dirty scenarios she comes up with in her books, only in my mind the heroine is replaced with her and the hero with me.
Anne might not have any firsthand knowledge of sex, but I know what she wants, what she fantasizes about. It's all there in her books like a sexual map to her pleasure.
And God how I would love to give it all to her, take her to the heights of pleasure she fantasizes about.
At some point, the fucker begins wearing down on her. I clench my teeth. He's beginning to charm her. I notice her smiling more. My stomach drops as her smiles become more genuine and she laughs, a light tinkling of bells.
Hot jealousy spears my stomach. She laughed for him. I feel irrationally betrayed. She doesn't even know I exist, yet I feel the knife of betrayal sink deep into my gut that she laughed for another man.
He's grinning back at her stupidly, his chest puffed out like a proud peacock preening for a female.
Idiot.
My hands shake with murderous rage as I study him.
Sandy blond hair, brown eyes, muscular build. I suppose women might find him attractive. He's not as tall or muscular as I am. I can guarantee you that.
Anne laughs again, the sound bubbling up from her chest. His eyes drop down to her chest and darken with lust.
Mine darken with rage.
He lays his hand atop hers where it sits on her desk.
That's it. This fucker is dead.
As much as I feel the need to lash out at something, I fight the urge and force myself to watch the rest of their interaction until lunch is over and he leaves.
Good thing for him he doesn't touch her again.
When the students file back into her room, I finally close out of the feed and stand abruptly.
I make my way over to the gym where I train and head straight for the punching bags.
I've got to work some of this aggression out before I explode.
My jaw is clenched so tightly my teeth ache.
I hit the bag over and over again until I'm dripping with sweat.
I can't get the image of his hand on hers out of my head.
Every time I think of it, I pound the bag with renewed vigor.
Finally, I calm enough to think.
And I suddenly know what I have to do.
It's time for Anne to meet me.
