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I was the one meant to be doing the blackmailing. But I have to film him doing something stupid first, and I can’t do that now.
Taking pity on me, he adds, “Show me what your friend brought you.”
Compelled, I extend my arm toward him and open my fist, feeling like a dumb teenager when he chuckles. He grabs the pack of cigarettes and the lighter. His fingers touch my skin for a split second and sparks of electricity running up my arm and all the way to my chest. My heart stops for a few beats before accelerating.
“Death sticks,” he scolds me softly around the cigarette in his mouth. “You shouldn’t get into such bad habits.”
What a hypocrite.
“I do what I want,” I snap in a whisper.
“Such a little rebel,” he nods. His eyes go to the underwear in my open palm, and he looks up at me. When our eyes cross, I want to die on the spot but the flame in his eyes lights me up again. My entire body feels warm in the cold night, and I can’t trust my senses anymore.
He finishes his cigarette, throwing it in the grass without a care in the world.
“Tell you what,” he says with a confidence that makes me unstable on my feet. He doesn’t even whisper, no fear of getting caught whatsoever. “I’ll let this whole thing go if you wear these for me under your skirt tomorrow. Think you can do that?”
My mouth drops open as I nod dumbly.
“Let me hear you say it, Miss Stewart.”
“Y-yes, I can do that,” I say as more heat creeps up my cheeks.
“Good girl,” he smiles. “Now off you go before someone else catches you.”
My legs feel like jelly as I run toward the chapel.
Was that a dream? Did I just get played at my own game? It doesn’t matter because this is exactly like what I wanted anyway.
Then why doesn’t my heart stop beating crazily at the thought of Hayes? Why do I feel like this was his choice and not mine.
CHAPTER FOUR
ROMAN
I wouldn’t call myself a liar. I twist the truth to my advantage most of the time. I’m a crook after all. A criminal. This is what I do.
But I wasn’t twisting the truth when I told Ms. Moore I wouldn’t be interested in her girls. I’m not that kind of man. I’m a predator, but not that kind. I like my women experienced. I like them to think they’re choosing wisely and smartly when they put their trust in me and I fuck the living hell out of them. The best part is them thinking they chose the handsome man who will rock their world and then realizing I’m the villain who will make them submit until they can’t take anymore.
That’s why I like experienced women. They know their limits, and it’s a delight to push them past it.
So why the fuck do I lose grip over my sanity as soon as Haley Stewart is in the vicinity. She walks around the school with that arrogant look about her, her tits bouncing in her tight shirts like they’re always about to pop every single button. She leaves her deep brown hair down, letting it fall to her narrow waist and making me want to grab her and break her in one tight hold.
The worst thing—or the best—is the way she looks at everyone. Her eyes are such a dark brown, they look black. She glares at anyone who dares cross her gaze and silently challenges them to rile her up just so she can be horrible to them. I love girls who think they are strong.
I take great pleasure in proving them wrong.
I might have gone too far yesterday. I had her trapped and her fear of Ms. Moore was palpable. She would have done anything not to be taken to her. If I really think about it, I was good. Any other man in my situation with such a beautiful, vulnerable girl would have taken advantage of it. Well, further than I have. All I asked for was a little show.
There’s something about Haley that brings out the worst part of me. The one that is so wrong, it makes me want to give into my need to be bad.
When I walk into class, she’s standing around with her friend Katya. She rolled her skirt at the waist a few times to make it shorter and a smile tips at the corner of my mouth before I lick my lips and force it to disappear.
If I’m bad, she’s depraved.
I hear Katya tell Haley that she’s incorrigible before they make their way to the back of the class. She’s looking around, staring daggers at girls who dare look her directly in the eyes and taunting the weak, good girls who are bothered by her attitude and too shy or scared to say anything about it.
A small girl called Claire comes to me, but I barely hear what she’s saying.
