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“All the real business is being done in the back rooms.” One girl twitters.
“Yeah, by your second year you should at least have an apartment or something. Agatha Thorncastle is engaged to a guy she met here,” her friend chimes in.
“That’s just because she’s a Thorncastle fromtheThorncastles and her family is as rich as the Shipmoores. The best our impoverished asses can hope for is to be set up in stylewhile we attend school here. I haven’t heard of anyone who isn’t wealthy already snagging one of these guys long-term.
My heart drops into my stomach as I busy myself adjusting my dress and slipping my lips gloss into my pocket. Is that what I was to him? Just a warm body he could amuse himself with while he pursued his doctorate. Maybe that’s why he didn’t come back, maybe he found someone else or met an heiress.
I catch my reflection under the light and blush harder. Even though my skin is dark, the undertones make my cheeks rosy when I get upset. Never seen a Black girl blush beet red then you haven’t met me. Thankfully no one notices as I make my way out of the bathroom.
On one side of me is a darkened corridor where I’m sure girls are auditioning in hopes of becoming girlfriends to the elite. In front of me is the ballroom, which I’ve had enough of thank you very much. To my right leads out to the gardens.
Deciding I could use a breath of fresh air I head toward the ornate double doors leading outside.
Thrusting them open I take a deep cleansing breath of the jasmine and cherry blossom scented night air.
“I’m glad you finally decided to join me, Taylor-chan.”
“Eep.” I nearly jump out of my skin at the sound of the cold low voice coming from the shadows right before a heavy hand drags me into the dark alcove.
Chapter
Three
Taylor
“Did you have fun tormenting me?”he demands, whispering low in my ear. His hard body is pressed against every curve of my body. I feel a very distinct hardness pressing into the small of my back as he dips down whispering his menace into my ears.
His ragged breath causes warm puffs of air to tickle my lobe. I can’t stop the accompanying shiver. His hands pressing just beneath my breasts tighten pressing me closer to him.
“Answer me,” he growls.
“I-I umm… yes.” I did have fun. Why lie about it? His hand curls into a fist bunching my dress. What happened to the gentleman who was my dinner companion? He’s morphed into someone I don’t know. I whimper. It’s not from fear I belatedly realize.
My experience with men is nil. Still, I know this is not normal. This intensity is not what I’m used to. My parents arepassionately in love but this? The edge of violence, coupled with my reaction to his ferocious focus on me, is so unnerving.
“You left. You said I would dance with you then you disappeared.” My answer seems to appease him — a little. He releases my dress and starts to smooth circles just beneath my heavy breasts. Each brush of his fingers against the skin of my lower breasts has my body responding, my thighs clench as the ache from earlier returns with a vengeance. My nipples harden to an almost painful degree. They press against the silk chiffon as if begging for him to pay them the same attention as he’s giving my upper tummy. The night air brushes against me heightening my senses. It takes me a moment to take in his words.
“I thought you’d follow me,” he says in a grumpy way that indicates I should know what to do in situations like this — sneaking away from a gala for five hundred, Alex.
“Being a shortie makes it hard for me to find people in crowds.” I shrug in a self-deprecating way.
He spins me around his eyes intensely roaming over my body from head to toe then back again before coming to rest on the twin protrusions begging for his touch. “You’re perfect,” he says, dragging his eyes back up to mine. “Absolutely perfect. May I kiss you, Taylor-chan.”
My ‘yes’ is swallowed by his groan as his lips cover mine. He tastes like cinnamon and smoke. My toes curl as his soft lips drag over mine from side to side. His hands cup my face just beneath my jaw. He angles my head back.
“Open for me,” he whispers.
I do. He claims me. His tongue delves into my eager mouth. His possession is no less intense by his gentle thoroughness. Wrapping my arms around his neck I draw him closer.
He groans, pulling me tighter, our bodies touching everywhere. I can feel the hard press of his dick as he lifts meto make our bodies fit. With one hand holding my waist and the other one beneath my body he holds me effortlessly, like my curves mean nothing against his incredible strength. I melt.
Losing myself, I don’t resist as he takes my mouth like he owns me, hell like I owe him money. His tongue sweeps in. Tentatively I touch mine to his. A guttural groan rocks between us. Moisture blooms between my legs in an attempt to water my thirsty flower making it ready to be plowed by him. I press closer, forgetting everything — getting caught up and losing my fellowship and reputation, the fact I’ve never done anything remotely close to this, the fact we just met, and I know nothing beyond his name, his mom is mean as hell, his brother is aloof, and his dad is the peacemaker. I didn’t even know he was in the doctorate program until Alexa told me. Those thoughts flit through my head but they don’t take hold. It’s like I can’t catch them, it’s like they are wisps of dandelions flying by on a spring day back home when I used to visit Shelby-Love, a brief distraction.
He deepens the kiss sucking my tongue into his mouth. Always a quick learner, I mimic his earlier actions. I sweep my tongue in the warm cavern of his mouth. Soon we are battling, sucking, savoring. He makes me take him. I suck on his tongue as he thrusts rhythmically into my mouth.
His dick kicks and I can’t help rubbing against his throbbing hardness. It’s like his body is the answer to every question my body has. His hard chest presses against my breasts, assuaging the ache there, while still holding the promise of more pleasure. His hard thighs against my soft ones are a foundation to build the sensual heat permeating from us. His strong arms hold me like it’s nothing letting me know he’s got me through this and if I want, he’ll see me through to the end.
“And what will that end be silly, little girl?” I can almost hear my mother ask. “Being set up as some rich man’s plaything? You were made for better, Taylor Miranda Love.”
