Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 127146 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 636(@200wpm)___ 509(@250wpm)___ 424(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127146 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 636(@200wpm)___ 509(@250wpm)___ 424(@300wpm)
"Ugh, it's cold."
"I walked from the mill to here. Of course it's cold."
With a roll of her eyes, she reaches under the desk and grabs an old battered thermos that looks like it belongs in a 1901 mining biopic. I extend my cup toward her, and she refills it with steamy coffee. When I let out a long sigh and sip again, it earns me a smile. A smile that does something in my chest, twisting things around, and burrowing a thorn deep enough to leave a gash. Fresh blood fills that small crevice, the warmth of it a small dot in my normally icy, barren chest.
Since it's not something I want to touch at the moment, I push the thought to the back of my mind and focus my sole attention on her. "Well, I have good news, and since you’re down a client, this should help. I need a tutor."
She stares at me dumbfounded for a few moments and then whispers the question as if it’s a secret. "A tutor for what?"
"For myself, obviously." I grin.
A smile tips at the corner of her lips, and then it grows until she bursts into full on laughter. Her slim arms wrap around her middle, and she chuckles like I’ve told her the most hilarious joke of all time. It’s honestly kind of cute how she tips her head back, and how she appears to let go and be herself for one moment. It’s like looking through a telescope into space at a star, knowing you’ll only see it implode on itself once. It’s also something I have little patience for…
"Laugh it up, flower, but what if I pay you five hundred dollars a session?"
She goes from smiling to neutral in two seconds flat. Not a joke anymore, huh?
Suddenly, I’m the one smiling. "You can't...that would be...too much," she finishes softly as if she can't really believe the words she’s saying. "Besides, I'd kill you."
My smile becomes a full-on grin, turning up the charm, something she hasn't seen a lot of from me yet. I say, "I can, and I will, but I'd have a few conditions."
"Of course you would. You wouldn’t be you without conditions." Her delicate eyebrow arches in question, almost as if she’s waiting for me to reveal said conditions, and I bite, continuing to speak.
"This arrangement would secure your services for me exclusively."
She shakes her head, gold strands of hair start to fly, and her pretty pink lips part. I know she’s about to start sputtering some nonsense, so I grab the pencil in front of her and place it between her lips. "Be quiet and let me finish, or I’ll put something else in your mouth that I know will keep you quiet."
She takes the pencil out, and I give her a warning glare. "Exclusive services, tutoring sessions whenever I need them. You help me get to the top of the class.”
She jerks the pencil from her mouth and throws it at my chest. It's easy enough to catch, and I tuck it behind my ear, still damp from her pretty lips.
“What’s the catch, Andrew?” The way she says my full name grinds over every last nerve ending in my body.
“No catch. I admit I've let things slip a little. Football is important, and they'll bench me if my grades fall too far. Anything but stellar performance is a failure to my father.” The mere mention of him makes my blood boil. The rage and anger are always lurking beneath the mask, threatening to bubble up and over and reveal the real man beneath. I remember her question from last night. She wanted to know why my friends would speak to my father and tell him things, and I don’t have an answer. I’m trying to figure that out myself.
"Oh yes, I forgot. You rich boys and your overbearing need to please your fathers.” She shakes her head, and the tension snaps, crackling and popping like fire. I lurch forward and grip her by the back of the neck, giving her no escape. A kitten-like whimper escapes her lips, and I squeeze a little tighter. I want to hear her make that sound again, for me. Only ever for me.
“Let go of me,” she hisses.
“No, because what you said pissed me off, and you don’t seem to understand what I’m saying unless I’m inside you or physically touching you.” I peer down at her, noticing the slight dilation in her pupils and the rapid rise and fall of her chest. I’d bet her nipples are tight little peaks, and that pretty pussy of hers probably weeps in despair for my cock at this very moment. Perhaps I’ve made a slut out of the sweet and innocent wallflower.
“This has nothing to do with pleasing my father. I don’t give a fuck about what my father wants. This is what I want. Football… It means something to me. It’s one of the few things that actually fucking matter in my life, and if I don’t have it as an outlet…” I’m unable to finish speaking because confessing out loud what I might become terrifies me.