Page 9 of Price of Victory (The Saints of Westmont U #5)
SEVEN
RHETT
The first chill of late September hit me as soon as I stepped out of the gym, cutting through my hoodie and making me wish I’d grabbed a jacket.
Lennox had pushed us through an extra hour of conditioning, and my muscles were still burning from the workout.
Most sane people would be heading back to their dorms for a hot shower and maybe some leftover pizza, but I needed to swing by the library first.
“You sure you don’t want to grab food?” Lennox asked, shouldering his gym bag. “Oliver’s making pasta tonight. There’s probably enough for three. Or ten.”
“Thanks, but I really need to get these books,” I said, pulling the reading list from my pocket. “Professor Martinez is expecting us to have read half of these by next week.”
“Your funeral,” Lennox said with a shrug. “Try not to fall asleep in the stacks.”
The library was one of those old brick buildings that looked like it had been there since the university was founded, all gothic arches and leaded windows that made studying feel like some kind of scholarly ritual.
At nine in the evening, it was mostly empty except for a few dedicated graduate students and the occasional undergraduate cramming for an exam.
I made my way to the literature section, scanning the familiar rows of books for the titles on my list. The place had that particular library smell, old paper, dust, and the faint scent of coffee from the café that had closed hours ago. It was comforting in a way, like intellectual sanctuary.
That’s when I saw him.
Aiden was sitting at one of the study tables near the back, surrounded by what looked like the entire business section of the library.
Stacks of books towered around his laptop like fortress walls, and there were crumpled balls of paper scattered across the table and floor like he’d been fighting a war with his own thoughts.
From behind, he looked nothing like his usual polished self.
His dark hair was disheveled, sticking up in places like he’d been running his hands through it.
His expensive sweater was wrinkled, and I could see the tension in his shoulders, the way he was hunched over his laptop like he was trying to will words onto the screen through sheer force of will.
I should have kept walking. Should have grabbed my books and gotten out of there before he noticed me. But something about the scene drew me closer, maybe morbid curiosity about seeing Aiden Whitmore looking less than perfect.
As I approached, I could see his laptop screen over his shoulder. A blank page stared back at him, cursor blinking mockingly in the white space. The only thing on the entire document was a title at the top: “Corporate Restructuring and Stakeholder Impact: A Case Study Analysis.”
“Professor Williams really doesn’t show any mercy with late submissions,” I said, unable to resist the smart-ass comment. “Hope you’re planning to turn that in by tomorrow.”
Aiden’s shoulders went rigid, and he turned around slowly to face me. His green eyes were bloodshot, and there were dark circles under them that even his perfect genetics couldn’t hide. But when he saw me, his mouth curved into that familiar smirk, like he was slipping back into his armor.
“Funny you should mention submission, Morrison,” he said, his voice carrying that lazy drawl that always made my pulse quicken. “You seem like you’d be good at it.”
Heat rushed to my face so fast it was probably visible in the dim library lighting.
Images flooded my mind. Aiden’s naked body in the locker room, water running down his chest, that confident smile as he’d toweled off without a care in the world.
The idea of submitting to him, of letting him take control, made me feel like I’d swallowed pure fire.
“Fuck you,” I said, angrier at myself than at him for the way my body was reacting.
“That’s the spirit,” Aiden said, clearly entertained by my discomfort. “I love it when you get all flustered. Makes those pretty brown eyes go all dark and dangerous.”
I could feel my face burning hotter, and I hated that he could read me so easily. He knew exactly what effect he had on me, and he was enjoying every second of it. It was just another game to him, another way to prove he had power over me.
“You know,” he continued, leaning back in his chair like he had all the time in the world, “if you wanted some practice with the whole submission thing, I know a nice quiet spot between the philosophy stacks. I really am as good as I’m claiming.”
“I wouldn’t touch you if my life depended on it,” I bit out, trying to ignore the way my body was betraying me.
Aiden’s expression shifted, something cold and hurt flashing across his features before he covered it with that practiced indifference. “Then what’s the fucking point of you?”
“I was just offering friendly advice,” I said, gesturing toward his laptop. “About the strict submission deadlines with this professor.”
“Friendly advice.” Aiden’s voice was flat, dangerous. “Right. Because that’s exactly what I need right now. More friendly fucking advice.”
I crossed my arms, suddenly defensive. “What’s your deal?”
That’s when something inside him snapped.
“My deal?” he said, his voice rising just enough to echo in the quiet library.
“My deal is that I’m sick of people feeding me friendly advice about the way things have to be done.
All I want is one fucking hour where I’m not being led somewhere on a tight leash.
Or, since you’re so insistent on it, guilted for shit I haven’t done. ”
“Your family nearly ruined mine,” I said, because it was the truth and because I was tired of pretending it didn’t matter.
“I don’t care.” The words came out like a slap, and I could see the exact moment when Aiden realized he’d said too much.
But instead of backing down, he doubled down, letting everything pour out in a torrent of anger and frustration.
“My father is a megalomaniac who never has enough. Never enough money, never enough power, never enough control over every aspect of my life. So if you think I’m going to worry about your little startup, you’re barking up the wrong fucking tree, buddy.
I can’t get him off my ass about hockey.
Do you think I can make him apologize to your daddy?
And for what? Because his feelings are hurt?
Grow up, Morrison. I’ve got bigger problems than your selfish ass can imagine.
Collapsing in the middle of a meeting and nearly taking a hike couldn’t slow down my father’s crusade of achieving everything he wants, including dictating my every breath, blink, and hiccup. ”
The words hung in the air between us, and I felt my heart thunder in my chest. “Collapsing?”
The color drained from Aiden’s face as he realized what he’d just revealed. In an instant, he was on his feet and moving toward me, his expression shifting from vulnerability to something dangerous and predatory.
He slammed into me like a cat about to kill, pressing my back hard against the bookshelf behind me with enough force to make several books tumble to the floor. His hands were braced on either side of my head, caging me in, and his face was inches from mine.
“Don’t you fucking dare,” he growled, his voice low and sinister.
A lock of dark hair had fallen over his eye, and in the dim reading light from the nearby desks, he looked achingly beautiful and completely terrifying.
“I’ve let you off the hook because of your naughty doe eyes and that cute butt, but don’t think for a second I won’t shred you into pieces if you repeat what you just heard.
I’ll rip your heart out, do you hear me? ”
I could see the fear in his eyes, the desperation poorly disguised as aggression. And for a moment, I felt something that might have been compassion. But then the threat registered, and I shoved him back, hard.
“How come none of the shareholders know about this?” I asked, the words spilling out before I could stop them. I knew it was wrong to say it, knew I was hitting him where it hurt most, but I couldn’t help myself.
The fear on his face was instant and absolute. Before I could react, his hand was around my throat, not squeezing but holding me in place as he brought his face so close to mine that I could feel his breath on my lips.
“All in good time, you little shit,” he said, his voice deadly quiet. “And if it happens a moment sooner, I’ll know it’s you. Then I’ll stop being so nice.”
My heart was pounding so hard I was sure he could feel it, but I glared back at him anyway. “You already ruined my life in a million ways. I’d like to see you try to make it worse.”
Aiden’s eyebrows jumped playfully, and he pressed against me a fraction harder, his body warm and solid against mine. “Are you seriously getting hard, you little freak? This is what gets you off?”
The embarrassment hit me like an abyss opening in my chest. Because he was right—I was hard, and the combination of his threat and his proximity was doing things to my body that I didn’t want to examine too closely.
I shoved him back again, putting distance between us. “Go to hell.”
Aiden chuckled, but there was something softer in his expression now, almost fond. “Not shaming you,” he said. “Hell, if you ask me very nicely, I might help you with that.”
“Go to hell,” I repeated, turning to leave.
But his hand shot out and grabbed my wrist, and I hated myself for letting him do that again and for the way my pulse jumped at the contact. When I looked back at him, the shameless flirting was still there, but underneath it was actual panic, poorly disguised and desperate.
“Seriously,” he said, his voice quieter now. “Not a fucking word to anyone.”
“Seriously,” I shot back. “It’s not your fucking call.”
I pulled my wrist free and walked away, leaving him standing there among the scattered books and crumpled papers. I could feel his eyes on me as I moved through the stacks, but I didn’t look back.
The truth was, I wouldn’t tell anyone. Not because of his threats or his pleading, but because I understood now what he was carrying. The micromanagement, the lack of freedom, the crushing weight of family expectations. I knew what that felt like, even if my parents were gentler about it.
But there was something else, something that made my hands shake as I mindlessly pulled books from the shelves. The way he’d pressed me against the bookcase, the feel of his hand on my throat, the dark promise in his voice, it had awakened something in me that I didn’t know existed.
I’d discovered I had a kink for being dominated, and Aiden fucking Whitmore was the one who’d shown it to me.
The worst part was how good it had felt. How right it had seemed to have him take control, to feel that raw power radiating off him. Even now, walking through the quiet library with my heart still racing, I could feel the ghost of his touch on my skin.
I grabbed a random armload of books and headed for the checkout counter, suddenly desperate to get out of there. The librarian barely looked up as she scanned my selections, and I realized I had no idea what I’d actually picked up. I just knew I needed to leave before I did something stupid.
Like go back and take him up on his offer.
The cool night air hit me with its crispness as I stepped outside, but it did nothing to clear my head.
I was still thinking about the fear in Aiden’s eyes when he’d talked about his father, the way his voice had cracked when he’d mentioned the collapse.
And I was still thinking about the way he’d looked at me when his hand was around my throat, like he was seeing something in me that I’d never seen in myself.
This was dangerous territory. The kind of attraction that could destroy everything I’d worked for, everything I’d built. But as I walked back to my dorm through the chilly night, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was already in too deep to turn back.