Page 13

How I missed my big brother so fucking much. He was the only thing sane about the arranged marriage to Ferdinand. He knew my parents were grasping at straws since they spent their fortune living lavish lives to keep up with the other fake wealthy ass families.

Their outward appearance to the world meant more to them than their own fucking children.

My dad had gotten nabbed for embezzling money, and to prevent a scandal in our bloodline, he auctioned me off like cattle to the highest bidder...

“Come on, little sister. It’s time to pretend again. And don’t worry I snagged you a scone.”

Noah was at my doorway, leaning casually against the frame, tempting me with one of those delicious treats.

“Mom would have a cow if she saw you giving me actual food ya’ know. She already keeps saying I need to work out or I will never marry.”

Noah snickered, “Yeah, mom’s always been into ‘optimal health’, but everyone likes different flavors. I doubt you want mom's idea of a husband anyways.”

I grimaced at that grand idea and my brother laughed harder. “Hmm. Is that why you look like a blow-up doll?”

He feigned hurt, holding his heart and imitating a gunshot, which only made me laugh harder.

“Children! Come down here immediately. Fallon, you have a guest, and you are being incredibly rude.”

Our eyes traveled to the stairs out in the hall and a feeling of dread came over me.

“A guest? Who? Noah, what’s going on?”

Fear thundered through me at his blue eyes. The sympathy and...guilt?

“C’mon little sis. You got this. I am always going to be here for you.”

That night I was promised to Ferdinand and everything changed.

The accident that took my brother sealed my fate to be alone forever. Trapped to a man that didn’t love me at all, only saw me as a trophy to be shown to others.

“Mr. Grosvenor sends his apologies for not attending tonight’s party.”

I blinked, bringing myself back to my fucked up reality, staring into the eyes of my fiancé’s sweet butler.

“I like you better,” I said, winking at him.

He blushed and adjusted his suit jacket, not realizing I wasn’t kidding in the slightest.

I tapped my pen on my desk, shaking off the anxious feeling that hadn’t left me since my shower. I’d run through my house buck naked, checking every crevice and corner of that house because of him, so he could fuck all the way off.

His words were still making my skin tingle, and now I was staring at the devil himself teaching in his black button-down, his sleeves rolled up, and those inked fucking hands flexing with his movements.

I shook my head, trying to focus on what he was saying.

Perception .

He was talking about perception and the difference in how people respond.

“A great example of perception is how someone views tattoos,” he said casually, unbuttoning the top few buttons of his shirt.

That simple action revealed his neck tattoo, a sunflower with a dagger impaling its center. I think every face—even the men in the room—were beat red from blushing.

The chirpy bitch up front piped up. “Some people have multiple perceptions.”

He chuckled, the masculine rumble making my stomach flip. He walked up to her seat and slid his sleeves up further on his arms, the buttons straining to hang on when he pulled them up by his biceps.

Dear god, was his whole body covered in intricate tattoos?

I slunk down in my seat, imagining that if I kept going down, maybe I could disappear into the tile underneath me.

“You tell me,” he said, his voice low. Baring his tattooed arms and leaning down to be at her eye level, he met her gaze. “What multiple perceptions do these create for you?”

Her gulp was audible in the room. It was so fucking quiet as he stared her down, waiting for her to answer.

Her mouth opened and closed, her tongue too tied at his proximity to form words.

When she was silent for a minute, he smiled his panty-dropper smirk and raised back up to his giant level height.

He patted her head like a dog. “Fear is the response most people feel statistically. The learned stigma that bad people have tattoos. So feeling as if one is in danger is a common sensation when seeing inked skin.”

Professor Masters walked through the rows of our desks, his hand trailing on the surface of some as he continued.

“However, there is another perception.”

He was walking closer to me, and I could see his tall form shadowing my desk as I peeked over the flat table in front of me.

“Attraction,” he continued, his tone going lower.

I felt like he was looking at me—just at me. Well, he also kept walking toward my desk.

“Can anyone guess what emotion that evokes with this perception?” he said, looking around at each student but ignoring the hands rising.

Reaching up, he unbuttoned more of those buttons, going slowly down, the tattoos on his chest being revealed, along with the designs on his navel, and lastly, the adonis belt formed into his muscular body.

Was it warm in here?

“Fallon,” he said, a dangerous toying edge to his voice.

He was right in front of my desk now, his thick package bulging in his dress pants. I lifted my head, my eyes roving up his body in slow motion, ogling every damn inked line of muscle on his tanned skin.

“What do you feel, Little Voyeur?” His words were low, like it was a secret whispered only to me.

I wasn’t letting this ungodly hot asshole fuck with me. He was trying to make me look stupid.

I straightened in my seat and stared him right in the eye, having to crane my neck and be blinded by the damn lights on the ceiling because of his stupid gigantic height.

“Arousal,” I said sternly.

His smile was primal. His eyes devoured my damn soul, sliding down my body and all but boring a hole through my desk to my clenching pussy.

Fuck you.

“Good girl,” he said, rubbing his scruff on his face, his finger brushing over his lips.

I had to bite mine to keep from squeaking pathetically like a cat in heat.

When will the class be over so I can get the fuck away from him?

As if nothing happened, he turned around and walked back to the front. His shirt buttoned up again, his voice casual like nothing happened.

I listened to the people chattering around me while discussing our assignment. I couldn’t just snap back to normal like he could. I was still reeling, and that damn shower still had me on edge. I could have sworn I felt a physical hand in the darkness using the sprayer on me…

His voice was too real, too close…

I was losing my fucking mind. My phone buzzed, so I glanced at the screen. Ferdinand was asking if I liked my costume, and the thought made me cringe. I spent the rest of class texting Sasha about this damn party and telling her to meet me at the cafeteria for lunch.

The whole time, I couldn’t avert my gaze from the front of the class.

And he was looking at me too. Our eyes never broke contact, a tether invisible to others but no less strong, forcing me to keep his eyes locked with mine.

He was sitting at his desk, which may as well have been a thousand miles away from how far back I was. Everyone was busy doing classwork or screwing around on their laptop or phones.

His hand was running over his lips again, a sparkly black ring catching the light with his movements. I glared at him, not wavering with his teasing. His smile was slow, lazy, and dangerous. I quirked an eyebrow when he moved his hand from his lips and slowly dropped it behind the desk.

My eyes widened.

He wouldn’t fucking dare.

Even through the chattering oblivion of the students around, I heard that belt buckle clattering as it hit his metal seat. Anyone could look over and see what he was doing. His arm was hidden behind the desk, but his biceps were visible, and they were moving in a bunched, slow, forward motion.

My mouth fell open, disbelief that he was so blatantly touching himself in the middle of fucking class! I blinked rapidly, trying to keep my focus on his face, ignoring my peripherals and his hand increasing in speed.

He bit his bottom lip, sinking back into his chair and letting his mouth fall open slightly.

His gaze felt too intense. His eyes were practically glowing a light green.

I couldn’t breathe, my body feeling so damn heated in my seat.

Awareness of the cold metal under my pussy whipped through my core.

The cool touch reminded me of that chilly water in the shower.

Why had I run off without fucking underwear?

Internally chastising myself, I looked around at the other students. Not a single person was looking anywhere near the professor, but he was mouthing two words.

I wasn’t versed all that well in ASL. I had taken a few classes in the summer, and I felt like that was why I was able to read his lips perfectly as his hand became a blur behind his desk.

He mouthed the words, ‘Little Voyeur.’