by Sofia Daniel
“Why did you stop? Too chicken to make a girl cum in the middle of a dance floor?”
Orlando slid the pad of his finger back and forth against my clit. Pleasure surged between my legs, making me moan.
Maxwell kneaded my breasts. “Are you too chicken to get on your knees?”
My legs trembled with the effort of keeping myself upright when all I wanted to do was lie back and submit to the intense sensations emerging from my clit.
Leaning against Orlando’s chest, I bit down hard on my lip. “I’m a bit busy right now.”
A drum solo played over the bossa nova track. Orlando sped up his fingers, intensifying my pleasure. Maxwell leaned forward and sucked on my neck, while Orlando teased my clit to a shuddering climax.
I twitched and spasmed against the onslaught of ecstasy, probably looking like I was having a fit, but the boys kept me upright until I cried out my release.
“That was so hot.” Orlando slipped his finger out from between my folds and sucked it into his mouth.
Maxwell grabbed my wrist and shoved my hand onto the hard bulge in his leather pants. “We’re going to the chill-out room. Now.”
A fast samba song started with a male vocalist singing in rapid Portuguese.
I swayed on my feet and fanned myself. “Thirsty.”
Orlando handed me back my bottle of Smirnoff Ice.
“Thanks.” As I downed the rest of the bottle, I spied the boys exchanging smirks. The kind of self-satisfied expressions that said they were due their blowjobs.
“I’ve got to take off my knickers,” I said. “They’re sopping wet.”
“Can’t you just ignore it?” asked Orlando.
Shaking my head, I backed toward the exit. “It won’t take a minute.”
I hurried into the garage room and glanced over my shoulder to find Maxwell and Orlando at my heels. Shit. That’s what I got for messing with two angry, horny boys.
A pair of security guards stood on the outskirts of the dance floor. I rushed up to the largest one and shouted. “Two guys won’t stop following me around. They want me to go to the chill-out room and suck them off.”
The guard scowled. “Where?”
I hooked my thumb over my shoulder. “The two shirtless wankers.”
The guard gave me a nod and walked toward them. “Wait here.”
Orlando and Maxwell’s eyes widened as the guard approached. I ducked behind the second security guy, raced through the door to the cloakroom, and collected my coat.
The little voice in the back of my head told me that my deception would bite me in the ass on Monday when the boys returned to the academy, but right now, I wasn’t in the mood for self-recrimination.
Outside, I stepped into the cold night and hurried in the direction of Lachlan’s apartment building. A middle-aged couple stepped out of the main doors, and I slipped into the warm reception area and took the stairs to his floor.
After texting Gideon to tell him I’d left Wank and would meet him later, I sat on the doorstep and dozed until Lachlan and Gideon woke me in the early hours of the morning.
Chapter 23
After a leisurely Sunday breakfast at Lachlan’s place, I said goodbye to Gideon and the boys and then walked to Buchanan Street to buy some supplies.
As I headed toward the bus stop to meet Mr. McGarr, the cold November wind seeped through my leather jacket, reminding me that Christmas was only seven weeks away.
A few students from the academy waited in line, including one or two I recognized from tailoring club. Everyone was still talking about Elizabeth, who no-one had seen at the academy since her supposed meltdown.
I blocked them out, focusing on the passing traffic. That had been a tantrum. The actions of a spoiled brat pushing her luck and seeing how far she could go with her bad behavior before someone dished out a well-deserved punishment.
“Hello, Hancock.” Maeve strolled over with a black-haired boy in our year. “Finished shopping?”
I smiled. “Something like that.”
Her gaze dropped down to my overnight bag, and she grinned at me, her green eyes twinkling. “Don’t tell me you stayed out all night.”
“Alright, I won’t tell you.”
“Do you have a boyfriend in Glasgow?” she asked.
I shook my head.
“Hancock and Deloraine are an item?” The boy frowned. “Or Hancock and Adewale?”
A smirk crossed my lips. The truth was far more complicated. Last night had been almost as hot as that time in the back of the limo.
A small part of me had been tempted to go back with Orlando and Maxwell, have that spit roast and throw myself at the mercy of Mr. Burgh if things went horribly wrong.
“Are you seeing them both?”
I shook my head. “We’re just friends.”
The arrival of Mr. McGarr’s minibus cut short their speculations. Everyone crammed themselves in the front seats to continue gossiping about Elizabeth’s mental state, but I stretched out at the back and dozed through the entire journey.
In my dreams, it was three men kissing and caressing me instead of two.
On Sunday evening, I stepped into the dining room to find most of the tables occupied. Mr. Burgh chatted with Mrs. Campbell, and Mr. McGarr sat on the other end of the table, laughing with the teacher whose identical red hair and similar features made me suspect they were brothers.
Elizabeth wasn’t at her usual table. Instead, I met the stony faces of Orlando and Kendrick.
Blue balls were apparently a bitch.
I walked over to the table I shared with Gideon to find Kendrick giving me his most ferocious scowl. Ignoring him, I lowered myself into my seat and took a wholewheat roll from the breadbasket.
“I heard you met Maxwell and Orlando last night,” he said.
“So?” I pulled the butter dish close and carved myself a generous piece.
“What’s going on between you three?”
Memories of their busy hands, soft lips, and hard dicks invaded my mind. Heat rushed between my legs, and I clamped them together. Getting off on the dance floor, in full view of everyone in the nu-jazz room, had been the hottest experience of my life.
“Not much.” I unsuccessfully suppressed a smirk.
In fairytales, Cinderella only danced with one prince, and she ran away before the ball had finished. Not only had my two guys given me what I wanted, but I’d left them hot and hard.
“They seem to think…” Kendrick picked up a bread roll and tore it in half. A muscle in his jaw flexed, as though he was trying to work out the most delicate way of telling me I was a prick tease. “Maxwell seems to believe you are interested in him but are playing hard to get.”
“There’s a huge difference between finding someone physically attractive and liking them. Your brother and your best friend are dicks.”
A waitress arrived and ladled steaming servings of minestrone into our bowls.
I inhaled its herby aroma and sighed. This was nothing like the canned version we shoved in the microwave. Unlike the mush with bits of pasta I was used to, this soup was more like a thick broth filled with recognizable chunks of vegetables, meat, and pasta shells.
“They’re actually very loyal when you get to know them,” said Kendrick.
“Right.” I took a spoonful and savored the explosion of tastes and didn’t bother to remind him of their attempt to turn me into the star of a Templar Academy sex tape.
We ate our soup in silence, and I tried to focus on the fresh ingredients instead of the wankers glaring at me from the other side of the dining room. Kendrick’s annoyed sighs weren’t helping, and I wondered if this was his version of a tantrum or if this was him building up to a rant.
Eventually, he spoke. “Lilah, am I wasting my time with you?”
“What do you mean?” I raised my head to meet his annoyed, gray eyes.
“I want to know if you’re stringing me along.” He picked up his spoon and stirred his barely-touched minestrone. �
��At first, I thought you mistrusted me because of Maxwell and Orlando, but hearing what you did with them last night is confusing.”
I pressed my lips together, let out a frustrated breath, and shot the other two a glower for telling tales. Then I turned back to Kendrick and asked, “Did I ever once say we were dating?”
“No.”
“And did I give you a probationary period to gain my trust before we dated?” I asked.
He shook his head.
“I told you I wasn’t interested, remember?”
“Yes,” he muttered.
“Then you’re annoyed because I haven’t played along with the relationship you’ve made up in your head?”
Kendrick frowned. “You make me sound deluded. Regardless of what you’ve said, it’s clear that you’ve been testing my trustworthiness.”
I sipped from my water glass and sighed. Kendrick wasn’t as deluded as I had suggested. Beneath that proper exterior was a decent personality, and a body identical to Maxwell’s, which I found attractive beyond belief. There was so much about Kendrick to like.
Back at the other table, Orlando and Maxwell had stopped eating to stare openly at us. My lips pinched with annoyance. What was this? A lip-reading contest? I turned back to Kendrick, leaned forward, eyes wide and observing and expectant.
I broke off a piece of bread and buttered it. If only he came without the devious twin brother and asshole best friend. I would have dated him in a snap.
“Lilah,” he said, adding a bit of bite to the word. “You and I have a great rapport. And I’ve seen you cast me several admiring glances.”
“Maybe I have been watching out for signs of dickheaddery,” I said.
He chuckled. “Is that even a word?”
“Yeah. I just made it up.”
The sweetest of smiles formed on his full, kissable lips. “And am I a dickhead?”
“Not by behavior.”
His face dropped. “But by association.”
I nodded.
Kendrick pushed away his soup bowl. “What will it take for you to trust me?”
I raised my head and watched Orlando whisper something to Maxwell, who turned in our direction and shook his head. They were scheming against me. Again. I knew their type. They wouldn’t ever forgive me for getting them suspended, even if I had sucked them both off.
In Richley, blackmailers and bullies always demanded something reasonable at first. An easily payable but large-enough sum to ensure that their mark would believe it to be worth paying to get the bastards off their back. And it would work for a short time. Then the blackmailer or bully would get greedy and demand more. The game would continue until the mark ran out of cash or lashed out.
I spread a dab of butter on my bread. The best way to avoid the trap was never to pay a blackmailer. Either call their bluff or strike hard enough to make them back off.
Since Orlando and Maxwell had nothing on me, I wasn’t obliged to give them attention, blowjobs, or anything else.
“Was that too difficult a question?” asked Kendrick.
Kendrick’s words snapped me out of my musings. The waitresses had already removed our bowls of minestrone and replaced them with bite-sized, folded-over pizzas. I think they were called calzone.
I turned back to him and said, “What’s that?”
“How can I convince you that I’m trustworthy?”
Picking up my mini calzone between my thumb and forefinger, I said, “You can’t.”
His handsome features pinched. “What if I swear never to help my brother or Orlando on any acts of revenge against you?”
“Not good enough.”
“And if I promise to inform you of any plans against you?”
I rolled my eyes and placed my calzone back on my plate. “Promises aren’t worth shit. People swear on the bible all the time that they’ll tell the whole truth, but that doesn’t stop them from lying. Why would I believe you wouldn’t side with your brother against me?”
His features pinched with disapproval. “I’ve wasted my time.”
“I never once said this was a relationship.”
Kendrick dipped his head. “What is it with beautiful blondes?”
I snatched a mini calzone off my plate and took a bite, barely enjoying its pepperoni taste. Gideon rushed into the room and slipped into his seat, his eyes glittering like polished ebony.
“Good evening,” he said. “What did I miss?”
“I was about to ask Lilah to accompany me to the Glaswegian Hotel restaurant after her entry to the charity auction won the highest bid,” said Kendrick.
My shoulders slumped. Hadn’t he heard a single word I had said? “Ken—”
“As friends, of course,” he added.
Gideon’s brows rose. “Did you know the Glaswegian restaurant has three Michelin stars? I’ve been trying to convince my parents to take me there for years!”
“Really?” I turned to Kendrick, who beamed. “What’s the catch?”
He raised his palms. “That you continue to be my friend.”
“You have to go,” Gideon exclaimed. “I picked up a copy of the Glasgow Gazette. Andrew Wilson is in town. The quality will be exceptional!”
If the thought of this fancy chef cooking at his three-star Michelin restaurant got Gideon this animated, it had to be the opportunity of a lifetime. I turned to Kendrick, who looked like he hadn’t breathed since he had made his invitation.
“Alright,” I said. “We can go as friends.”
Chapter 24
Elizabeth didn’t return to the academy on Monday, and she stayed away the entire week.
The next Sunday evening, I had dinner with Mr. Burgh, who refused to discuss her unexplained disappearance.
When she didn’t return the following week, I began to believe in the rumors that she’d had a nervous breakdown and was now languishing in a mental hospital.
The Monday before the end of term, Elizabeth returned to the academy without explanation. She sat between Orlando and Maxwell with her back straight.
Maxwell stared at her untouched breakfast but didn’t speak. Up at the head table, Father Neapolitan perched next to Mrs. Campbell like a vulture, staring down at the students with his lip curled.
I turned to Kendrick. “Do you know why she left?”
His brows furrowed. “According to Max, she said she returned home to help her father recover from his recent surgery.”
“Anything serious?” I glanced at Elizabeth, who stared straight ahead, seeming lost in her own thoughts.
“Nobody knows, but I suppose anything affecting a man that age can’t be good.”
I picked up the milk jug and added a splash to my porridge, which had gotten dry while I had waited for it to cool. “How old is he?”
“Older than the headmaster.”
My brows drew together. Mr. Burgh had mentioned being recruited by the archbishop, so I suppose it made sense that he was older.
But Lady Liddell looked about fifty. She had the same ageless quality as Miss Martin, and it wouldn’t surprise me if she’d treated herself to a few rounds of Botox.
“I’ve made a reservation for Saturday,” said Kendrick.
“How did you get a table?” Gideon took a slice of toast off the rack.
Tipping over a bowl of raspberries, I hid a smile. Even though Kendrick had said we would go as friends, I suspected he would ask me to reconsider our relationship.
Orlando and Maxwell had kept their interactions to glowers and the occasional growl as I passed them in the hallway, which I guessed was the influence of Kendrick.
Ninety-nine-point-nine percent of me wanted to say yes. But the other point-one percent was a vocal little bitch who held me back from fully trusting anyone associated with the occupants of Elizabeth’s table.
Up in the attic, I stood behind my tailor’s dummy, which had been arranged in a row of others. Each was clad in the creations we had made for the charity auction. Miss Martin inspected each garment’
s hem, collar, and interior stitching.
“Miss McDonald,” she said to a short girl whose face had turned red. “You forgot to attach the lining to your jacket.”
The girl clapped her hands over her mouth. “Sorry!”
Miss Martin moved to the dress next to mine and walked around to the back. She beckoned Maeve over and pointed at a tangle of thread at the base of the hip.
“This needs unpicking,” she said. “You may as well finish it by hand.”
Maeve nodded. “Thank you, Miss.”
My heart thudded with trepidation. I had created a cashmere tuxedo dress with silk lapels and matching pocket flaps, using the tailoring skills our teacher had taught us throughout the term. The garment was cinched at the waist with a gentle flare at the skirt to create an hourglass shape.
Maybe it had been my attempt to impress the woman, but I hadn’t fallen back on any of the techniques I’d used for years in the sewing room. This dress was more haute couture than anything I’d ever created, and I longed to pass Miss Martin’s inspection.
When she reached my dummy, I stopped breathing. The fashion teacher wore a knee-length sheath dress with a scoop collar and darts that swept down from bust to hip. Not a difficult garment to make, but only a patient professional could have been able to cut the intricate blue-and-yellow peacock fabric to make the pattern seamless.
Miss Martin unbuttoned the dress, examined its lining, the seams, and even the buttoning. Her blood-red lips either thinned with concentration or disapproval. In my current state of mind, I couldn’t tell the difference.
After several moments, she said, “Nice work.”
It was two words, but they made my heart swell with pride.
The clock bell chimed, signifying the end of class. “Excellent work, everyone. Those of you needing to make final amendments, please do so and return your garments to me before Friday. All those who have finished, please leave them in the classroom.”
I strolled to my next class, which was business studies. Fashion and Textiles was infinitely more enjoyable now that Miss Martin had banished Elizabeth.
