by Elodie Colt
“It’s the worst grade I ever had!” she hisses, waving her hands about. “Professor Dobkowski even asked me if I was okay and if I wanted to ‘talk about it.’” She scoffs, putting the last part in quotation marks. Judging from her pout, she’s clearly pissed, but I find her outburst cute. Hell, the last time I got a C+, Mom was so happy, she burst into tears.
“Well, Professor Dobkowski has no idea what a smart girl you are, and if he ever wants to ‘talk about it,’ send him to me.” Ruby gawks at me for a moment before her face brightens up with a radiant smile. I pull her into me for a sweet kiss, feeling the sudden urge to comfort her. “You’ll do better next time.” Satisfied, she snuggles into my chest and closes her eyes to nap.
So far, so good.
The connecting-with-the-guys part went surprisingly well, although I had a hard time not to tell Aaron that his latest song Hit Me is slowly grating on my nerves. I even heard a horrid Gangnam-style version of it back in Seoul.
Matthew is a cool guy who likes to get his hands dirty just like me, but I had to be careful not to put my foot in it. Daniel is a different caliber—highly sophisticated, busy all day, and on constant alert. I guess his business calls for it. He doesn’t talk much, but he’s nice enough.
It was a little tougher to hook up with the girls. Sam was easy to talk to, but jaunty Kendra and exuberant Skyla drilled me with touchy questions, and I had to be quite inventive to evade them all. Leo is hard to read, although you can tell a lot about her with one glance at her street style clothes and tattoos. She’s callous, reclusive, and clearly asocial. When I said good morning today, she flipped me the bird and told me to shut the fuck up. Either she’s not a morning person, or she’s got her issues with Jesse. Probably both.
Soon, the jet lands on Florida soil, and I take a trembling breath when I step off the plane. To be honest, I can’t remember when I’ve last set foot in the states. I think it was about three years ago when I made my money as a casino dealer in Vegas. Or was it Texas when I worked at Papa Joe’s saloon? Hell, no idea.
Two shiny limousines wait for us when we exit, and it doesn’t take long until we roll to a halt in front of Sam’s house. Gliding out of the car, I wait for the others to file in, and Ruby frowns when I don’t make a move to get my stuff.
“Aren’t you coming inside?”
“I’ve got some stuff to do today,” is my vague answer, and I immediately feel guilty when I see her face fall. “But hey, how about we…” Yeah, what? “Have a walk on the beach tonight?”
Ruby looks surprised for a moment, then nods with a smile. “Sounds good. See you later, then.”
Tucking myself back into the car, I give the driver the directions to Jesse’s flat. Shakti gave me a ton of useful information. I know where Jesse lives and what car he drives. I also know that he’s not inventive when it comes to hiding his keys, and sure enough, I find a spare key underneath his doormat.
It’s obvious his salary is more than mediocre gathering from the designer furniture and modern-day luxuries. For the next few hours, I ransack his clothes and personal belongings, getting acquainted with everything so I can play my part.
“Game on,” I mumble when I’m done, fishing out my phone. Jesse picks up on the second ring.
“Jesse Chandler, hello?”
“Hello to you, too.”
I can hear the wheels spinning in his head as he holds his breath. “Raphael.”
“You sound annoyed.”
“I’m busy,” he quips. “What’s up?”
“Just checking in with my twin brother. We haven’t heard from each other for a while.” Leisurely, I amble into his bedroom, swerving my gaze over a row of rare stones decorating his dresser. “Where are you?”
“In Venezuela.” He’s leery. He knows I’m up to something.
“Huh.” My eyes drop to a white thong on the floor, and I slowly pick it up. I don’t need to sniff to know it belongs to Ruby, and I crumple it in my fist, bristling with anger. “I like your flat, by the way. Very state-of-the-art.”
A few seconds of silence follow. “What the fuck are you doing in my flat? And how did you even get in?”
“What the fuck are you doing with a girlfriend in Florida while you screw another in North Dakota?”
“W-what? How—”
“Tell you what,” I cut in, my tone placid. “I keep your dirty, little secret in exchange for a favor.”
He huffs a sardonic laugh, but he can’t fool me. He’s shitting his pants. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
I ignore his remark. “When we were younger, we used to share, remember? I did the math. You’ve got two girls, I’ve got none. One for each, what do you say?” I pause for dramatic effect. “Just as long as you’re in North Dakota. Ruby feels lonely, you know…”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” he barks. “Keep your hands off of Ruby, dammit! I swear if I—”
“See you in two weeks, brother.” I end the call. Let him stew in his own juice a bit and plan his next move.
Meanwhile, I text Tara telling her to let me know when Jesse decides to board the next plane. I can do without him barging in here come tomorrow morning, but knowing Jesse, he will think this through first.
If he returns before I leave, he’s busted. But if he waits until I’m gone, he might fool Ruby. Might.
You’re playing with fire, bro.
And I’m going to throw the fuel.
Work at the library is a nightmare today.
First, the data management system crashed before I even had my first cup of coffee, and it took the IT guy three hours to fix the mess.
Next, a drunk student—likely a leftover from some stupid fraternity party—bumped into a bookshelf and knocked it over. It took me forever to get the books in order again.
Then, two girls caused a scene because Jacob decided it was a great idea to fuck Emily and her best friend, Abigail, on the same night. I told them twice to calm down and let the others work in peace, but I had to throw them out after Emily bitch-slapped Abigail right in front of my desk.
Barely an hour later, I caught a guy eating a mayonnaise-dripping sandwich over an encyclopedia from the 1600s, and it was all I could do not to explode right on the spot and play nice.
I thought I had a few minutes today to study for my upcoming psychopharmacology exam, but the software crash made some data entries disappear, and I still need to fix this before my shift is over.
Not that I can concentrate on my studies today. I’m too distracted. Too absorbed. My mind churns with the amazing night I shared with Jesse after the wedding, and the million other things that happened ever since his return.
I haven’t seen him for the last three days, and I’m battling a constant onslaught of mixed feelings. Intense feelings that excite me, scare me, and make me hot at the same time.
He texted me every day, and that’s totally new to me. Sweet good-mornings making me smile. Funny jokes cheering me up. Dirty promises making me hot. I love it. I want more of it. It’s perfect.
So perfect that I can’t shake off the notion that Jesse is hiding something.
I mean, there are so many firsts, and we have been together for five years! Like, he inserts goofy smileys in his WhatsApp messages. He gives me mind-blowing orgasms. He wants me on top when we have sex. I came three times in a row without additional handiwork. He takes me for a night-walk at the beach. He kisses me as if he wants to brand my soul.
And then the slight differences I noticed…
There are lines of worry rimming his eyes I’ve never seen before. His quirk changed from rubbing his chin to scratching his head. When he looks at me, he’s got this devilish twinkle as if he’s up to something bad. He left with a suitcase and returned with a bag. He changed half of his wardrobe. And his arms suddenly look as if he did nothing but swing an ax over the last four weeks.
Something happened in Venezuela, but what? What caused his voice to sound deeper all of a sudden? Why is he so atten
tive and hanging onto every word I say? Why did he laugh when I told him about my bad grade?
What made him the man I never knew I wanted him to be?
With a huff, I collapse into my office chair, eager to kick off my pumps for a second and rub my sore feet. But I’m not granted a breather because at that moment, a guy waltzes up to my desk. I briefly close my eyes, praying for patience. When will this goddamn day come to an end?
“Excuse me, Miss…” His eyes drop to the name tag on my blouse before they home in on my cleavage. “… Kingston. I need to do some research for a project. I thought maybe you could help me out?”
Despite my shitty mood, I plaster a fake smile on my face. “Sure. What’s your project about?”
His eyes roam down to my skirt when I rise from my chair, making me want to crawl out of my skin. I would classify him as handsome if I could ignore that his bleached tips make him look like Justin Bieber at his worst, and his red-green checkered turtleneck hurts my eyes. Accounting, law, or politics, I wonder?
“The impact of The Geneva Convention on International Humanitarian Law,” he declares in a snotty tone that’s apparently meant to impress me.
I’ve seen the guy before. He drives a shiny Porsche and parks like an asshole. Thinks he’s cool because his daddy is a rich lawyer shelling out a lot of money to make his son follow in his footsteps. In reality, he’s a first-year student who thinks a law exam is as easy as a high school vocabulary test. I’ve never seen him in the library before.
“Most of the books you need are accessible in our database. And we’ve got hundreds of online articles on the topic, too,” I explain, trying to sound patient and understanding. He could have figured that all out with a few clicks instead of wasting my time.
Showing a wolfish grin, he props his hands on my desk. “And what kind of books do I need, Miss Kingston?”
I ignore his ambiguous undertone. “For starters, I’d suggest you dive into the three protocols of the Geneva Conventions of 12th August 1949. Depending on where you want to go from there, you can have a look at ‘The Geneva Convention of 1906 for the Amelioration of the Condition of the Wounded in Armies in the Field’ and ‘Geneva Conventions for the Protection of War Victims: Hearing Before the United States Senate Committee on Foreign Relations,’” I fire as quick as a shot, inwardly gloating when his eyes widen in surprise.
“Well, can you show me where to find these books? This library is so… big.” He drawls out the last part with his eyes latched onto my boobs, and I’m tempted to close the buttons of my blouse up to my throat.
“I…”
The words die on my tongue when Jesse appears out of nowhere, and the guy turns around to see what has captured my attention.
“I’m sorry, but I need Miss Kingston’s help immediately,” Jesse announces in a formal and firm tone.
The guy squares his shoulders, staring Jesse down with a condemning glare. “And you are…?”
“Professor Dobkowski’s assistant and very busy with his ongoing project about the Psychoanalytic Sexual Drive Theory with focus on the genital stage and the impact of masturbation as an introduction into sexuality,” Jesse says straight off the bat, rendering the guy speechless, and my mouth pops open in both shock and horror. Fuck me. He sounded so convincing, he could have fooled Professor Dobkowski himself. Probably Sigmund Freud too. “Now, if you’ll excuse us.”
Jesse throws me a stern look, and I follow him crossing the atrium and up the staircase. When we’re out of earshot, I whirl around to face him, ready to give him a piece of my mind and tell him that he can’t show up at my workplace unannounced, but I switch gears at the last moment.
“Now, what would you know about Freud and the psychosexual stages?” I know he sold the guy a cock-and-bull story, but with the black dress shirt and gray jeans he’s wearing today, he could definitely pass as an assistant professor.
He cracks a rakish smile. “I know that Freud thought that sexual frustration in any of the five psychosexual developmental stages could result in neurosis or functional mental disorders.” With each word leaving his mouth, he leans in closer until he purrs the last part over my lips. His grin widens when I suck in a breath. “Does this turn you on, Miss Kingston?”
I gulp, glancing left and right to make sure no one’s watching. “Do I have to report you for sexual harassment at the workplace?” I try to sound teasing, but my tone is way too shaky.
Leisurely, he lets his gaze stray over my outfit—a loose flowing blouse, a black pencil skirt, dark silk stockings, and classic pumps. But with the way he drinks me in, it feels as if I’m naked save for the glasses on my nose.
“If you don’t aim to please, don’t dress to tease, love.”
I squint at him. “This isn’t the first time you’ve seen me in a skirt. I wear this to work every day.”
“You do? Huh, no wonder Mr. Ugly Sweater was so taken by you,” he murmurs, and two fingers start to make their way up my thigh.
“Jesse, I’m at work,” I hiss in hopes of making it clear that we’re not alone.
“The library closes in fifteen minutes. Enough time to make some bookshelves rattle.” Before I can reply, he snatches my hand and hauls me into the next vacant room.
“What are you doing?” I demand, completely befuddled, but he ignores me, closing the distance between us in a slow prowl. Once there, he leans down to graze his nose up my neck. A low purr vibrates in my throat when he places hot, wet kisses on my skin.
Jesse only ever visited me at work when he needed help to find resources for his studies. He rarely shows affection in public and definitely never pounced on me in the library. And until now, I didn’t know how much I wanted him to do exactly that.
“I’ve heard you got a bad grade, Miss Kingston.” His tone is nearly threatening as his finger trails a path down my cleavage. He opens a button, and I feel the fabric loosening around my chest. “Is that true?”
“Yes,” I whisper, unable to add more volume to my voice but eager to play his kinky game. Another button pops open, and I know he’s only one more away from exposing my bra.
“Then, I guess you have to face your punishment.”
Spinning me around, he pushes me down, bending me over the table and nudging my feet apart with his knees. I’m only dimly aware of the clinking sounds as he opens his belt and zipper, and a hand knots in my hair, ruining my perfectly groomed chignon and all my willpower along with it.
“But lucky for you, I’m here to give you a private lesson.” His hand grazes my inner thigh up to the junction, and I gasp when he drills a finger into my stockings until they tear. “So, you better pay good attention, Miss Kingston.” With a little tug, he pushes my panties to the side, “because I want you to show me tonight what you learned today.”
Without forewarning, he slams into me from behind, and the desk creaks when my hips hit the edge. The momentum makes my chin nearly smack the surface, but his hand shoots out to palm my face, keeping it up and arching me back.
I try to hold back any sounds and breathe through my nose, but a short, high-pitched wail escapes me when he hits that secret spot within me.
Jesse bites my ear before issuing his command, “Quiet, Miss Kingston. This is a library.” But he’s challenging me, contradicting his words with harder thrusts and deeper penetrations. My sweaty hands claw at the table, but they find no hold on the varnished surface. “Now, save those sexy screams for when I bend you over the dining table tonight, and I’ll let you come, understood?”
Taking my lip bite as a sign of compliance, he grants me my release, but the second he takes me to the skies, the pressure becomes too much to rein in. A loud yelp passes my lips when I detonate like a grenade, and Jesse clamps a hand over my mouth, one that tightens its grip the second he explodes inside me.
“Good job, Miss Kingston,” he croons when I deflate like a balloon, plopping back down on the table. “You passed with flying colors.”
Hooking an arm around my waist,
he plucks me up, re-buttoning my blouse and adjusting my glasses while I try to remember how to get my limbs to cooperate.
“Who are you, and what did you do to Jesse Chandler?” I mutter, only half-joking, and the flicker of hurt blazing in his eyes takes me off guard. I want to ask what’s wrong, but he pulls me closer by my nape before whispering over my lips, “Oh, my precious gem, if you only knew.”
Yawning, I help myself to a cup of coffee, eager to finally slouch down in a chair on the porch and enjoy a peaceful morning.
After I taught Ruby two more lessons on how to play it hot and dirty—the first lesson, as promised, over Jesse’s dining table, and the second in her room at Sam’s—I found it a good idea to get up early and familiarize myself with the house. After all, it would raise suspicions if I didn’t know where the bathroom was or how the coffee maker worked. Thankfully, I’ve worn my pretty girl out so much, she was still deeply asleep when I snuck out, and the others are not awake yet, either.
I’ve investigated every nook and corner of the place. I know where Skyla stores her surfboards, the magazines Kendra reads, and all the books Sam wrote. I know who’s on cleaning duty next, where to find fresh towels, and how to handle the home control. Hell, I even know which mascara belongs to Kendra and which brush belongs to Sam. I might know the house even better than Jesse by now.
As for my newest conquest, Ruby Kingston, I know enough to engage in easy conversation, make her laugh, and make her scream. Not always in that order, but every so often, all at once, and I have to say, those are the moments I will never forget.
A part of me feels victorious about what I’ve accomplished. The whole scheme runs like a charm. No slip-ups so far. Jesse hasn’t made his move yet, and Ruby still sees through the rose-colored glasses I put on her. She’s skeptical but unsure if she should trust her intuition.
I’m not an idiot. A few more days and this whole thing will blow up in my face. It’s time to take precautions. If that bomb detonates in front of everyone I’ve fooled, chances are the guys will want my head, and I mean Daniel, in particular. He strikes me as the type to let his minions shoot me down and bury me in his fancy front garden.
