by N J Adel
N.J. ADEL
This is a work of fiction. All incidents and dialogue, and all characters are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.
All THE TEACHER’S PET BEASTS
Copyright © 2019 N.J. Adel
All rights reserved.
ALL CHARACTERS DEPICTED ARE OVER THE AGE OF 18.
WARNING
THIS BOOK FEATURES EXPLICIT DEPICTIONS OF SEX AND OTHER MATERIAL THAT MAY OFFEND SOME AUDIENCES. THEREFORE, IS INTENDED FOR ADULTS ONLY.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the author at the e-mail address below.
[email protected]
Table of Contents
Also by N.J. Adel
From the Author
CHAPTER 1
BELLE
CHAPTER 2
BELLE
CHAPTER 3
BELLE
CHAPTER 4
BELLE
CHAPTER 5
ALEC
CHAPTER 6
BELLE
CHAPTER 7
BELLE
CHAPTER 8
JOSHUA
CHAPTER 9
BELLE
CHAPTER 10
BELLE
CHAPTER 11
ALEC
CHAPTER 12
KAYDEN
CHAPTER 13
BELLE
CHAPTER 14
JOSHUA
CHAPTER 15
BELLE
CHAPTER 16
BELLE
CHAPTER 17
JOSHUA
CHAPTER 18
ALEC
CHAPTER 19
ALEC
CHAPTER 20
BELLE
CHAPTER 21
BELLE
CHAPTER 22
BELLE
CHAPTER 23
KAYDEN
CHAPTER 24
KAYDEN
CHAPTER 25
BELLE
CHAPTER 26
BELLE
CHAPTER 27
BELLE
CHAPTER 28
BELLE
CHAPTER 29
JOSHUA
CHAPTER 30
KAYDEN
CHAPTER 31
JOSHUA
CHAPTER 32
BELLE
CHAPTER 33
BELLE
CHAPTER 34
BELLE
CHAPTER 35
BELLE
CHAPTER 36
BELLE
CHAPTER 37
KAYDEN
CHAPTER 38
BELLE
CHAPTER 39
BELLE
CHAPTER 40
BELLE
Also by N.J. Adel
Acknowledgments
Author Bio
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From the Author
Do NOT try to do the helicopter. I repeat, do NOT try to do the helicopter.
Unless you’re fucking a vampire…
CHAPTER 1
BELLE
“You’re wearing the red dress or I’m cutting you,” Katrina called from the kitchen.
I tugged on the hem of the miniature dress she gave me, blowing out a breath, and stared at the ridiculous amount of pale leg I was offering up. I hated that my first wonder was if Declan would allow me to wear something that revealing.
Glaring at myself, I shoved the image of the monster’s face aside. You’d think this shit we blandly call domestic abuse didn’t happen to someone like me, a nerd who was smart enough to get her PhD when she was twenty-five, a Psychology professor herself a year later?
Well, it did.
For years.
Why had I let it go on this long?
The monster I knew… Or so I’d told myself.
Katrina’s heels echoed from the kitchen and to my bedroom in eight steps. Yeah, I counted when I was unpacking.
I’d gone from a huge house in California to a tiny Forest Grove apartment slightly bigger than my former living room. The apartment felt even smaller once I’d unpacked, and Katrina asked me at least five times since she’d set foot in it why I’d chosen such a place.
I chose it because it was the only one available when I moved to Oregon in such a hurry without a chance to secure a place to live first.
But I didn’t care.
It was unlike anything I’d known since I got married. Plus, the place had giant bay windows framing every room and a forest view. It was beautiful, and I’d never felt happier in the past ten years of my life.
“Give me one good reason why you shouldn’t wear this,” she said, leaning against the doorframe, her arms crossed over her chest, her boobs perking up even more in that perfect green dress.
“Because you,” I gestured at her reflection in the mirror, “are wearing that. I mean, look at your boobs. Your legs are perfectly tanned, but mine… You can pull something like this, but I…” I chuckled and moved away from the mirror, plopping down on the edge of the bed, hoping she’d buy my lie.
She sighed as she sat next to me. “So it has nothing to do with that dick asshole fucker who put you in hospital between life and death—”
“Katrina, please,” I interrupted her, barely meeting her huge, green eyes that looked even greener with the dress on.
She cocked a brow, staring me down. “Please what?”
I didn’t want any recollection of that image today. It was my first birthday without Declan after ten miserable ones, and she drove all the way from Washington to help me celebrate, not to revive one of the worst experiences of my life.
But I didn’t want to be a dick to her either. She was my only friend left, the only one who stuck around when everybody else thought I was the one driving them away. And I’m very thankful she got me this gig here in Oregon. I wouldn’t have dreamt of teaching again after…
A troubled sigh escaped my chest. “You must understand he’s all I’ve known for ten years. He’s messed up with my head. It’s going to take a while before I’m…finally liberated.”
Her face softened, and she gave me a hug. “I know, sweetie, and I’m sorry you had to go through this. You’re safe now. He can’t hurt you anymore.” She pulled away and
smiled at me. “You can start living the life you deserve. And when is a better time to start than your birthday?”
“Can’t think of one.”
Her smile turned into a laugh. “That’s my girl.” She shot up and dashed to the window. “We’re drinking and dancing and showing skin.”
“I still don’t know how much skin I want to show. I’d like to…you know…stay single for a while.”
“Not on your birthday. Ever heard of hot, meaningless sex? One night stands?”
My jaw hung low. “Yeah, I…don’t do those.”
“Tonight, you will. The women at the club will be flaunting their asses, so showing some legs and boobs is mandatory. Besides,” she said, pointing to the street below, “it’s too late to change. The limo’s here.”
Swearing in my head, I got into my favorite red pumps I was only allowed to wear at home, for Declan. They made me look as if I was showing more leg, and I barely recognized myself. I looked like a woman who owned her shit. Daring, confident and hot.
At least, that was what the outfit said.
Katrina practically dragged me out to the limo, and we cracked some champagne on the way to the club in Portland—Forest Grove didn’t have nightclubs, only bars.
The DJ spun music from a small stage, and flyers plastered all across the front promised she was the riotest DJ in town. Whatever that meant. Was that what young, cool people called good things now? I had been out of that loop for a while.
Neon lights danced in the dark with the writhing bodies packed everywhere. Still, it was nothing like the clubs in California—not that I’d been to many. Declan kept me in the house like a pet. We rarely went anywhere, not even to the beach. We’d been living in one of the sunniest states in the US, and I was as pale as a vampire.
I’d wasted the majority of my twenties on a man I’d thought was my charming mentor. He turned out to be the psycho monster that almost ended my life.
Never again.
I still had two good years in my twenties, and I was not planning on wasting a second of them.
The music vibrated in my bones as we sat at our booth. It had a good view of both the bar and the now-purple dance floor.
“I’ll go get us some drinks then we’re dancing till we drop.” Katrina, already swaying with the beat, left the booth. That woman was full of energy. She was ten years older than I, with two sons, and she looked even younger than I was.
It was all in the soul. Mine was tainted. Scarred. Most of the time, I felt as if it showed on my face, and everybody could see.
But nobody did. Declan was a master in his performance. He made them all believe we were happy. Perfect. I was envied for being the successful, handsome professor’s wife. Not just that. I was hated for it. Even by the faculty members who believed I only got my degree and position because of Declan.
Almost breaking a nail, I sighed and ran a hand through my hair. I should cut that. The asshole loved long black hair and forbade me to cut it. The one time I rebelled and got myself some nice bangs, he slapped me so hard I lost the hearing in my left ear for weeks. Never regained full ability since.
I’m definitely getting a haircut.
I eyed all the beautiful girls on the dance floor, studying their hairstyles. The short ones stood out, especially on girls with long necks. I had a long neck. It would be nice to be able to show that.
According to The Devil’s Advocate anyway. That was what John Milton told Mary Ann before he seduced her. Damn, Charlize Theron rocked that hairdo, even if she killed herself at the end of the movie.
At least, she died pretty. I was dying with tangled clumps on my head.
My stare wandered around the flipping and swinging until it hit a wall. A very attractive wall, in a dress shirt that defined a ridiculous amount of muscles in one wall…I meant man, holding a drink.
His bright gaze fixed me in place as he lifted his glass to me. He didn’t walk; He glided among the bodies, approaching my booth, his eyes reflecting the current colors of the neon strobe lights.
Green. Blue. Purple. Red.
As he got closer, I realized he was even taller and broader than I thought. Huge was the best word to describe his figure.
Would I say the same about his cock?
My eyes bulged at the thought. What the hell had gotten into me?
Quickly, I looked away, my back to the dance floor, and glared at the actual wall in front of me. Please go away. Please go away!
If he speaks to me, I’ll choke. Or make a completely inappropriate comment about his penis I have yet to see because for some devilish reason that’s all I can think about right now.
“Hi, I’m Alec.”
Of course, he didn’t go away. Of course, he had a sexy name to go with the body. Of course, it would be my luck to meet a man that looked like that just days after swearing off men forever.
My fists clenched, and my eyes squeezed shut for a moment or ten before I twisted in my seat to meet my stranger again. My hair flipped dramatically with the twist as if I was in a shampoo commercial.
I took a breath and held it, now that my eyes were level with his pants, and I could see the outline of his cock even in this light.
Oh my.
He chuckled. “I’m up here.”
My cheeks burned. No. Scratch that. My whole body did. I bet I looked redder than my own dress. Did he notice where I was staring? My lungs felt as if they would burst. Yeah, choking seemed to be a good option now.
I looked up—and up. “Where the hell is Katrina?”
His heavy black brows furrowed, but his lips—God, what in the name of spicy yum were these made of?—twitched on a laugh. “I’m guessing Katrina is your wingman?”
Shit, piss and fuck. Did I say that question out loud? Why would he know where she was or who she was? He must be thinking I was a nutcase already.
Why did I care?
“She’s my only friend.” The words fell out of my mouth, my brain nonexistent. Something was seriously wrong with me in the presence of this…Alec. “I mean the only friend here with me tonight. We’re celebrating my birthday, not…picking up guys.”
Too much information, Belle. First I tell a total stranger I’m a pathetic woman with one friend, and now he knows when my birthday is. Way to enable stalkers, Professor. Well done.
He helped himself to a seat in my booth, sliding on the leather couch across from me. “Does that mean it’s unlikely you’d leave here with me?”
I couldn’t believe this douche right now. “I… What? No.”
“That’s a pity.”
“We just met.”
“Yet I already have a strong urge to devour you,” he said slowly, in a whisper that rang through me.
Heat stroked my skin. My breaths shuddered at his voice. It was rough and smoky as he was, like a campfire burning low in the dark. This kind of interaction—the proposition of just sex—wasn’t new to him, obviously, but it was to me. For years, I hadn’t so much as looked at another guy with the potential of flirting, let alone…that.
I should be slapping him, throwing his drink at his face, getting up and leaving this place entirely, anything but soaking my panties, imagining this voice waking me up late on a Sunday morning for an early fuck.
He wasn’t even a handsome man. His face could have been carved with a serrated blade. Too rough. Too bold. His hair and eyes were immensely dark now that the lights were to his back. All that blunt, craggy darkness made him look mean…and hot as sin. If he were written in a book, he’d be the villain.
The villain women like me fantasized about doing nasty things with. God knew I’d been devouring those books for years. Men always sounded better in romance. Even villains and monsters.
And the way he was looking at me… He was already devouring me.
His mouth curved up with a smirk. I didn’t know if it was the dark, but I noticed he had no lines on his face whatsoever. He looked rather young, but not that young to have no smile lines or crinkles around
his eyes. “How old are you?” I asked.
His smirk grew into a grin. Yeah, still no lines. It creeped me out. “Old enough to be here,” he shook his glass, “drinking bourbon.”
“Like twenty-one?”
“Way older.” He tilted his head, looking me over. “You’re rather sweet, lady in red who wouldn’t tell me her name before asking about my age. You don’t look like you come to these kinds of places very often.”
Was it that obvious? “I’m not sure how to take that.”
“As a compliment. You’re the freshest thing in town.”
“Well, well, I leave you alone for one second, and the wolves come down.” Katrina returned with a tray of blue and purple drinks. Thank God.
“You must be Katrina,” he said, still eating me with his eyes.
I glanced up at my friend, who was reprimanding me with her glare. I returned a ‘save me’ stare.
She placed the tray on the table and cocked a brow at him. “You’re in my seat.”
“Apologies.” He got up as if he had all the time in the world. Then he nodded at me once, slowly, his smile turning brighter. “Till we meet again. Happy birthday, Red.”
CHAPTER 2
BELLE
Within minutes on the dance floor, I felt boneless, mindless, deliciously untethered. Katrina moved around me, yell-sang the songs, blending in the mass of sweaty bodies around us.
I wanted my youth to linger a little bit. This was how I could have spent my early twenties: at clubs and frat parties, under the lights, dancing in a scrap of a dress, meeting men who wanted to devour me, watching my friends be wild and silly and young.
I didn’t have to get married to an abusive motherfucker when I was twenty-one. I didn’t have to get married at all.
For the love of me, I couldn’t wrap my mind around how blind I had been. I chose that. I chose to be Professor Montgomery’s wife. He was charming, not just for a professor. He dressed to the nines in suits and expensive shoes. He spoiled me, taking me to all these fancy restaurants, buying me ridiculously expensive gifts. And I was poor, with a scholarship I guarded with my life; I couldn’t afford college any other way.
