Take Me Gently: A High School Forbidden Love Steamy Standalone Romance (Dirty Elite Academy)

by Kate J. Blake

  She’s used to things like that. She has never needed to think about where to get money. A Gucci bag is just a bag for her, like any other. Girls who can't afford such brands but still wear them are always terrified to ruin them, which gives them away.

  Rich girls like her come to the club, too, but they act differently. They come with friends, make a reservation for the table, and order at least a dozen bottles of Cristal champagne as an appetizer. They look for one-night stands and book a room at our hotel in advance, usually hiring one of my manager's male models to please them during the night.

  Rich women are not much different than rich men in their fantasies. They love sex, too; they want to be fucked professionally, they want to have time to talk. They like intimate massages and all that kind of inappropriate stuff that you cannot buy in a regular night club or hotel.

  They all want to find love at some point, but when they realize that love can't be bought, they come to places like this one and replace it with the hottest, mind-blowing sex they can find.

  And what they do like the most about places like mine is the privacy that we guarantee while they're here.

  "I don't want to go home." She shakes her head, walking out of the elevator and freezing in place. "I can't, it's too soon, I haven't..."

  "I don't care what you want," I bark in response without letting her finish, "You just cost me fifty thousand dollars." I open the door to my suite and stretch out a hand for her to come in.

  "But why? I had only one glass of champagne...I...don't have that much money..." she mumbles. Her lower lip is trembling, and her eyes start filling with tears.

  That's good; she has to be afraid of me so she won't ever come into this club again.

  "That guy usually spends forty to sixty thousand dollars in this club per night," I say, calmer this time, and her eyes go round in amazement.

  To be honest, I don't care about the money. I make a lot more in one night than most Hollywood producers make in a month. I just want to scare her to get her out of here as soon as possible and never come back.

  Because I don't trust myself when I'm with her.

  My reaction to this girl is inexplicable: wild, primal, irresistible passion, which has grown so fast and intense, like a rolling snowball during an avalanche.

  And I am almost not capable of fighting it.

  Almost.

  I'm a grown-up man; I have to be able to restrain myself, at least when it comes to women.

  What is so special about this girl? I can have any woman I want, whenever I want. I fucking own the whole club where the most beautiful women of Hollywood come every day! And those are women who know what they want. Some of them want to be dominant; others need to serve. I've tried all of those games, so I'll definitely find a woman I want for the night.

  Then why the hell do I want this innocent, terrified lamb who got in here by accident?

  As we walk to my room, I rush to the closet, grab the first shirt I come across, and go back to give it to her.

  "The bathroom is right there." I point to the door and look away immediately.

  The image of her undressing in my bathroom five feet away from me is stuck in my head.

  I take a deep breath and sit on the couch in the hallway.

  She wants to say something but then changes her mind and silently walks into the bathroom.

  I'm glad she's not arguing with me. Her voice turns me on almost as much as her look.

  I swear, the second she leaves me, I'll call Imogen, my manager and the woman who's in charge of the VIP hookers in my club and tell her that I need one—no, two—of the youngest girls we have on the menu. Their skin should be pale, their hair should be light brown and long, slightly curled, and their eyes should be big and green as leaves on the trees during summer days.

  I grin at how stupid it sounds, even in my head. We have no one in the club that even remotely resembles this princess.

  She walks out of the bathroom quickly, quietly closing the door behind her.

  When I raise my eyes to look at her, I hold my breath. She's gorgeous. Wearing nothing but my shirt and high heels, she's even hotter than she was in that tight dress.

  I’ve never seen a woman wearing my clothes, and I couldn't even imagine it would be this attractive. The shirt is long enough to cover her ass, but her bare legs and those knees... They are fully exposed now. As if she just woke up after spending the night with me, and now she's ready to go back home.

  Except that I don't spend nights with women. I have sex with them, and then we say goodbye to each other, never looking back.

  "You walk out of this club, and you never come back again," I say with a steel voice and rise up from the couch, walking to the main door to see her off.

  "And that's it? You'd just throw me out like that?" she says to my surprise, and her voice sounds slightly disappointed.

  She's been pretty quiet all this time, but now she sounds offended. As if she was waiting for me to punish her somehow for everything that just happened.

  And I could punish her, slowly and painfully. I would tie her to my bed and fuck her brains out until she's unable to take it anymore.

  Only the devil knows how much pleasure it would give me.

  But she didn't do anything to be punished for. It's not her fault that she's so gorgeously innocent, that men are fighting for her attention. She just wasn't ready for this.

  "Give me your ID," I command, taking a step closer and standing against her.

  I haven't come this close to her before, and it was a bad idea to do it now. Now I can smell her scent, the mix of her citrus shampoo, vanilla body cream, and vetiver note in her fragrance.

  All of it mixed with the heat of her body makes my blood rush faster in my veins, and I clench my fists to calm down.

  She swallows, inhaling deeply, her big green eyes with unbelievably long lashes blinking rapidly as she does her best not to look away.

  "Why?" She tries to sound at ease as if she's not terrified.

  My little lamb...

  "I want to make sure that our security will never let you in again," I say, not looking away for a second.

  She opens her mouth, maybe to protest, but mostly out of surprise, I guess. And then she silently leans over to her bag and pulls out her ID card.

  When I take a look at the card, I see that she's twenty-two, which surprises me. This girl looks like she just finished high school. She's from Los Angeles, which was evident from the very first second I saw her.

  But when I take a look at her name...

  "Cindy Campbell?" I chuckle. I should have guessed that her ID is fake. "I'll have to fire the security department person who confirmed your invitation."

  "No, please, don't..." she begins but stops right away, biting her lower lip, probably restricting herself from telling me more.

  "What is it?" I ask, moving even closer, and she takes a step back.

  "It's nothing," she lies, but I take one more step, so she pulls away from me again until her back is pressed to the wall.

  There's nowhere to run anymore, lamb.

  Chapter Three

  Savannah

  "The invitation was fake," I mumble, barely audible, hoping he won't hear it.

  I shouldn't confess. I could've just walked away, just like he asked me to, and pretend it never happened.

  But I can't frame someone from the security department and get them fired because of me; that would be unfair.

  "No, it can't be." He laughs, shaking his head. "I have the best security in the city. My operation system is so encrypted, better than in the White House."

  I grin. It's the best compliment I've ever heard.

  "Well, the White House was hacked, as well, a couple of times," I chuckle, smiling slyly at him.

  He places his hand on the wall over my head, and now his face is inches from mine.

  "Are you hinting that someone hacked it for an invitation?" His voice is low, strict, angry, but his concern sounds more like an
interest than a threat.

  Yes, by me, I think but do not dare to say aloud.

  My head is spinning. He smells like fresh clean clothes as if just from the laundry, mixed with intense shaving lotion with the scent of wood and cigars.

  His deep brown eyes are darker than a night on a cloudy day, and he stares at me as if he can see me from the inside, not leaving my gaze for a second.

  I swallow, unable to look away, but stay silent, not ready to confess.

  "That's impossible." He shakes his head again. "Hacking my system would've cost you more than an entrance to the club."

  He's so naïve. As if I'd pay for something like that. No way, even if I already had access to my trust fund. That would've been ridiculous.

  "Okay, you're right. Then I'll just go." I try to squeeze myself between him and the wall, but he places another hand on the other side of my body, and now I'm stuck.

  I knew he wouldn't let me go that easily, even if I play the fool and pretend that I'm leaving.

  I don't want to go, at least not this soon. No matter how scared I am, for some reason, I feel deep down inside me that this man will never hurt me.

  "Who did your invitation?" he asks with irritation, leaning his face into mine.

  "I did," I say proudly, crossing my arms over my chest.

  He chuckles. "Hilarious. A girl who can fake an ID so professionally couldn't make up something better than a mix of two supermodels’ names: Cindy Crawford and Naomi Campbell."

  "Hey, I can make up anything!" I say offensively and push his chest.

  He doesn't even move from my push, of course, but he looks at me with surprise. As if he's shocked that I dared to touch him.

  "They are my favorite models of all time," I continue. For some reason, I instantly become more confident than I was even a minute ago. "Cindy was a girl with a huge mole on her face, which was considered a flaw before she appeared on the cover of Vogue. And Naomi is the first black supermodel, which is huge. She's like a female version of Nelson Mandela, I would say, a real role model."

  He looks at me with a kind of look I've never seen before. As if he's amazed by what I say, or or maybe by how I’m saying it.

  "And what might you, a white, rich girl with a Gucci bag, have in common with them?" he says arrogantly and with contempt. His words are sharp like a blade, cutting my skin mercilessly.

  He's so rude, and it's evident that he doesn't like me. And maybe for a second or two I wanted him to see me, to feel his lips on mine, but now I don't, not anymore.

  He's an arrogant asshole who loves to put women down.

  "Fuck you," I hiss back without thinking. "Are you telling me that you made the money to buy this club by working? Where? Paying all the taxes as a bartender, maybe? Or a taxi driver?" I scoff, making the most unpleasant fleer I can. "Hasta la vista."

  I bend over and slip out of his hands quickly, rushing to the door.

  I feel my cheeks are burning with rage.

  How could I even be attracted to him? He's so...

  But before I can reach the handrail, he grabs me by the waist and turns me around. I gasp in surprise, but I have no time to say anything before he leans over and presses his lips to mine.

  His lips are warm and soft; it feels so much better than I've imagined. And he sucks me in right away as if he was starving for it the whole evening.

  No, scratch that. He kisses me as if he was starving for it his whole life.

  He grabs my waist and presses me to the wall, gently as if trying not to hurt me. He then takes my ass into his hands and lifts me up, helping me wrap my legs around his waist.

  I feel his hard dick against my center, and it bounces inside of his pants when my pussy touches it.

  He still holds me with one hand while the other travels to my neck, grabbing it from behind as his tongue enters my throat.

  I moan involuntarily, and his dick jumps one more time. I dig my fingers into his dark thick hair and grab them harshly as if trying not to fall.

  This kiss is not a hate-kiss, not the kind I imagined while I was changing in the bathroom. It's not like he wants to punish me or to scare me. He kisses me as if his life depends on it, brushing his lips tenderly but hungrily at the same time, pulling away slightly, and then penetrating my mouth again, deeper each time.

  I squeeze my legs harder, trying to move to increase the friction. Still, it's almost impossible when I'm practically hanging in the air.

  No one has ever kissed me like this before, not even Liam. This kiss is like thunder on a sunny day, unexpected but mesmerizing. He kisses me as if I'm the sexiest, most desirable woman in the world.

  When he pulls away, I cry out, displeased, unable to believe what just happened.

  "You have to go," he whispers, gasping for air but still holding me so tightly as if he doesn't really want me to go.

  "I don't want to," I say, unable to believe my own words.

  I have to run away as fast as possible. This man is dangerous, I can feel that. But at the same time, he is the most attractive man I've ever seen, who's kissing me as if we were the last people on Earth.

  This man is exactly what I need for my birthday, for my first time, for my revenge on Liam.

  Fuck Liam. I don't even care about him anymore. I just want this nameless man who's sucking me in as if he can't live without me.

  "Why are you here, lamb?" he whispers again, brushing his nose over mine. It's so intimate, it feels so sincere, that I almost melt in his arms. "Why did an innocent creature like you come into an underworld like this one?"

  We look into each other's eyes, our foreheads pressed against each other. His thumb strokes my cheek as he breathes into my mouth, fighting himself not to start kissing again.

  "My boyfriend cheated on me, and I need revenge," I confess, for some reason unable to lie to him.

  "So it's revenge passion?" he asks, and I see a slight disappointment in his eyes, although he tries to sound at ease.

  This passion wasn't created out of hate. Nobody can make up a real passion; it happens between people or it doesn’t.

  Gosh, I don't even know his name.

  "What's your name?" I ask, trying to change the subject, trying to return the person he was a minute ago: a starving predator who was willing to take me right in the hallway.

  "Let's not exchange names, lamb." He smiles slightly, looking at my lips and licking his own at the same time. "It's better for you not to know me at all."

  "Okay," I whisper back, a little offended as if he just told me I'm not his type.

  He doesn't want to see me after tonight. I get it. I don't want to see him again either, right? Why would I want that? He's arrogant, wild, and rude. I wouldn't want to date a guy like this, not in a million years. This passion between us is temporary, simply because we started fighting and wanted to punish each other, right?

  No, I'm not sure I believe it.

  "You have to know that I don't do gentle," he continues, removing hair from my face and tucking it behind my ear, so tenderly that I doubt what he’s saying. "I don't do tender, I don't date. You'll never come here again, and we'll never see each other. I don't do sleepovers, so you won't stay the night. And I like a hard and fast fuck, a mind-blowing type."

  He stops for a second, and I take a deep breath to process his words. That's exactly what I wanted for my first time, isn't it? I know it's going to be painful, maybe a lot, but it's going to be that way no matter if it's fast or slow, so isn't it better to make it in one swift motion?

  "If you're not ready for that, lamb, then I'll let you go right now and will never bother you again." His words are simple, understandable, even sharp, but the timbre of his voice is like... It seems like it's hard for him to say it, no matter how much he’s trying to sound at ease.

  Is it as hard for him to let me go as it is for me to walk away?

  "I'm ready," I say before I can change my mind, trying to sound confident no matter how scared I am.

  "Good" is the onl
y thing he says before placing his hands on the collar of my—his—shirt, and in one fast motion tears it apart, exposing my body for him.

  Chapter Four

  Daniel

  Buttons of the shirt fly apart in different directions, scattering all over the floor, exposing her curves to my gaze.

  She's wearing black lace lingerie, so translucent that I entirely see the puckered nipples of her small breasts.

  My cock throbs again right away, and I press it more demanding to her center, trying to stop the ache.

  She gasped when I tore off her shirt, but when I look at her once again, she seems taken by surprise—not scared, simply astonished by what I did.

  "Don't worry, I'll give you a new one," I say, smirking at her.

  "Okay," she whispers and smiles at me.

  It's a slight smile, exposing her teeth just a little, but it shows me her dimples, and I swear that I've never seen anything more beautiful.

  Why haven't I noticed them before?

  Oh, right, because she hadn't smiled at me yet, thanks to the fact that I treated her so disrespectfully.

  Those dimples make me want to kiss her again.

  Again. What a strange feeling for me. I never kiss on the lips. For many years I was avoiding it, and it didn't bother me.

  But when she tried to walk away, something inside of me burst, and I couldn't hold myself any longer.

  When the smile slowly disappears from her face, I realize that I’ve been staring at her motionless for all this time.

  What's wrong with me? I don't get mesmerized by a smile; it's ridiculous. Who wants to watch a smile when the woman's breasts are on display?

  I grab her in my arms, and she gasps in surprise again, and then I carry her to my bedroom. She clings to me like a little monkey, terrified to fall down.

  "Don't worry, lamb, I got you," I whisper into her ear and press a gentle kiss to her neck.

  I feel her body break out in goosebumps right away. The shiver that I feel with my hands on her thighs turns me on even more, and I increase my speed, unable to wait until I finally find myself inside her.