I waited and as I’d expected, no one volunteered an answer. I hated when that happened. I was certain at least a few of my students knew, yet they all apparently thought they were too cool to participate in class discussion. It drove me batty – and made me feel like an idiot as I stood up there expectantly while they all stared back at me in silent defiance. Would it really kill someone to answer?
Then to my horror, Mark raised his hand.
“Uh, class, we have a special guest joining us today. This is Mark Warren,” I said, gesturing to the back of the lecture hall. “For those of you who don’t know, he teaches the Tuesday afternoon Introduction to Sociology class. He’s going to be sitting in with us today.”
I paused and then, feeling stupid, called on him. “Did you want to say something?” Ugh, looking at him was painful after being humiliated by him last night. I hated that now I was forced to acknowledge his presence.
He sneered. “Since your students seem to have forgotten the definition of the virgin-whore complex, I thought I’d better step in and help out.” Addressing the rest of the room, he explained, “It’s the tendency to categorize a woman as either being virginal and pure or else sexually promiscuous and, for a lack of a better term, slutty. Sometimes it’s referred to as the Madonna-whore dichotomy. That’s ‘Madonna’ as in the Virgin Mary,” Mark added with a wink, “not anyone else you may have been thinking of.”
A chorus of giggles sounded throughout the classroom. I scowled. Mark had my students fully engaged – why? I was every bit as good an instructor as he was…better, even. But one lame joke from a guy who wore jeans to work to show how “cool” he was and he had the students eating out of the palm of his hand. It was infuriating.
I tapped my pen against the podium to try to get my students’ attention. It was hilariously ineffective so I raised my voice to speak overtop of the whispers. “Can anyone give me some examples of the virgin-whore complex from eras gone by?” I asked. When silence greeted me, I prompted, “How about in the present day, then? …Anyone?”
Mark didn’t bother to raise his hand this time. Apparently he didn’t think he needed my permission to speak. His blatant disregard for my authority in the classroom was irritating. I half-expected that kind of behavior from my young, immature students but to get it from a colleague who knew better was a slap in the face.
He stood up and basically hijacked my class. “Here’s another way to think of it,” he told my students, all of whom had turned around in their seats to give him their full, unwavering attention. “Say your buddy is dating a girl who won’t put out. What label would you give her?”
“Frigid?” one student guessed.
“Prude?” another one suggested.
“Yes, good…those are both good ideas,” Mark said with a pointed look in my direction. “And what about a woman who puts out on the first date?” he continued, eager to make his point. “What might you call her?”
“A slut!” someone called out.
“A whore!” another voice chimed in.
My face reddened as I recalled what I’d done the previous night…and again upon waking. Mark had no way of knowing, of course, but it didn’t matter. I couldn’t shake the feeling that some of his comments – particularly the ones about virgins – were directed at me. I wasn’t about to let him get the best of me…and I didn’t like the direction he was steering the discussion.
“Why are those notions problematic?” my voice rang out loud and clear. I posed the question with such authority that some of my students looked startled. For perhaps the first time ever, they all turned their attention to me. “Are they stereotypes?” I asked.
I saw a few heads nod.
“Do they perpetuate the idea that a woman’s identity is necessarily tied to her sexuality?” I continued. When I saw confused looks, I elaborated, “Why is it acceptable to make negative assumptions about a woman based on her sexual practices yet there’s a double standard for men? How is that fair?”
Everyone was listening intently now, I guess to see why I was so worked up. So I took the opportunity to drive the point home as best I could. “Think about it. If a woman has sex and enjoys it, society shames her for it. If she sleeps around or wants it often, she’s a slut. Yet if a man does the same thing, he’s a stud.”
The expressions on some of my students’ faces said my words had caused something in their brains to click. The looks of understanding I saw were gratifying. Maybe I was finally getting through to my first years after all.
Even more satisfying, I’d managed to take command of my classroom despite Mark’s attempts to undermine me. It felt good.
Or at least it did until Mark caught up with me after class.
Chapter 04
A knock on my office door made me want to throw my coffee mug against it. Reluctantly, I picked my head up off my desk where I’d been lying motionless and seething for the past fifteen minutes and opened it expecting to see a student. It had better be a student. If it was Mark again, I’d staple things to his head and enjoy every second of it.
But it wasn’t a student or Mark. It was Hayden.
I stared at him wordlessly for a moment before coming to my senses. “What are you doing here?” I demanded, unable to hide my surprise. I hadn’t expected to ever see him again and I certainly hadn’t expected him to show up at my workplace.
“I was going to have this delivered to your house, but then I remembered you didn’t tell me where you live,” he informed me, nodding toward the large bag in his hand. I looked at it curiously but he made no effort to hand it to me. Instead, he studied my face with concern. “Something’s wrong,” he said. It wasn’t a question.
I nodded wearily. “More Mark drama,” I replied, not expecting Hayden to care.
He immediately stepped into my office and shut the door behind him. Sitting down on the edge of my desk, he ordered, “Tell me what happened.”
“He was his usual pretentious self,” I summarized succinctly. “But then after class, well that just took the cake. Mark came up to talk to me when he knew I couldn’t avoid him and he was just so fucking condescending! He’s mad that I dumped him after he treated me like dirt,” I explained. “Now he’s dragging it into the workplace, trying to make things miserable for me.”
Hayden’s jaw was clenched in anger. “What did he say?”
“All sorts of things,” I retorted, feeling my blood boil as I recalled his biting remarks. “I was giving a lecture on the virgin-whore complex and female sexuality today and afterward he was like, ‘I guess you’re proof that those that can’t do teach.’” He said it like he was making a joke but I know him. It wasn’t a joke. It was a thinly veiled insult, intended to make me feel stupid. And it worked.”
“Where’s his office?” Hayden demanded. “Give me five minutes alone with him and he’ll think twice before he talks to you like that again.”
Despite my irritation I chuckled, enjoying the thought of Hayden beating up my conceited, rude and incredibly condescending colleague. “I’m sure he’s long gone by now,” I told him. Mark never stuck around long after his classes, instead preferring to put in the minimum effort only. “But I appreciate the offer.”
“Anything for you,” Hayden replied. That’s just a phrase people sometimes say. It doesn’t necessarily mean anything. But the ferocity with which Hayden said it made me think it did mean something to him.
His temper cooling somewhat when he saw me begin to calm down, Hayden offered me a devious grin. “So what’s this…what did you call it? A virgin-whore complex, was it? Whatever it is, it sounds like fun.”
I grinned and rolled my eyes. “You don’t want to know.”
“You’re right,” he agreed. “I’m happier inventing my own dirty, dirty definition.”
Clearly the effects of alcohol and being caught up in the moment weren’t responsible for my attraction to Hayden. As I stood there in my office in front of him, I felt weak in the knees. In a desperate bid to change
the subject, I asked, “So what’s in the bag?” nodding to the package Hayden had set on the floor beside him.
“Ah yes, the bag,” he remembered, picking it up and holding it out to me. “Open it.”
I opened the bag and pulled out a black silk cocktail dress. Holding it up in front of me, I was immediately taken with the delicate lace and intricate beadwork around the plunging neckline. Setting it aside gingerly, I reached back into the bag and pulled out a second black dress. This one was backless and made of velvet. I noticed the price tag on it and my eyes widened – my entire wardrobe probably didn’t cost that much! I looked at Hayden questioningly.
“I couldn’t help but notice that I ripped your dress last night,” Hayden said. “I’m sorry about that, it wasn’t intentional. I just got so caught up in the moment that I lost control for a second. Anyway, I wanted to get you a replacement but I wasn’t sure what you’d like…so I got you six replacements.”
I stared at him with my mouth agape. “Hayden, I can’t accept these. They cost a fortune!”
He didn’t want to hear of it. “I had them shipped here from New York overnight – I ordered them last night while you were sleeping. Please, just take them and enjoy them.”
I didn’t know what to say. “They’re gorgeous,” I breathed, afraid to even touch them.
“I’ll have to confess,” Hayden admitted, “I came here with an ulterior motive.”
“Oh?”
“It’s a selfish motive,” he warned.
“Well out with it, then!” I ordered him, intrigued by what this rich, successful, gorgeous man could possibly want or need. Mostly I was just happy to see him again.
“I have a function to attend this evening,” he explained. “It’s the whole reason I’m in town, actually. Are you familiar with Neville Whittaker?”
I shook my head, drawing a blank.
“That doesn’t surprise me,” Hayden replied. “He’s a rich old oil tycoon from Texas. About fifteen years ago he moved here to Vermont. He lives in a mansion out in the countryside, about a twenty minute drive from Burlington. He’s a bit of a recluse, and an art connoisseur. His collection is worth millions and Neville himself is worth billions. He wants to donate some pieces to a museum my father is opening in Berlin.”
“Oh,” I replied, not knowing what else to say. “That’s nice of him.”
Hayden nodded. “It is. Do you know how my father is repaying him? He’s throwing a party tonight in Neville’s honor…at Neville’s place. A large social gathering for a recluse – can you even imagine? But that’s my father for you. He doesn’t consider anyone else’s feelings but his own. Anyway, I’m expected to attend and I’d like you to come with me.”
“Me?”
“Yes.” Hayden’s voice grew huskier as he drew me closer, his arms wrapping around my waist. “This morning when I pinned you to the bed you liked it, didn’t you?” he asked. “Being held down was what sent you over the edge and made you cum.”
Immediately, I blushed. “I, uh…”
Hayden chuckled. “You don’t have to say it,” he informed me with all the confidence in the world. “I already know the answer. I know what thrills you. I know what makes you wet. So anyway, I was thinking we could play a little game tonight at the party.”
My mouth felt dry. “What sort of game?”
“The rules are simple, really,” he said, his voice as smooth as butter. He spoke of sex so openly like it was perfectly natural to barge into my office and propose we play a kinky sex game. “There’s really only one rule,” he explained. “You do as I say or else you get punished.”
His words excited me to no end. But to admit my interest to myself was different than admitting it to a man who wanted to dominate me. “What makes you think I’d want to do that sort of thing?” I asked coolly, hoping my voice wouldn’t shake and give my true feelings away.
He looked at me knowingly. “Everything,” he said simply.
“What about limits?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Oh, so you know about limits.”
“I wasn’t born yesterday.” The truth was our discussion about BDSM had piqued my curiosity and I’d gone online for a little, er…education. And I’d discovered that many people who engage in BDSM practices communicate a list of limits to their dominant partners: boundaries they refuse to cross.
“Interesting,” he said, stroking his chiseled chin and looking me up and down. “But I don’t play with limits. As far as I’m concerned, that would put too much of the power back in your hands. I’ll start out slow, though. Baby steps, Daniella.”
I swallowed hard. “How do I know you’re not some crazy sexual deviant?” I demanded. “I can’t just blindly trust you, you know. That would be stupid.”
Hayden grinned. “I am a sexual deviant,” he informed me proudly. “But I can assure you our play will always be safe and sane. Though you may not always like everything I do, I’m certain that overall, you’ll enjoy our time together very much. And if I’m mistaken, we’ll have a safeword, of course. You can’t control what I do to you but if you truly don’t like it then you’re free to walk away at any time.”
I contemplated the proposal. Hayden could see by my hesitation that I was actually giving the invitation some consideration. “Well…if I go, at least I’ll have an excuse to wear one of the gorgeous dresses you gave me,” I half-joked.
“And I’m sure you’ll look absolutely stunning in whichever one you choose,” Hayden replied, not missing a beat. “Although I suspect you’d be stunning even if you showed up wearing a paper bag. I’ll send a car to your place at seven o’clock, provided you’ll tell me where you live,” he teased. “Or would you rather be picked up here at the college?”
“I haven’t even said I’m coming yet,” I protested, slipping out of his grasp.
“You’ll be coming tonight,” Hayden told me matter-of-factly, unfazed by my unconvincing attempt to play coy. “In fact, you’ll be coming in more ways than one.”
Swallowing hard, I steadied myself against the side of the desk, afraid my legs might decide to stop working with no notice. The brazen innuendo certainly wasn’t lost on me. I could feel my pussy getting wet just imagining what might be in store for me. “So seven o’clock?” I asked as I tried my best to maintain my composure.
“Seven o’clock,” Hayden nodded. He stood then, and opened my office door. “I have some business to attend to now, but I look forward to seeing you later.” He leaned in closer and whispered in my ear, “Tonight you’re mine, Daniella.”
Chapter 05
It was amazing how a visit from Hayden – and an invitation I just couldn’t refuse – changed my entire outlook. Before he’d strolled into my office, I’d been seething with rage over Mark’s insulting antics. But as I got ready for my night out with the rich, handsome businessman, Mark was the furthest thing from my mind.
Rushing through the rest of my day’s work, I hurried home. I only had a couple of hours to get ready but I wanted to make the most of them.
I started by running myself a bath, soaking in the tub for a while before shaving my legs, not to mention everything else. I took my time and spent a few minutes massaging lotion into my skin, wanting to be silky smooth for Hayden. Ever since his unexpected visit, I’d been on edge, horny as hell. I wanted to touch myself but I knew I didn’t have time for that.
Hair and makeup were next. A sophisticated up-do and a smoky eye were essential, I decided. I left my lips a neutral shade of soft, inviting peach. After that I spritzed some understated floral scented perfume in the air and stood beneath its cloud, letting the mist envelope my naked body.
Then came the challenging part: selecting an outfit.
It was hard to choose between the six different cocktail dresses Hayden had given to me. They were all so stunning in their own unique ways. Eventually I settled for a short but classy silk one that hugged my curves in all the right places before gently skimming away from my hips. As I stood in fron
t of the full-length mirror in my bedroom scrutinizing my appearance, I had to admit I looked good.
I finished off the outfit with a pair of silver stilettos, one of the few pairs of heels I owned. Then I grabbed my seldom-used black and silver clutch from the place it resided in the back of my closet. As an afterthought, I snatched a red wrap from the coatrack on my way out. Hayden hadn’t given me many details about the party and, on the off chance it was to be held outdoors, I wanted to be prepared.
As it turned out, I managed to get ready just in the nick of time. Moments later, I saw headlights turning into the driveway of the small house I rented. My ride had arrived.
To my delight, Hayden had sent a stretch limo for me. I’d never ridden in a limo in my life and I had to admit, climbing into it while the chauffeur held the door made me feel pretty important. I was, however, disappointed to see that Hayden wasn’t inside.
“Mr. Slate regrets that he couldn’t pick you up himself,” the chauffeur said as though reading my mind. “He had some business to attend to before the party but will meet you there. He asked you to give me this,” he said, handing me a small box before shutting the door and getting back behind the wheel.
I switched on the light in the back of the limo so I could see. Then I carefully opened the box. A note tumbled out. It read:
Daniella,
I saw this in the window of a shop today. It captured my attention, much like you did. I decided it would be much more beautiful on your wrist than in a display case. Enjoy.
Hayden
Inside the box was a delicate tennis bracelet adorned with diamonds. I stared at them breathlessly as they glistened in the light. I could understand why the bracelet had caught Hayden’s attention; it was magnificent. But for him to buy it for me…well that just seemed like too much.
After taking a moment to admire it, I slipped it back in its box.
Hayden had told me the drive out to the billionaire’s mansion only took about twenty minutes, but it felt like an eternity. The closer we got, the faster my heart pounded. When submitting to Hayden at the party had been nothing more than a naughty fantasy, it had been thrilling. Now that it was about to become reality, I was getting nervous.
His for One Night Page 4
