Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 35031 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 175(@200wpm)___ 140(@250wpm)___ 117(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 35031 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 175(@200wpm)___ 140(@250wpm)___ 117(@300wpm)
“So is my off-campus apartment paid for by the university. Technically, wasn’t that considered a gift, so I’d come play football here?”
He coughs. A few more seconds go by. When I hear the tapping of keys, my fist that was preparing to bash in the cabinet door relaxes. “I’ll send it from a private email. Please keep this between us.”
“Yeah. It’s our secret,” I say, hanging up.
What’s not going to be a secret? The fact that Iris is mine.
I’m going to make that infinitely clear this morning.
Chapter Four
Iris
I’m in the front row of my political science class, head bowed forward so I can create a little world of my own inside the safety of my hair. It shields me from the rest of the class and stops me from getting too overwhelmed by the sheer number of people surrounding me. If I think about it too much, my stomach will pitch and I won’t be able to concentrate on a single word the professor is saying. Although this morning, it’s difficult to concentrate no matter what, isn’t it?
What happened last night?
Humiliation is a rotating ball of fire in my belly. I can’t believe…so many things.
Where do I start?
One, after doing some Googling while waiting for class to start, I found out how weird it is to orgasm so quickly—and without any stimulation between my legs. I’m a freak. A total freak. The star of the football team breathed on me and I basically acted like I was possessed.
As if that wasn’t bad enough, I fell asleep.
He brought me home for sex, obviously. He’s a virile athlete and he was erect—I felt it—and I was too exhausted from being touched, from the rush of exhilaration and pleasure, to even keep my eyes open. God, he must have been disappointed. He brought home a dud. A dud given to bouts of narcolepsy.
My face is crawling with fire ants. I sink lower into my seat. Tug down my skirt to cover my knees, because I can tell they’re pink, as well. I’m flushed everywhere. Not only from the memory of him looking at my breasts. Licking them. No, the memory of him holding me as I slept is enough to make me achy and restless. I’ve never been held before. Not like that. Not so tightly, every inch of me fitted to hard male muscle. Not to mention that big, stiff part of him that was wedged between my butt cheeks when I woke up.
Did he really want to put it inside of me?
Like, all of it?
I’m ripped from my ongoing worries when everyone around me breaks into hoots and whistles and applause. What’s going on?
I glance up and find my political science professor looking reluctantly amused, his gaze fastened to the entrance. Carefully, I push aside some of my hair so I can figure out what is causing the commotion.
My breath is swiped clean out of my lungs when I see Teddy leaning against the wall, just inside the door of my lecture hall. Arms crossed, stance cocky. He looks like the cover of those Sports Illustrated magazines I see sometimes at the drugstore. Everyone is going wild, pounding their desks and chanting his name, reciting some football cheer I’ve never heard. He salutes the admiring crowd and they go absolutely wild. Girls are screaming and fanning themselves. A group of guys are trying to start a wave. But Teddy…
His attention is zeroed in on me.
I attempt to breathe, but I can’t. My nipples bead inside my big, loose button-down shirt—a hand-me-down from one of the smaller priests at the monastery. Fists pound the desks behind me, matching the rapid beats of my heart.
Oh God.
What if he’s here to make fun of me? To all of these people?
I’m the girl who he carried across campus last night, completely comatose. He brought me home expecting something and I slept like the dead, instead of giving it to him. On top of that, I had the nerve to leave him a note. Hope I see you later. He probably thinks I’m pitiful. Pathetic. He—
“Mr. Xavier,” calls the professor, signaling for the class to quiet down. “To what do we owe the honor of your illustrious presence?”
He wets his bottom lip, those eyes never leaving me once. “Just here to pick up my girl,” he explains in that deep, rich voice. “We have plans.”
Every head in the lecture hall swivels in my direction, whispers and full-on cries of denial rising up around me. In the matter of a split second, I’m the center of attention. People are speculating on my name, they’re judging my attire and asking where I came from. I sink lower into my chair, my chin buried in my chest. This has to be a nightmare. This can’t be real. He’s definitely joking about me being his girl. He probably already wheeled the suitcase back to my dorm and washed his sheets clean of my scent.