Page 4 of My Tutor, My Stalker

“How do you know that?” His silver eyes narrow. “Have you been stalking me?”

The mention of that word makes my pussy quiver. Ronan’s narrowed eyes make me feel like I’m the only woman in the world. I wish he’d stalk me, see me every time I slipped my fingers between my legs in the sanctuary of my bedroom and came calling out his name. My cheeks heat, realizing how disturbing my fantasies are.

I shrug. “I bet there isn’t much to you except Math and studying.” I want to appear nonchalant, to label him as a boring person so that I can get on with my life. But no matter how hard I try to convince myself, my body won’t stop wanting him. I feel there’s a hidden depth to him, a shadowy beast he keeps under lock and key. How else could someone who looks that hot not be interested in girls?

There’s a flash of something in Ronan’s eyes but then, he turns away and begins pulling out his books. He sits down on the chair next to me, placing them on the table as I take my seat. Just sitting next to him and talking about math feels intimate. “Did you do your homework?”

“Not all of it. I was busy sexting last night.” His fingers pause when I mention that word. I pull my chair closer to my tutor. “Did you like the pics I sent?”

“I deleted them.”

“Awww, that’s so tragic. How are you going to get through college sex? Surely, even you need relief sometimes. My brother says men that age need release. They can’t stay with the same woman for too long.”

Ronan grips the book a little too tight, making me wonder if he hates men who cheat. I bet he’d never cheat if he had a girlfriend. I’ve asked him about it, but he says he’s too busy todate. I know Ronan works several part-time jobs including this one to make ends meet. He doesn’t come from one and though he has a scholarship and his mom helps him out, he still needs to make money. I might’ve been a sheltered princess all my life but there’s something about a hard-working man like Ronan that turns me on. He isn’t like my brother or Bill. He worked for everything he’d got and that makes him so much sexier.

“When I go to college, I plan to sleep with a new guy every week. Just to keep things interesting.”

Ronan’s chest rises and falls unevenly, making me wonder if I finally got to him. He doesn’t seem like the jealous type, but maybe I’m wrong. “College is for studying, not sleeping with boys.”

I sense it every time he holds himself back. It’s like he adorns the mask of a stern tutor when he could be so much more. There’s a simmering passion beneath his surface,

“Where’s the fun in all work and no play?” I slide my palm over Ronan’s thigh and feel a muscle jump underneath. “Don’t you ever want to play?” I turn my voice into a seductive purr. We’ve been playing this game for years, and he never melts. Still, I won’t stop trying. “You know, kiss a girl or make out? Go to parties, get drunk, wake up naked in bed with someone you don’t even know.”

“No.” There’s a burning intensity in his gaze as he says it. How can a man like this be single? It’s not even logical. I know girls at his college are all over him.

I snuggle closer, my breasts brushing against his side as I whisper in his ear, “What about someone you know?”

His hand moves, grabbing my back in an attempt to pull me away, but as he does, I flinch.

“Ouch.” I try to pull away, but Ronan stops me by grabbing my wrist. His eyes meet mine and I look down, trying to avoid my weakness.

“Are you hurt somewhere?” his voice is steady, making my nerves buzz.

“No. It was just—” He pulls me closer, fisting the hem of my top and yanking it up to reveal the scars on my back. He pushes the fabric up my spine, revealing inches of scarred skin. I close my eyes, feeling the air cool the marks on my back. Mom makes me submit to her wishes when she’s really angry, and that’s usually every time she gets a picture of Dad and his secretary from her private investigator. I don’t even know why she has one, but she spends all day crying over it, drinking herself to death. When I try to interfere, she blames me and hits me.

“Are those…” His eyes go wide with fury as he takes in my scars. I feel exposed and ashamed. I didn’t ever want him to see me like this. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out where they came from. Ronan has seen my mother drink. She even came onto him once but he refused her. Then, she threw glasses around and created a mess until the maids made her stop. Ronan runs his thumb over the new scar and I moan. “Is this the one that I touched?”

He’s so cool, so calm and collected despite the rage I know he feels.

“Yes.” He’s holding me too close. I’m half in love with my tutor though he’s never shown any interest in me before. But Ronan is the only one who ever listens to me. With him by my side, I feel a little less lonely.

Time stands still as he drags his finger over the healing mark, making me breathe heavier with each stroke. His fingers tighten on my wrist, digging into my flesh so hard that I think it’ll break. He’s never been so forceful with me before, never tried to do anything like this, and I kinda like it.

“You’re…hurting me.”

His head snaps up and Ronan immediately loosens his grip. “I’m sorry.”

“You should let me go before someone walks in. The door isn’t locked, remember?” My voice is breathy, his touches making my pussy moist and ready.

“Do you have scars anywhere else?” I can’t stop my body from reacting to his touches, can’t stop the anticipation in my heart when he treats me with kindness.

“A few in my thigh, stomach, and neck, though they’ve faded.” Mom tried to strangle me once when she was really angry but Dad came and broke us up. She went to rehab for a bit after that, but she still has an alcohol addiction. I know she only does it because she’s sad, but I want her to stop.

“Turn around.” I obey him, turning my body so that he can get a clearer view of my back. Ronan pulls my shirt up, tugging on my hands. I raise them, allowing him to take them off my body, leaving me in only my white t-shirt bra, and miniskirt. I feel so exposed, though he’s seen me in far less than this. Coiling a hand around my stomach, he pulls me toward him. His lips ghost my ear, his fingers touching the marks on my back, opening me up in a way nobody else ever has. “Who hurt you, little dove?”

Little dove.

He calls me that sometimes. And I love it. It makes me feel special.

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