Page 111 of Swallow Your Sorries

She glances at my wrists as if assessing the threat.

It’s cute that she thinks this little knot can keep me.

Still, her lip quivers and she obliges, dropping her arms back to her sides.

“I’m remembering all of you,” I say. “So you can’t lie to me again. I’m burning every inch of your body into my brain. Any changes without our consent will have dire consequences.”

“There you go with thatweandour shit again,” she bites out.

“Look around, Dove. It’s just us. It’s always been just us from the beginning in the studio. I see now that I should’ve kept it that way. Just you and I.”

“So, when will you spread the word to your minions to back off?”

“When the time is right,” I say, coming to stand directly in front of her again. “Now take off the skirt. Kick off your panties and lay back on the table. I need to see every centimetre.”

She doesn’t hesitate this time, but her eyes flutter to the floor as she reaches for the waistband of her skirt.

“Look at me while you take it off.”

She doesn’t. “Why?”

“So you can’t pretend you’re somewhere else or that this isn’t happening.” I step so close that she’s practically straddling my knee. “Now be a good girl and look at me.”

And she does. Those green irises, suddenly two shades too dark, gaze up at me through heavy red lashes. And for once, I don’t see hatred.

I see pure desire.

Elle

I want to lie to myself and say I’m doing this because I have to. Because I want the interlude. Because Ineeda break, physically and mentally. Because I need Gant to tutor me in ballet. Because I need his ass to pay for the computer Rin ruined before Mum gets a bill and starts prying.

Before she finds out that there is no scholarship. Just Gant Auclair.

I can say all the above are my reasons for giving in, but the truth is that I want him to tutor me in more ways than just dance. It doesn’t mean anything other than normal teen angst, sheer stupidity, horniness and burnout.

A rite of passage.

I can still hate him, just like he hates me. And I can still want to fuck him, just like he wants to fuck me. I just have to put thoughts of love and romance to the side. Right now we’re in a battle of who can fuck the other the hardest and the best. Who can get the last laugh. The last cruel cackle. Because all of this is just a giant game to him and if I’m staying, I have no choice but to play. And if I have to play, I have to win. Dethroning aside, I need a backup plan. A safety net. And that’s when an insane thought comes to me.

I keep saying that I’m not Gant’s. That I’m not his stupid little doll he can play with wherever he feels like. But what if I become just that? What if I feed his ego and make him believe I want nothing more than to be toyed with?

What if I become his comfort? His safety blanket that he can let his guard down around. That he can whisper his deepest secrets to. Because so far, I know jack shit about him besides what everyone else already knows via Beaussip’s articles. But that’s not the true Gant. That’s just his persona. A mask we all wear.

Mine is Scholarship Slut. Gant’s little pawn.

That’s not who am, but I can just pretend.

I can be the good baby doll that he needs to get what I need in the meantime.

We’re standing so close that the back of my hand brushes his front, his hardened length as I unzip my skirt and it falls to the floor around my ankles. I would protest about it touching the earthy floor, but what did it matter? My skirt’s clean but it looks filthy anyway, like it’s growing fungus spots.

When I step out of the fabric, he kicks it away and drops to his knees.

Again, he’s taking his time to inspect every centimetre. I hate the way I watch him too, studying his expression for approval. His eyes settle on my ribs, on that indented scar where the car hit me the night of Madame’s death.

The night everything changed.

I can practically see the question swirling in his mind, but he lets it go for now, dropping his gaze to my panties that are level with his mouth.

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