Page 92 of Broken by my Bully
His legs are spread wide in that chair, and I hate that I notice. Hate that some sick part of me remembers what it felt like to be trapped between them.
How he sounded when he called me baby while he was choking me.
Kai—my green-eyed boy—is going to destroy me.
And not only do I fuckingwanthim to…
I’m pretty sure I’m going to enjoy every second of it.
Kai
Rooke isn’t just late. He doesn’t show up for class at all. I didn’t expect my foray into teaching to end on such a weird climax, so I tell Rooke’s students to read from their textbooks while I go outside to make a call.
It’s bullshit. I need to clear my head.
Ha. I’m dealing with an infestation, not some cobwebs. I need a fucking weed whacker to get rid of Haven.
I don’t plan on going back to the lecture hall, so I trot down the stairs and out through the cafeteria, walking around the back of the campus building until I’m in the area beside the library windows.
The two enormous oak trees shading the grass look like bookends to a densely wooded area that stretches a few hundred yards from the campus. These woods are my new happy place. A stark contrast to the manicured lawn and rectangular hedges that run along the length of the library gardens, but a subpar replacement for the woods back in Riverside.
No time to go hiking through those trees today, though. I’d end up smoking the joint in my backpack and never going back to class.
Nope. All I need is a little fresh air to wipe out the image of Haven sucking me off under the library table.
I turn to look for a spot to sit. The concrete benches are too hard. Maybe I’ll sit under the farthest oak tree.
A student rounds the corner where I’d just been walking. I pay them no mind until I see brown hair fluttering.
Haven speed walks toward me.
“The fuck are you doing here?” I call out. “You’re supposed to be in class.”
She just keeps coming.
“Or in your car,” I add, laughing.
Christ, it’s disturbing how single-minded she looks right now in her cute, thrifted sundress and flip-flops. Thought she’d learned her lesson about wearing those to class, but I guess I was wrong.
She’s a few feet away when she tugs on the handle of her tote bag, shortening the linen strap.
That should have been my first clue.
The snarl that jumps onto her mouth should have been my second.
But it seems I still have this bad habit of underestimating little Miss H, because I’m standing there smirking at her like an idiot when she swings her tote bag and catches me full on the side of her head.
“Jesus!” I yell as I fall to the grass. “You got a fucking brick in there?”
She stomps down on my stomach, kicks off her flip-flop when it gets tangled in her toes, then does it again.
My washboard abs barely feel it, but I’m kinda too scared to get up in case she slams me with her fucking tote bag again.
“Haven!”
“Fuck you, you piece of shit!” She tries to kick my head, but I get my arms up in time to deflect it.
Then she’s on her knees, her sundress’s skirt taut as she straddles me.
