Page 25 of His to Teach
“And Mason is a very good friend. A very old, good friend. This thing between us—it can’t happen again.”
I know he’s right. Of course he’s right. The most important thing in my life is this graduate program. It needs to be my entire focus. And when Nate is around, it’s very hard to focus on anything else. I need to get a handle on this.
“I understand.”
He smiles. “Good. I’m glad we’re on the same page.” His tone is kind—and more than a little patronizing. It makes me want to start a fight.
“And when we see each other at the Club we’ll just ignore each other?”
The kindness immediately flees his face. “I told you that it won’t be happening.”
I cross my arms, eying him over the desk. “I don’t believe that being a friend—even a very old friend—of my brother, or a professor at this university, gives you the authority to tell me what to do in my free time.”
He stands, placing his hand flat on the desk. “Harper?—”
“No.” I stand too, gesturing down at the sandwich I’ve barely touched. “I get that you have this whole bossy thing going on. That’s fine. I’m sure it comes in handy directing research. If Iend up getting the position, you can boss me around on campus to your heart’s content. But that’s where it ends.”
The splayed fingers on his desk clench, the only outward sign that he’s battling his control. “Harper.”
I turn to leave. “Thanks for the lunch, Dr. Chase.”
I only manage to get halfway to the door before I feel his strong fingers wrapping around my wrist, his voice an angry rasp in my ear. “You are not to go to that club again, do you understand me?”
I turn to find myself face-to-face with him. He’s clearly angry, his breathing heavy. He seems on edge and I wonder what it would be like to make him completely lose control. The thought makes me shiver.
“Again,” I manage, though my voice is shaking. “Not your problem.”
He just stares at me and I can see it’s taking everything in him to keep from losing it. “Fine,” he says at last, releasing my wrist. The corners of his mouth tug up but the smile is anything but warm. It’s more than a little terrifying, to be honest. “I’ll just have to make sure you stay plenty busy with your school work.”
We stare at each other for a long moment. For some reason, it feels like I’ve won something—though I can’t say exactly what. “You do that,” I tell him, offering my sweetest smile. Then I turn again to the door and hurry out before he loses the last bit of patience that he’s still clinging to.
NATE
As a teenager, I drove my parents crazy. Of course, I still do, but these days it has to do with my career choice, rather than my unruly behavior.
If I’m honest,unrulyhardly begins to cover it. I was a nightmare. I’m pretty sure I spent more time suspended than I did in class. I was constantly fighting, constantly sneaking liquor, constantly getting called in to be berated by the head master at the fancy private school they paid a fortune for.
My parents had no idea what to do with me. If there’s one thing they value more than wealth, it’s order. People like us—people with money, with status—are supposed to behave a certain way. They wanted a child they could brag about at the club, a child who would follow my father’s footsteps at the most prestigious prep school in the country before moving on to an ivy league education and a lifetime of conquering the business world, just like he did.
I wasnotthe child they envisioned.
My mother despaired of me. My father was certain he could bring me in line if he could just threaten me with the right consequences. None of it worked.
Though I would never admit it to them, I didn’t actually enjoy those years of debauchery. My entire world felt out of control. Unsettled and chaotic.Ifelt out of control. And there didn’t seem to be anything I could do about it. I could barely keep my anger in check, an anger that I didn’t understand, that constantly left me feeling confused as I careened from one bad decision to another.
Something changed, when I got to college. Maybe it was the absence of my parents, finally experiencing a taste of freedom from their oppressive expectations. For once I felt like I had some independence, like I could be my own man. Maybe the change was just a hormonal thing, a calming that came with getting older.
Whatever the reason, for the first time in my life, I could concentrate. I felt like I had a purpose, like there were things I could do. Like there were things that were worth doing.
I found myself in my books and my college classes. And no one was more shocked by it then me.
Now that I’m teaching, now that I have some experience with this kind of thing in my students, it’s pretty obvious to me that I had an undiagnosed condition, likely ADHD. Of course, my parents would have never allowed me to be tested. No way a child of theirs would do something so unseemly as need help. People like us didn’t need help—my suffering was a small price to pay for their pride.
I’ve always wondered how much those early experiences influenced my attraction to the BDSM lifestyle. Through domination, I discovered complete control—both of someone else and of myself. Through my experiences with my subs I practiced that control, honed it and perfected it. It’s been years since I’ve felt that uncomfortable confusion I associate with a lack of self-discipline.
But fuck me if I don’t feel it now. There’s something about Harper Cain that saps me of all control and all composure. Something that sends me right back to that confused, pissed off, desperate kid who had no idea what he was doing.
And it only gets worse every damn time I see her on campus the first week of classes.
