Page 47 of Pretty Vile

“What if she doesn’t show up before my classes begin?” Emilia asks, sounding panicked. “She’s going to know as soon as she sees my face that something is up.”

“Breathe,” I tell her, trying to calm her down. “The team will be in place all day. Forget they are even there and just go about your day as normal.”

She scoffs, throwing another unappreciated glare my way. “Sure. I’ll just pretend I don’t have a stalker who wants to lock me away in a tower and that Kai and your men aren’t out there risking their necks to catch her.”

“That’s the spirit.”

She rolls her eyes at my sarcasm but thankfully comes to sit beside me at the kitchen island.

“What if it doesn’t work?”

“Then we’ll go back tomorrow. And the next day. And the next, until we catch her. And if we still come up empty-handed, we’ll devise another plan,” I state confidently. Even though we’re in full view of the kitchen window and Mel could be lurking outside if she isn’t on campus, I reach out and clasp Emilia’s hand with my own. “We won’t stop until she’s no longer a threat. You hear me?”

I hook my foot around the leg of her barstool and drag it toward me. She lets out a squeak as the chair scrapes along the floor, until it butts up against mine, and Emilia’s jasmine scent invades my nostrils.

“If we don’t catch her today, then it will be someday soon, because I can only keep my hands off you for so long.”

Emilia snorts, but at least there’s a smile on her face now. “Your hands were all over me last night.”

“Mmm,” I hum, remembering the feel of her soft skin beneath mine as I bent her over the arm of the sofa downstairs and fucked her until she was screaming my name. “And if Mel wasn’t an issue, I’d have you spread out on this island, fucking your brains out before we both went our separate ways for the day.”

I love how Emilia’s breathing hitches, and a soft pink floods her cheeks, as though she’s picturing me doing exactly that. The uncomfortable tightness in my crotch has me wishing I could.

Soon.

Soon, that will be exactly how we start every day. I’ll eat her for breakfast before heading to class or work, and she’ll go off to teach with the feel of my tongue in her pussy and a just-fucked glow that will remind all of those fuckboys on campus that she’s off-limits.

Emilia shifts on her stool, squeezing her thighs together and making me smirk. “Does that get you wet?” I purr huskily, caring less and less by the second if Mel is standing outside watching this. Let her watch. Let her see exactly how Emilia responds to my voice, my dirty words, my touch.

Let that crazy psycho see what she will never have. Because even if she manages to snare Emilia and keep her all to herself, she will never, ever experience what I do. Emilia will never melt beneath her touch. Never drop her inhibitions and let loose the wild girl who resides deep inside her. She will never know Emilia as intimately as I do.

“Answer me,” I demand in a low growl I know gets her hot. “Do you want me to start every day by making you come before sending you out the door with my cum dripping down your thighs and the stench of sex on you, so every guy that enters your classroom will know you’re mine?”

Her eyes snap up to mine, flaring with lust. “Yes.”

Smirking, I reach a hand out and fist the fabric of her long skirt, bunching it until the soft, creamy skin of her calf is exposed.

“Hawk,” she pants, arousal and fear tinging her voice.

“Shhh,” I soothe, continuing my task of pulling up her skirt. “She can’t see us here, but you’ve gotta keep a straight face. Can you do that, baby?”

My hand slides up her leg, my fingers trailing along the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, until I reach the fabric of her panties. I teasingly brush my thumb over the front of them, loving the way she gasps at that simple touch.

“You gotta give me an answer,”—another teasing brush over her clit—“Or I’ll have to stop.”

“No, don’t stop,” she pleads, her hands wrapping around the edge of the table and clinging to it as though her life depends on it. “Please.”

God damn, I do love it when she begs.

“Then you have to promise to keep a straight face.”

“I promise. Please, just don’t stop.”

Smirking, I push the fabric of her panties aside and sweep my fingers through her gathered arousal. “So wet already,” I purr smugly. “Is all of this for me?”

"Yes," she moans as I massage her folds. I want nothing more than to get on my knees, push her thighs apart, and stare at her glistening wet pussy lips that are dripping solely for me. Nevertheless, with Herculean effort, I manage to restrain myself. That would definitely be a dead giveaway as to what we’re up to.

Rather, I content myself with watching her fight her body's instincts, biting down on her lower lip and struggling to keep any sign of what I’m doing to her beneath the table from showing on her face.

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