Page 67 of The KING Review

but in answer to your question, no I don’t give a shit about the bet

but I want to see if you’re still too afraid to cross lines that scare you

because if you do, there’s no going back

Me:

What is me telling you to come to my office if not crossing a line? Because you know that I’m planning to fuck you in there.

Don’t:

that’s not the kind of line I’m talking about

I frown at my phone, confused. What the fuck is she talking about?

I glance at my watch. The session is over. I close my laptop, nodding to the students in their pods as they tidy away their stuff, but Neve stays seated, leaning back lazily in her chair.

I return to my phone, typing so hard the tips of my fingers go white.

Me:

Miss Hart, if you don’t come to my office after this study session, I’m going to have to punish you properly.

As students begin to filter out, she finally stands, phone in hand. I’m unable to take my eyes off her as she defiantly marches out of the room.

Then my phone lights up.

Don’t:

I look forward to it, daddy

remember, I told you I want you to make it hurt

Chapter Twenty

Eyes on Your Notes

Neve

The library is quiet. It’s been a full day since I basically dared Grant to take action on whatever is going on between us. I didn’t explicitly state it, but I hope he works it out soon—that the line I want him to cross is him coming to me first. I want him to make the first move.

I know I’ve already made him out of control—I’ve seen it—but I want him truly reckless. Not so much that he puts either of us in danger, but I want him to need me. Maybe that’s a little mean, but I’ve seen what Grant King looks like when he’s barely leashed.

I want him unmoored.

It’s late. Like, barely-anybody-else-here late. I don’t think I’ve seen another human being who is definitely not actually a library poltergeist in about an hour. That is, until Grant King saunters into the back corner of the library where I am, and sits down next to me like it’s nothing.

I freeze, highlighter hovering over the page I’m attempting to annotate. I now cannot remember a single thing I’ve read in the entire evening I’ve been here, or possibly my whole life.

He leans back in the chair, and it creaks. Damn, he looks good. Dark Henley with the sleeves pushed up, black jeans, boots. He’s wearing these little wire-framed glasses, which is frankly unfair. Then he pulls out a fucking Maya Mercy paperback.

My lips part, and I almost laugh, but then I remember that I want to try and keep the upper hand. I know I won’t, but I still want to put up a bit of faux resistance. Especially because I know that he wants me to, whether he admits it or not.

I swallow hard as he gets his phone out, glancing around surreptitiously.

My own phone buzzes on the desk a few moments later.

Professor Daddy: