Ignited & Unhinged (Billionaire Secret, Book One)(Billionaire Romance, New Adult Romance, College Romance) (11 page)

I head to the gym after brunch in the SE Dining Hall.

It’s Sunday and I am so ready for my weekly dose of dancing.

The gym, named after alumnus William J. Hurte, was better known amongst students as the
House of Hurte
for its fifteen floors of exercise gear and all-manner of torturous equipment designed to whip bodies into shape.

In addition to all the normal sport spaces like the expansive basketball courts, we also had squash courts, four Olympic-sized swimming pools, two full gymnastics centers, two floors of dance studios, special training equipment for the polo team and so many other rooms full of specialized equipment I didn’t recognize.

The façade looks like a grand European cathedral with massive stained glass windows and arched entries.

I go through security, first showing my ID and then waving it in front of the black card reader until the red light turns green.

In the elevator I sneak a peek at myself in the mirrors that cover each wall.

My wavy brown hair spills over my bare shoulders. The black spaghetti strap leotard hugs my slender frame, as did my black yoga pants.

I’m showing more cleavage than I was comfortable with.

Damn
. I’d left my sweater at the table during brunch.

The elevator
bings
my arrival.

Inside the massive dance studio, the class had already begun.

I rush to the end of the line of women facing the leaders, who were mostly men.

The instructors from the team are teaching the International Cha Cha, the dance that couple from the team had performed at The Space.

Damn! I was really looking forward to this one—and I missed the first fifteen minutes.

They play the music and the two lines converge. Each person naturally gravitates towards the leader or follower directly in front of them.

I’m about to reach a young looking sophomore I hadn’t danced with before when Bash cuts in front of him and pulls me away.

“You’re late!” he scolds.

“Yeah, I had brunch with my suite this morning and lost track of time. And by brunch I mean Earl Grey and a banana,” I joke.

“Not hungry? Or don’t tell me you’re one of those svelte women who are always on a diet even though it would be ridiculous,” he raises a judgmental eyebrow.

“HA! Thaaanks? No, I eat. I just don’t like to eat much before dance. I’m already starving, though.”

He frowns and shrugs at the same time. “That I get. It’s difficult to move lightly when you’re stuffed.”

“Exactly,” I agree. “OK, so what did I miss?”

“The I Cha basic, two turns and a New Yorker.” He grabs my hand thrusts me forward into him, making me laugh and then back out to lock in our frame.

I mirror his movements as he leads me through all the steps and then some.

It feels so good not to think.

We are still dancing when the music cuts out and the female instructor clears her throat to get our attention.

The lines had parted again signaling the breakdown of a new set of steps.

I scurry back to my line.

Bash disappears from the leader line each time the lines split apart and each time we come together he reappears out of nowhere. Intercepting me before I reach the person I think will be my partner for the sequence.

When there are fifteen minutes left in the hour, the instructors stop teaching.

They play the music and we find partners to practice with for the remaining time. Bash grabs me and moves us away from the center of the floor where everyone had congregated.

He spins us into the International Cha Cha basic and then straight into a series of moves I don’t recognize.

I feel great. Dancing with Bash is the best form of freedom. There simply isn’t time or space for my over-analytical brain to get in the way…unlike the rest of my life.

The vestiges of the previous evening had plagued my waking mind and had even permeated my dreams.

Scenes of first Erik and then Damon, and Erik and Damon at the same time, and Erik and Damon with someone who looked exactly like me, but couldn’t enjoy pleasure without judgment.

It was all very telling.

I was actually judging myself for judging myself.

I know that it’s OK to be attracted to both of them, that much I had allowed myself.

Rationally, I know that it should be OK to hook-up with them both. It was the logical extension of not being exclusive with Damon…and possibly the whole point of The Society?

But it bothers me…I think.

I even examined whether or not I was starting to fall for Damon.

I still wanted his company, but I was sure that I hadn’t fallen for him. I had some help determining this at brunch which is why I lost track of time.

Jasmine got the PG-13 version. I told her that I had a problem making out with two guys.

How were you supposed to know if you were falling for a guy, anyway? She asked me one question: would it bother me if Damon made out with, or started dating someone else seriously?

My honest answer to both was: no.

Thank God
.

I read somewhere that men make women messy, and I was not ready to get messy. This whole two guys at once deal was messy enough.

But this. This dancing with Bash—it’s another form of flying.

Who needs an orgasm? Well…maybe that was overstating things.

We laugh and dance for the rest of the hour. He leads me in and out of several dance styles, sometimes merging them together.

I don’t notice the other newbies staring at us.

The music stops and he releases me.

I place my hands on my head to get as much air into my lungs as possible.

“Phew! That was so bloody fantastic!” I’m still trying to catch my breath.

“You seemed to be having fun. You come alive when you dance. I think you should really face the facts,” he says, his breathing almost normal.

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“You’re a dancer,” he answers simply.

I shake my head and wave off the compliment. “You have to say that.”

“Elle, how many times have I praised your ability? When are you going to start believing me?” He sounds a little annoyed.

I smile bashfully at him. I wasn’t trying to be annoying.

Just then the female instructor Tanya walks over to us. She doesn’t usually teach on Sundays, but I recognize her as half of the couple who performed at The Space.

She’s got a high voice, like a teenybopper. “Well done. You know you’re really good. We all honestly thought you were a transfer who danced competitively on another team.”

I give her what I hope is a gracious smile. “Really? Thanks. I thought Bash had made that up to be nice.”

She lets out half a laugh.

“Let me guess, you don’t take compliments easily?” she says.

I shrug. Guilty. I’d never thought about it before, but I was a really terrible compliment taker.

She nods knowingly. “Takes one to know one. Really though you should consider joining the team. We technically closed off new additions a few weeks ago, but for you we would make an exception. Practice is three times a week at the Med School. Competitions are on weekends. Think about it, OK? See you guys.” She waves behind her as she walks off.

I turn to give Bash a complete goofball smile.

I can’t help it. It was one thing to enjoy something thoroughly, it was another to have outside corroboration that you were actually good.

Screw the whole Erik-Damon thing! I’m going to take my pleasure wherever I can get it.

And dancing might just be another form of pleasure that I need in my life.

He’s sporting kind of a goofy smile himself, “Are you still hungry? Ivy Slice?”

I nod.

We walk the two blocks from the House of Hurte to Ivy Slice.

It’s a beautiful October day. The leaves have turned orange and yellow and red. The sun is shining.

People are out enjoying the afternoon. Some shop, others greet friends on the sidewalk, and dewy-eyed high school students take tours of the campus with their parents.

There’s a light breeze that has a chilly kick to it. I hug myself as I start to shiver.

“You should have brought a sweater with you,” Bash observes.

“I had planned to, but I left it in the dining hall,” I shrug.

“Here, use mine. It’s totally clean.” He hands me the hoodie he had draped over one shoulder.

“You aren’t cold?”

“No, it takes a lot to make me cold.”

“Then why do you carry a hoodie?”

“Why? So I can gallantly offer it to shivering ladies.” He makes a courtly gesture.

“No, I just got in the habit of always carrying a sweater around with me once October hits. You will too. Trust me. There’s no predicting our schizo weather.”

That was new. “
Schizo
weather?”

“Yup. People who don’t live here think we exaggerate, but last year you don’t know how often it went from a thunderstorm, to hail, to hot sunshine,” he nods emphatically.

Wow. “In a single day?” I ask.

“HA! Within ten minutes!”

I pull on the oversized hoodie and cuddle into it. It smells like one of those male body sprays.

The scent mixes with the breeze.

We pick up our slices at the counter of the narrow restaurant and grab a two person table.

The walls are red with black and white photographs of The College everywhere. Apparently, it was a popular color scheme for restaurants in the area.

I bite into my slice of pepperoni.

“Mmmmm. Hmmm. Yup.” My head bops up and down. Coming here was an excellent idea.

“So where is home right now? Where do you go back to during breaks?” I ask.

He finishes his bite before responding, “Right now, my parents are diplomats in Paris so I usually go back there.”

Diplomats, wow. “Niice. Is that where you spent the summer?”

He shakes his head. “Nope, I spent the summer in Argentina.”

“Visiting friends…? Job…?”

“Learning the Argentine Tango.” He smiles broadly.

“The entire summer?”

He nods.

“Wow, pretty awesome parents. What an experience!” I’m impressed.

“No, they hated the idea. I knew that they would never let me do it. They would expect me to intern with an international government body or at a prestigious bank somewhere.”

He takes another bite before continuing, “So I got a job tutoring children last year and saved every dime I made so I could spend the summer exactly as I liked without needing their approval or their checkbook.”

Now I’m really impressed.

“Where did you spend the summer?” he asks between bites.

“In Lyon actually,” I answer. “I studied at the Alliance Française there.”

“Super! Vous parlez couramment le français alors?”

“HA! Non, je ne suis pas couramment le français. Je parle un peu.” I’m definitely not fluent, but I probably should be after four years in high school and a summer in France.

“Your pronunciation is excellent. I’m sure you’re better than you think. Weren’t you forced to speak constantly? How could you not be!” he sounds so sure.

“Well, thank you. My pronunciation did get much better, but my fluency didn’t happen. It may have had something to do with the group of English kids I befriended.”

He looks confused. “How so?”

“I didn’t end up speaking French all the time. I got on with them so well that we did everything together. I ended up speaking quite a lot of English. So you know, I guess I cheated a bit.” I smile to myself.

“My family thought it was hilarious. My English had never been so proper,” I explain.

“You went to France and came back speaking proper English? You should put that on a t-shirt,” he laughs with me.

“A toast,” he begins, holding up his pizza slice, “To Argentine Tango and proper English!” We bump slices and smile. 

Somehow I’m less nervous today than I had been the last few weeks.

It was different when I had just walked in on him.

This time he’d sought me out, he was aroused
by me
.

I wasn’t this stranger who had unknowingly invaded his privacy anymore, but somehow invited into his space.

I’m still conflicted about our make out session because I had arrived with Damon, but I no longer felt like an awkward freshman in his class.

At least, that’s what I thought.

And then he walked in.

Professor West strides in all lithe masculinity. Each step exudes a certainty that makes my mouth water.

I want his body as much as I want his certainty in life.

I watch him closely. What was he thinking right now? Would he act any differently towards me?

He sets his laptop down and connects it to the projector as he does every lecture.

After setting up his gear, he always looks up in a very deliberate way to signal the start of the class.

Today seems like any other, except for the fact that when he looks up, he looks straight at me…and smiles that same mischievous smile he’d given me after the lights had come on in the closet.

And unlike every other day, I don’t shy away from looking at him. I return the smile unconsciously…and then blush so deep I must look sunburned.

After what seems like an eternity that leaves me breathless, he begins his lecture.

Crap
. Had anyone noticed? I sneak a peek to my left and then to the right. No one seems to be looking at me. No one seems to be whispering.

Forty-five minutes later, I really hadn’t heard anything he’d said.

Usually, I was able to keep track of the information coming out of his mouth even through my fantasies, but today all I could think about was that same mouth on my neck, devouring me.

He moves closer to the images projected on the screen, pointing out this or that.

I follow his hands and remember them hiking up my dress.

I remember how close he had come to penetrating me before I had stopped him.

This gorgeous, brilliant man who inspired fantasies and lived without inhibitions, had been aroused by me.

But how could he view the situation as anything more than a game?

Did that matter?

I didn’t want more.

I wanted him. I wanted his body. I wanted to feel what that blonde had felt. Emotions had nothing to do with it. But what about ethics?

He’s my professor. It’s one thing to yield to the desire I feel for Damon. To not care about whatever game he might be playing because my interests in that relationship were purely physical.
Right
?

But could I do that with Erik? Could I risk the possible land mine of sleeping with someone who could open me up to scandal?

Could that purely physical relationship do anything but place me in an exposed, defenseless position? Would it be worth it?

Shit
!

I had lost myself so completely in my internal dialogue, that I hadn’t noticed everyone packing up to leave.

Quickly, I collect my things. I hadn’t made any decisions.

I need more time to sort through it all and I can’t get cornered.

There are only forty people left in the room.

There’s something at the bottom of my laptop bag that’s preventing it from sliding in smoothly.

Thirty people.

I reach in, it’s a pen. I remove it and secure my computer.

Twenty.

In my rush I drop my cell and have to reach behind the seat in front of me. Damn it’s wedged between the back of the chair and stepped floor.

Come on
.

Got it!

I throw it in the small compartment of my laptop bag and quickly make my way towards the door.

Ten.

There are still a few people behind me. I did it!

“Ms. Roberts? A word please.” It isn’t a question.

With a sinking feeling I turn around.

He locks me in his gaze. I can’t look away.

The last few people exit, leaving us alone.

Neither of us say anything. The silence is charged.

We are building towards something. I don’t have a coherent thought left when he looks at me like that.

His face oscillates between a hunger that I enjoy witnessing, and an uncertainty that is less appealing.

It appears I’m not the only one experiencing a heated internal dialogue.

I wonder if my face mirrors his.

And that’s the last thought I have. I’m not thinking at all anymore.

I just want him on me, in me, any which way I can have him.

Some part of me manages to register that I am just a couple of feet from the now closed door.

I can leave. Can’t I?

His face settles. He’s made a decision.

He takes a step towards me.

Instinctively, I take a step back.

He stops and searches my face.

Unconsciously, I press my lips together. His eyes move to my lips and in an instant he closes the ten foot gap. Like a Viking on a mission.

I fall back against the wall a second before he’s on me.

With one arm, he grabs me around the waist, with the other he grabs my face. Together they work to crush me to him.

His lips are unrelenting.

All the pent up sexual energy converges in this one moment.

I move my arms around his neck, willing him to be as close as possible. It isn’t enough.

And then he releases me.

He runs to the door, locks it and is back on me a second later.

I move my hands beneath his black t-shirt, I want to feel his chest and the sleek body I had longed to touch for months.

My hands slide down his deliciously smooth abs. When they reach that
V
of his hips, he draws in a breath, leaving a small gap between his skin and the waist band of his jeans.

It’s an invitation. I take it. My right hand reaches down to find his long, hard dick jutting out from his boxer briefs.

I press my hand firmly against his head making him groan, loudly. My fingers encircle him, keeping my grip firm and flexible.

After only a few seconds, he removes my hand and pins both arms above my head. He leans into me so I can feel his length.

He liberates one of his hands by enclosing both of my wrists in one hand. The other travels beneath my shirt and up to my breast, he pushes the cup of my bra aside and kneads me.

A strangled sound somewhere between a whimper and a moan bubbles up from inside me as his lips devour me.

Then he moves that hand down my abs, to the top button of my jeans. His deft fingers release first the button and then the zipper.

He reaches down to massage me over my panties.

He breaks our kiss, his face is a few inches away. He’s staring deeply into my eyes.

My breathing is out of control. He watches my face as he continues to massage me, then, with his eyes still studying me, he moves two fingers beneath my panties and thrusts into me.

I inhale sharply. His fingers are long and powerful. He moves them with authority, claiming me. In and out, a pounding rhythm.

I can’t imagine how his cock could feel any better.

I free one hand from his iron grip and reach for him, stroking his generous length.

I stare back into his eyes, enjoying my effect on him. His eyes burn with an intensity I think could consume me, but I don’t look away.

He inserts a third finger and I lose it.

I am all sensation.

He continues to impale me as I stroke him.

I reach the blinding light just as I feel him spasm. My body trembles with the force of it. My insides clench together and the waves of pleasure wash over me.

He holds me until the waves stop and then releases me. I fall back against the wall and slide down to the floor. He follows.

The sound of my heavy breathing reconnects me with my brain.

Wow, just…wow
.

Holy crap, that just happened.

Hadn’t there been something about an unresolved internal dialogue? I’m trying desperately to remember what had held me back.

And then it comes. This situation—as pleasurable as it had the potential to be, and had just been—could leave me in a very compromising position.

We are both sitting against the wall, leaning into each other.

I look up into his light green eyes. They are searching me again.

“What are you thinking?” He makes it sound like my thoughts are as interesting to him as one of his impassioned lectures on the masters.

I let my head fall from side to side lazily. “That this can’t possibly be OK.”

“What do you mean?” He sounds genuinely confused.

Really?

Wasn’t he supposed to be a genius?

My lower lip drops open, “The whole you’re my professor bit? That I’ve seen you screw? That you are a part of a super-secret society we can’t talk about? That I’m spending time with someone else, also a part of that society and I have no idea what I’m doing?” I let it all spill out.

What’s the use in holding back?

He chuckles and lets his head fall against the wall.

“You seemed to know what you were doing just fine.”

He smiles down at me.

It’s hard not to be happy.

About the compliment and the smile.

“And that whole sacred pedagogic relationship thing?” I raise my eyebrows questioningly.

He shrugs in a very unconcerned way. When my face doesn’t change, he answers.

“Giselle, learning and sex have been intertwined for millennia. The mind is the most powerful tool of pleasure we have. Paiderastia in ancient Greece was a long and sacred tradition in its own right.”

OK. Well if the Greeks did it…

“You mean pederasty? Wasn’t that type of relationship restricted to males?” I’m pretty sure I remember that correctly.

“You know classic history,” he sounds impressed. “Yes, it was mostly a homoerotic relationship between males, characteristic of the Archaic and Classical periods. Still, there is a long history of sexualized pedagogic relationships.”

I’m unconvinced. This can’t possibly OK. Maybe for him, but surely not for me.

He reads the thoughts as they cross my face, “Is it your perception that I am in charge of your grade?”

“What do you mean
perception
?” I ask.

“Well, I hate to blow your mind,” he looks at me and with a boisterous aside adds, “any more than I already have today, but I don’t give you a grade.”

My back straightens, coming off the wall. “Come again?”

“Most faculty members have more important things to do than hand out grades. That’s why we have teaching assistants. The College wants us to teach, to engage in discussions with students, to be available for office hours, but they also expect us to publish and tour the country giving guest lectures.”

He takes a breath, “We are tasked with staying at the very top of our respective fields—that doesn’t leave enough time to read through hundreds of papers and exams each semester.”

I look away, thinking about this. “I guess that makes sense.”

Did it change anything? Aren’t I still exposed?

He’s trying. Trying to make me feel better. “Is it the age thing?” He takes my hand and runs a finger down the center of my palm, sending a shiver down my spine.

“You realize I got my PhD at 23, right? I’m only 25. And in case you were wondering, there is no regulation prohibiting what we just did. As I said in my first lecture, it is our right to experience pleasure.” He leans in to kiss me.

“Mmmmm…” I’m starting to let go again.

Wait,
pleasure
…The Society.

I break away.

“There is still that whole sex society thing.” I think through my words, “You clearly don’t have any inhibitions…and I enjoy Damon’s company as well.” I extract my hand from his and lace my fingers together.

I stare at my hands. “I haven’t been able to process my attraction for you both.”

“Are you in a relationship with him?” he asks simply.

I look up. “No, it’s just physical.”

“Do you want to be?” He’s examining me carefully.

I press my lips together. “No, I like things how they are…without entanglements.”

His voice drops an octave, “Are you looking for a relationship with me?”

“No.” I smile to myself. Remembering that first conversation with Damon after I had gone back to his room.

His lips twitch, “What is it?”

I look back into his eyes and with all the earnestness I had given Damon, answer him.

“I promise, I won’t fall in love with you.”

He draws his eyebrows together but looks amused.

“Noted.” He narrows his eyes at me. “You are quite unique, aren’t you?”

I don’t know what to say to Erik’s version of you’re a strange one.

Damon
.

I still don’t know what I’m doing or how to mentally navigate between these two gorgeous men.

I straighten my clothes and look at him again.

“Still, I really don’t know what I’m doing here. I’m way, way out of my depth. I can’t shut off my brain,” except when I can, like just now, “I need to figure out what I think about you, Damon, The Society…”

Another thought occurs to me. “Do you make it a habit of…
engaging
with students?” This idea
does
bother me for some reason.

“No.”

I scrutinize his face.

“I don’t lie, ever,” he says simply.

“Except about The Society,” I correct.

“No, I’ve never lied about that. The Society is incredibly secret, when something is that secret there is never a need to lie.”

“But what about when someone asks about your plans?” I continue.

“When you’re out of college, people rarely go out of their way to find out about your weekend plans. If anyone asks, I respond with vague truths.”

I don’t say anything.

“And in case you’re wondering if my ‘no’ was just in response to your literal question of whether I make this a habit and not also a response to your implied question of whether I had ever had a sexual encounter with a student, the answer is no to both.”

I don’t believe that. This sex god?

Students were probably throwing themselves at him all the time. “How can that be true if you’re so big on pleasure?”