Things I Wanted To Say (Lancaster Prep Book 1)

FOUR DAYS. He’s ignored me for four days, and it’s beyond infuriating. Not that I want him to contact me.

I’m a liar. Of course I want him to contact me. He left me a needy, trembling mess Saturday night, slumped against the fence. Despite the threats. Despite the aggressive way he touched me. Talked to me. He’s a horrible human, but for some reason, it feels like he’s my horrible human. I don’t know why he’d make so many demands, only to leave me completely alone.

The kiss is what destroyed me. His lips are a weapon, and when they touch mine, I become lost. Weak. I think about his kiss. His fingers on my throat. His hard body pressed against mine. My entire body aches just thinking about him.

Monday morning I show up to Honors English an amped up mess, worrying over his reaction.

He doesn’t show up.

I pass him in the hall between classes. Spot him in the dining hall. He doesn’t even look in my direction. His gaze flits over me as if I’m not even there. It’s like this the rest of the day. Every day this week so far. Eventually, I do the same to him. Going about my business. Walking through the halls, into classrooms, around campus with my head held high.

Fuck him and his deal. He’s trying to teach me some sort of lesson, and I don’t get it. He demanded I be willing to do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted, and then he doesn’t even bother with me.

It’s confusing. He’s confusing.

I saw Sylvie on Monday. She spent lunch and the study period with me in the library. Whispering and gossiping. I wanted to ask her about Whit, but I kept my mouth shut. And after Monday, I don’t see Sylvie again. I can only assume she’s sick once again, and now she’s a ghost on this campus. One minute she’s there. The next, gone.

I miss her. She’s my only friend.

Instead of worrying about Whit Lancaster and his endless bullshit, I concentrate on school. I have a paper to write. A few projects to finish. Surprisingly, no one at school is treating me terrible anymore. It’s a relief, yet one I don’t understand. Did Whit call off his dogs? Is that all it takes? One snap of his fingers and they leave me alone?

He wields so much power on this campus, it’s mind-blowing.

Terrifying.

I’m working on my paper on my laptop when a text message comes through from an unidentified number. Frowning, I open it.

Come to my room. 9 p.m. WAL

Excitement sparks in my stomach. Between my legs. I’ve been summoned.

Finally.

I don’t respond to his text. What’s the point? He probably wouldn’t answer me anyway. He expects me to show up, and I will. I will do whatever it takes to get that journal back. There’s too much incriminating evidence in there. Things I don’t want anyone to know. If he were to find out and leak that information? I’d be done for.

Ruined.

I’m sure that’s exactly what he wants, too.

Curfew is at ten on a weeknight, so I have no issues walking out of my room or exiting the dorm in general. What will be hard is getting back into the building. The security isn’t the best, considering how old the buildings are, and they don’t want to destroy the structure, the old-world feel, blah blah blah, but still. There are cameras, but Sylvie & I are not close enough friends to ask her to work her hacking magic for me.

Besides, if I make the request, then she’ll start asking questions. And I don’t want to answer them.

So I’m taking my chances, and praying I won’t get caught.

I’m dressed like I’m going for a jog, much like what I wore the night I found him in the rain. Leggings and Nikes and a hoodie. The only difference is I’m not wearing a bra. No panties. I considered wearing something sexy underneath my clothes, but I don’t have much in that department. Besides, I’m sure he just wants easy access.

I enter the building where his suite is. It used to be the old staffing quarters, but no one lives on campus who works here anymore, besides advisors and security. And they’re housed in another building.

The only ones who live in this building now are Whit and Sylvie, and half the time, she’s not around. The rest of the rooms are used for storage, or stand empty. Unused.

Wasted.

I walk down the darkened hall, unsure which room is his. I keep my footsteps light, not wanting to draw attention to myself in case Sylvie is in her room. She is the last person I want to run into right now.

A door suddenly swings open, allowing light into the hallway and I come to a complete stop, waiting to see if he might appear.

But no one appears. No one speaks either. Yet the door remains open.

I start to move again, slowly. Cautiously. I press my lips together so no one can hear me breathe, drawing closer and closer to that beam of golden light that’s cast upon the floor. I take one step into the light and then he’s there, filling the doorway.

Glaring at me.

“You’re late.” His voice is flat. His gaze heated.

I pat my hoodie’s front pocket, but it’s empty. Like an idiot, I didn’t bring my phone. I have no idea what time it is.

“By what? A minute?” I challenge, feeling feisty.

His lips draw into a line. “By three minutes, if we’re being precise.”

I roll my eyes, my attitude a mask for my nervousness. “Are you disappointed? Want me to leave?”

I start to walk away and he steps out of the room, his hand settling on my shoulder. His touch burns, locking me in place and I glance up at him to find he’s already watching me. “You’re not going anywhere. We have a deal, remember?”

He wraps his fingers around my upper arm and escorts me inside, shutting the door behind us and turning the lock. I glance around the room, releasing a slow, shuddery breath, drinking it all in.

My single room is larger than the rooms where the girls have to share, but this is massive. There’s a king-size bed in the center of the room. Two bedside tables, two dressers. A full-length mirror propped against the wall, opposite the bed. A desk with a giant iMac computer. There’s a sitting area with a flat screen TV and a couch. A bookshelf filled to the brim with actual books. I can see the connecting bathroom, a closet. He has everything he needs here.

“Does it meet your approval?” he asks, his voice snide.

I turn to face him. “It’s really nice,” I say truthfully.

“It’ll do.”

I watch him walk to the bed. He’s clad in light gray Lancaster Prep sweatpants and a black T-shirt that clings to his shoulders and chest, showcasing every muscle he has. He settles on the edge of the mattress facing me, his legs spread wide, his hands braced behind him as he contemplates me, a bored expression on his gorgeous face.

“Strip,” he demands.

I raise a brow. “Getting right to business?”

“No backtalk. You agreed to do whatever I asked of you, whenever.” He pauses. “Now strip.”

My gaze never leaving his, I toe off my shoes, letting my socks slip off with them. “Maybe I wanted you to undress me.”

“You don’t get to choose in this scenario,” he says, his blank gaze unnerving me. “Quit stalling.”

His snappy tone stiffens my spine with anger and I whip the sweatshirt off without hesitation, tossing it onto the floor. His gaze settles on my chest, lingering there for a moment before it returns to mine.

“Keep going.”

I turn, pretending to keep my modesty, I guess, but really wanting him to get a glimpse of my bare ass. I grip the waistband of my leggings and bend over, tugging them down my legs, hoping he enjoys the view. I kick the leggings off the rest of the way, nudging them aside with my foot before I stand up straight.

“Turn around.” He sounds exasperated. I’m enjoying how much I’m annoying him. Probably too much.

Slowly I turn around and face him, not hiding my body whatsoever. Just like the last time we did this in my dorm room. Only now he has the advantage. Fully clothed to my naked. I rest my hands on my hips, contemplating him as much as he contemplates me, the both of us silent. Straight faces. Dim gazes. No smiles.

No emotion at all.

“Come here,” he finally says, his low voice rippling along my nerve endings.

I approach the bed, stopping directly in front of him. Fully prepared for him to demand I get on my knees next. I’m sure he’ll want to degrade me completely by fucking my mouth and coming on my face.

He’s sick. Worse?

I’m turned on by the mental image.

“Straddle me.” He brings his legs closer together and pats his right thigh, demonstrating where he wants me.

Frowning, surprised by his demand, I swing my leg over both of his, resting my hands on his broad shoulders, my center nestled right on top of him. I can feel his cock beneath the thick sweats, nudging up against my pussy and a ripple of wanting washes over me. I’m bound to leave a wet spot on his pants before this is through.

He settles his big hands on my waist, his touch light, though his fingers seem to burn against my bare skin. Goose bumps rise as usual, all over me, and I sit there on him, face to face. Unsure of what to do next.

Without a word he nuzzles my cheek with his nose, his intimate touch causing me to inhale sharply. His mouth rests at my ear and I can hear him breathing. “I can smell you,” he murmurs. “Here.”

He rubs his nose on my neck.

“And here.”

Reaching between us, he settles his hand on my pussy, cupping me.

I grip his shoulders tighter and dip my head, watching as my breasts rise and fall. Rise and fall with every hurried breath. My nipples are hard, aching points, and I remember when he sucked them last.

“What do you want me to do now?” I ask when he resettles his hand on my hip once more.

“Stay still,” he says, his mouth moving against the sensitive skin just below my ear. He’s silent for a moment, our breaths comingling, keeping pace with each other. “Do you hear that?”

“What?” I ask weakly.

“Your heart beating.” Whit touches my chest, his fingers resting in between my breasts. “So hard, Savage. Do I still scare you?”

Slowly I lift my head, my gaze meeting his. I bite my lower lip and nod once.

Whit smiles, brushing across my nipples with the back of his hand. “If I told you what I really want to do to you right now, you’d run screaming from my room. You’d never want to come back. I’d haunt your nightmares for the rest of your life.”

My heart trips over itself at his words, the promise behind them. “Tell me.”

He smiles, and the sight of it steals my breath. No wonder he doesn’t do it much. It’s absolutely devastating. “I want to mark your skin.”

“With what?”

“My mouth.” Leaning in, he touches his lips to my jaw. “My teeth.” He nips me there. “My hands.” They grip my hips tighter, pressing into my skin. “I’d tie you up, so tight. Then you can never run from me.”

“I wouldn’t want to,” I admit softly.

He lifts his head once more, those icy blue eyes staring at me, as if he can see down into my soul. It’s black and dark, just like his. His words don’t sound like a threat.

They’re a promise. One I’m desperate for him to fulfill.

“I’d tie you to the bed. Your hands. Your ankles. I’d want you spread wide, that pretty pussy on complete display. Just for me.” He drags his lips along my neck, and I close my eyes, my entire body tingling in anticipation of what he might say next. “But I wouldn’t touch it. Not yet. Not for a long time. First, I’d want you crying. Sobbing. Begging for me to touch you there. To let you come.”

His mouth sucks on the spot where my neck meets my shoulder, hard. Painfully. I squeeze his shoulders with my fingers, savoring the pain. “I’d touch you everywhere,” he continues. “I’d drive you out of your mind with wanting me. You’d drip all over the bed. I’d run my mouth across your stomach. The inside of your thighs. All over your ass. I’d kiss and bite you there, and leave bruises.”

I shift against him, nudging closer, as close as I can get, and his hands slide down to cup my ass. “Look at me,” he demands. I do as he says, my gaze locking with his, my entire body on fire for him. “You want me to fuck you tonight?”

My nod is furious, though I can’t find my words.

“Make yourself come then.” He lets go of my ass, reaching behind him to brace his hands on the mattress. His new position thrusts his hips up, his thick cock straining against the front of his sweatpants, pressing into me. “I won’t touch you. I won’t kiss you. I want you to use me.”

I gape at him, frowning. “Wh-what do you mean?”

“Get creative, Savage.” He grins, and my heart stops. “Rub that wet pussy all over my dick. Do whatever you want to me, but I’m not touching you. Won’t kiss you either. And don’t try to take off my clothes. Got it?”

This will be absolute torture for me, and he knows it.

It will also be torture for him.

Leaning in, I hover my mouth against his, whispering, “Got it.”

He doesn’t even flinch. Just watches me with that cool, assessing gaze. I press my feet against the floor, lifting up, until just my toes are on the ground, my torso pushed forward. I tilt my hips, gliding my pussy along the front of his sweats. Up and down.

Up and down.

Making me shake.

I lean my head back and close my eyes, shamelessly rubbing against him. I’m tits up, nipples pointing at the ceiling, my thighs shaking, straining from the position, and oh fuck, it feels so good. My clit rubs the seam of his sweats, his thick cock just beneath. My hands still grip his shoulders and I swear I can feel them grow more tense beneath my hold. Am I driving him crazy?

I hope so.

A moan escapes me, followed by a whimper. I drop my head so I’m facing him once more, and lower my feet, settling more firmly on top of him as I open my eyes. He’s still watching me, his eyes stormy. Full of hunger that I know he’s fighting. I circle my hips, gyrating against him, increasing my speed.

He doesn’t say a word. No encouragement. No nothing. Just that stare. He’s trying to remain impassive, but how can he, when I’m blatantly rubbing my naked body all over his? I can feel the tension in his muscular frame. See the storm brewing in his eyes.

“Oh God,” I whisper, my eyelids fluttering. I want them to stay open so I can watch him, but the sensations filling me are overwhelming. I let go of his shoulder to cup my breast. Pinch my nipple. A hiss leaves my lips and I lick them. Let my mouth hang open. “Fuck.”

Still he does nothing. Just watches me with that same expression on his face. The beautiful, cold statue in the garden. Cold. Unmoving.

It’s a façade though. His eyes give him away.

There’s a hitch in my breath when I shift up, my clit hitting the head of his cock. Oh yes. Right there. A string of dirty words leaves me as I grind on his cotton-covered dick, my entire body tense, the breath stuck in my throat as I strive toward my release. It’s close. I’m close. My clit throbs in time with my heartbeat, and I cry out when it hits me.

I’m falling, the orgasm wrapping itself around me, rendering me stupid. My cries pierce the air, again and again, gasping breaths leaving me as I rub on top of him like a cat in heat, my thigh muscles tight. Shaking. My entire body trembles and my fingers curl into the fabric of his T-shirt as I grip him like an anchor. If I let him go, I’ll fall to the floor.

When it’s over, I open my eyes, exhaling loudly. Our gazes meet.

“Stand up,” he says calmly.

I rise on shaky legs, staring at the giant wet spot that stains the front of his sweats. But that’s not all me. He did that too. His cock is leaking, I know it is.

He glances down at the spot, frowning, his gaze returning to mine. “You made a mess.”

“I’m a messy girl,” I say, my voice scratchy, my breaths uneven.

“Take them off.” He points at himself. “Get on your knees.”

Ah, here it is. I kneel down, reaching for the waistband of his sweats. I tug, and he lifts his hips, allowing me to pull them down, past his thighs. His cock pops up, straight and thick, the tip gleaming and wet. I back away when he kicks off his sweats. Reaches behind his neck to take off his T-shirt, until he’s just as naked as I am.

And what a glorious sight he is. His body is beautiful. A work of art. Elegant muscle and firm sinew. Those six-pack abs. His lean hips and thick thighs and that giant cock.

“My turn,” he whispers. “Lie on the bed.”

Confused, I stand once more and go to the side of the bed. He stands as well, going to the other side. “Dead center, Savage. Hurry up.”

I lie on the bed, sticky between my thighs, my nipples hard and throbbing. I could come again in seconds if he so much as barely touched my clit.

“Spread your legs,” he says and I do it automatically, opening myself to him.

He settles on the end of the bed, his fingers wrapped around the base of his cock as he begins to stroke. “Touch yourself.”

I frown. “What?”

“Do as I say.”

I rest my hand over my pussy, the heat licking at my fingers. “What do you want me to do next?”

“Do I need to command your every move?” he asks.

I say nothing. Just wait for his next order.

“Trace your clit,” he says, his voice low.

I do it, using just my index finger. “Like this?”

“Yes. Not too hard.” I increase my pace immediately, unable to stop myself. “Not too fast either. Stop.”

I pause, the tiny bit of flesh pulsating beneath my fingertip.

“Move your hand away. I can’t see you.”

He can’t make up his mind what he wants me to do. I drop my hand, moving my legs so my feet are flat on the mattress, my knees bent, legs still spread, giving him an eyeful. I watch as he begins to stroke himself in earnest, his hungry gaze glued to the spot between my thighs.

Without warning he rises up, crawling up the mattress. Crawling over me. Until he’s straddling my shoulders, my neck, his cock right in front of my mouth. “Let me come on your face.”

I knew he’d want this. Sick fuck.

But I want it too.

He strokes himself furiously, grunts sounding low in his throat. He’s so close. I can smell him. Feel him. His cock brushes my face and I lick my lips. Purse them together. A guttural groan leaves him as he teases my mouth with the head of his cock and I stick out my tongue, licking it. Tasting it. Tasting him.

“Fuck, Summer.” He chokes the words out on a gasp, and I feel his cum hit my face. Across my cheek. My lips. Streams of it. Again and again. He groans loudly and I open my eyes, watching him as he loses himself in me.

On me.

When it’s over, he reaches out, dipping his fingers in his own cum and smearing it on my lips, tracing their shape. “So fucking perfect,” he whispers, his compliment lighting me up inside.

He climbs off the bed without another word, leaving me there. My entire body throbs with the need to come, and his semen is all over my face. I think about wiping it off with my fingers and I’m about to do just that when he returns, a wet washcloth in his hand.

“I’ll wash you off.” His voice is cold. Almost clinical. As if he’s a doctor and I’m his patient, not the girl he just came all over.

I lie there and take it, closing my eyes as he wipes the cum off my face. His touch is impersonal, and he doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t even breathe hard. He’s in complete control of himself.

It’s infuriating.

When he’s finished, he’s off the bed and back in the bathroom. I roll onto my side, propping my head up with my hand, contemplating my surroundings. The room is completely shrouded in darkness, and I wish I knew what time it was.

“You should go.”

I sit up when I hear his deep voice, searching for him in the dim light. I find him standing in the open doorway of the connecting bathroom, stark naked and his arms curled in front of his chest.

“I thought—”

“You thought wrong,” he interrupts, pushing away from the doorframe and approaching the bed. “I’m done with you.” He bends over and grabs my clothing, tossing it at me. “Get dressed and get out.”

I scramble off the bed and do as he says, slipping my clothes back on as fast as I can, my entire body shaking, but for a different reason now. Any pleasant feelings I might’ve had, have left me. Now I’m just angry.

Enraged.

“I want my journal,” I tell him as I slip my shoes on, not bothering with my socks.

He actually laughs, the bastard. “You think one beat-off session gets your journal back? I don’t think so.”

“You treat me like shit,” I spit at him, hating the pain coursing through me. “Like I’m worthless.”

“Familiar, right? Isn’t that how you treat yourself?” He lifts a brow.

I march toward him, my hands clenched into fists. “What the fuck do you know about me?”

“More than you know. I watch you. You walk around this campus as if no one can touch you, but deep down, you have zero self-worth.” He takes a step forward, bending down so his face is in mine. “Find your value, Savage, and prove to me you’re worth more than a meaningless jerk off.” He waves his hand at me, dismissive. “Now get out.”

“I hate you,” I say, my voice quaking with anger.

“You hate yourself even more because you enjoyed every second of this,” he says with an evil smile. “Now go.”

I turn and leave without another word.