James: A College Girl Romance (7 page)

“I’m not a rapist, or a necrophiliac. However, under this arrangement, I am allowed to touch you wherever and whenever I like—”

I stared up at him and started to shake my head.

“Uh, I don’t know …”

“There’s a panic button in the bedroom, if that makes you feel any better. You press that, and it will alert the local police department and a private firm contracted for security.”

“Who
are
you?” I whispered.

“I’m careful.”

He took out his wallet and handed me a credit card.

“I’ll have you added to the account by tomorrow. For any expenses.”

“Are you serious?”

“There’s nothing in your records to indicate you’re less than trustworthy.”

“My records,” I said dully. “What else do you know about me?”

“Perhaps more than you’d like me to. Oh, and I’ll need your measurements.”

I swallowed hard.

I had just made a deal with the devil.

“W
hat do I call you? Mr. McDevitt? Sir? Your highness? God? Jimbo?”

I liked this girl. She was entertaining, and she had a sarcastic tongue I could think of entertaining uses for.

“James is fine.”

She gave me a crooked smile.

“Well, James. Now that you own me, what’s next?”

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, my hard-on came back with a vengeance.

“You’re quite saucy for the reluctant virgin.”

She looked down, her pink little lips pursing as she suppressed a smile.

“I’m sorry, sir.”

I laughed when her stomach snarled.

“Would you like something to eat?”

When she looked up at me, her expression was one of surprise, like she had assumed I would starve her.

“Okay.”

“Kitchen’s this way.”

She followed after me, her black Mary Janes clacking on the hardwood. When I stepped into the kitchen and gestured for her to go ahead of me, she took two steps before stopping and looking around. She whistled and turned back to look at me.

“You so don’t belong in this town.”

She walked over to the sink and reached for the soap, which caused her plaid skirt to rise enough that all I could think about was bending her over the marble counter, tearing off her panties, and burying my dick in that tight little pussy. Any other night, any other woman, and that was exactly what I’d be doing. For once in my life, I was looking forward to her capitulation more than I wanted the instant gratification, which was mildly unsettling.

“Have anything you’d like,” I said when she turned and gave me an uncertain look.

She nodded and began walking toward the refrigerator before stopping.

“You mind if I take these off?” she asked, pointing at her shoes.

“You don’t have to ask my permission. You’re not my submissive.”

She blushed again and leaned on the counter as she took off the heels. She really was tiny. I watched as she walked to the refrigerator in her bare feet and took out a yogurt. My phone buzzed again, and I regretted not turning the fucking thing off. Goddamn Madison could be obnoxious when she was drunk.

“Booty call?” Cass asked humorously as she searched the drawers for a spoon.

When I didn’t say anything, she laughed.

“
Ha
! Nailed it. What the hell? You obviously have chicks lining up to hop on your stick, so what’s up?”

“Hop on my stick? You have quite the mouth on you.”

“I said I was a virgin at twenty-three—not a saint. Why me, though? Why not any of the many willing?”

“Any of the many willing—I like that. Because easy can be synonymous with boring.”

“What about impossible?” she asked as she leaned against the counter.

She sucked a spoonful of strawberry yogurt from the spoon and smiled at me.

“I’m curious,” I said slowly. “What would be so bad about letting me fuck you over this counter right now?”

Her cheeks flushed. She could certainly dish out the attitude, but she was easily shocked—and I was hard as stone. She finished her yogurt in record time and rinsed the container.

“Recycling is under the sink,” I said, pointing.

“Good. If you didn’t recycle, the deal would have been off.”

She smiled again, opened the cabinet, and dropped the container in the can before washing her spoon. While she was preoccupied, I walked to the entry table, took the knife out of my pocket, and sliced open the package Irving had had delivered. When I came back, Cass was sitting at the edge of the couch like she was waiting for a dentist appointment.

“Bedtime,” I said dryly.

She gave me an apprehensive nod and stood.

“Do you mind if I shower?”

“Please, be my guest. Would you like company?”

Her eyes briefly widened before she smirked. When I handed her the box, she studied it suspiciously. I started down the hall to the master bedroom.

“Toothbrush, toiletries, towels—anything you need—it’s all in the bathroom.”

I looked back. She had paused to look at the art on the walls. The reality that one piece of artwork from this house could pay for her graduate education did not elude me. She was a microcosm of an ever-shrinking middle class that my father and those like him sucked dry.

Of course, I was complicit, or at the very least benefiting from the ever-widening class gap, courtesy of the one percent and the politicians in the pockets of people like my father. I knew that if this girl hadn’t been waiting tables in a strip club, there was no way she would have agreed to my arrangement.

I was, in my own way, taking advantage of her parents’ apathy and a middle class that more and more would feed its children to a virtually unregulated student-loan market. On the flip side, at least I was aware that the disparity between wage slaves and the ultra-wealthy was causing this country to go to shit. Too bad the masses wouldn’t notice until it was too late.

I pointed to the bathroom before walking back down the hall to pour two fingers of whisky and refill her wine glass. After setting them on the nightstand in the bedroom, I left and walked into the bathroom in the guest bedroom. First, I texted Irving about arranging to move Cass’s belongings from her apartment. Then I stripped out of my clothes and took a cold shower.

When I returned to the bedroom, the bathroom door was still closed. I dropped my towel and sighed as I pulled on a pair of cotton pajama pants. Seconds after I pulled them on, the door to the bathroom opened.

“How long have you—
”

Cass stopped abruptly and stared at me with a look of shock as her eyes traced over the tattoos on my chest and arms. Assuming she couldn’t easily read Latin, I was relatively sure she had no idea what any of the script meant.

The black satin kimono she was wearing made her pale skin glow and set off her long red hair as it hung loose and damp down her back. I sighed and silently admitted that I had brought this misery upon myself.

“Finish your thought, lovely,” I prompted as her eyes dropped down before jerking up to my face.

“How long had you been planning to bring me back here—or do you keep lingerie on hand for every woman you bring home?”

“I knew I wanted you from the moment I saw you.” Her lips parted, and she stared at me again. “And if you ask me why again, I
will
bend you over and spank you,” I added without a trace of humor.

She sucked in her breath. She was such a refreshing mixture of naiveté and attitude.

“Now, come here. I’d like to see my latest purchase.”

She looked down at the kimono and scowled.

“Could you have found anything more revealing?” she asked as she plucked at the hem.

“Absolutely.”

She swallowed.

“That’s
not
comforting.”

I walked to the table and took a sip of whisky. When I crooked my finger at her, she approached me cautiously before stopping a foot away. I set the glass on the night table and slowly reached out, watching as her tongue darted between her lips. One tug on the satin belt, and the robe fell open, exposing the enticingly sheer black lace cups followed by a Georgette baby doll dress that exposed the thong she was wearing beneath it.

I sat on the edge of the bed and snaked an arm around her waist, drawing her closer. Then I released her and simply watched as her breathing shuddered. Her nipples were like perfectly ripe raspberries pressing against the lace.

“Very nice.”

I dipped my thumb into the whisky before reaching out and taking hold of her hip. The moment my thumb touched the peak of her breast, she jerked against my grip. I tightened my hold on her and watched her face as I traced over her again. Her eyes drifted closed.

When I pinched her nipple between my thumb and index finger, she cried out and I braced her weight as her knees buckled. Then I slowly drew her into my lap. Her eyes opened, and she looked reproachfully at me. Her features were perfect and doll-like, her cheeks flushed and her lips a bright pink.

“You are so incredibly beautiful—and highly fuckable. How did you last so long without getting fucked?”

“Oh my god! Do you follow up every potential compliment with some crass commentary? What are you? Fourteen?” she squeaked.

She began to wriggle, attempting to extract herself from my lap without falling backward. Instead of letting her go, I gripped both her hips and drew her forward until she was flush with my increasingly painful hard-on. Her eyes flitted to mine, and she became completely still.

“Cassia Flynn, I can promise you that every man you’ve come into contact with has, at some point, thought about fucking you.”

If I were so inclined, I could make her come right now, but I didn’t want to push her over the edge. Not yet. I wanted to take my time. I released her and held out my hand to steady her as she scrambled from my lap.

“You’re so strange!” she squeaked. “Why do you want someone who’s only around for your money? It makes no sense!”

“People wanting material gain from me has been a fact of my life, so I would prefer to have an honest transaction, rather than pretending it’s something it’s not.”

She frowned.

“That’s really sad, James.”

The way she said my name felt different, even if I didn’t know why. She briefly studied me before walking out of the room. Scrubbing a hand across my face, I took a moment to re-examine my decision to seek out a challenge rather than a quick fuck.

On several occasions, individuals had called me out for being both stubborn and a bastard. They hadn’t been wrong.

Maybe Cassia Flynn was my form of self-punishment. Or not. She happened to be a better challenge than I’d enjoyed in a long time, and I knew her eventual surrender would be well worth the wait. I snagged the whisky from the nightstand before walking over to the desk and opening the laptop to look over Irving’s report.

Fuck me. Both of Cassia Flynn’s “parents” were real pieces of work. Cynthia Joanna Agnew, née Adler, was on husband number three, although one of those marriages had been scrubbed from most records via annulment. She and Cass apparently had been close once upon a time—the girl had served as the maid of honor at the wedding to the stepfather. However, the termination of financial support obviously had come as a big surprise.

According to university records, Ms. Flynn had attended the first week of the spring term before receiving a non-payment notice, which had forced her to drop her courses.

It appeared that stepdaddy had been on quite the gambling and spending spree and had tired of paying for his wife’s offspring to attain a higher education. A little two-week holiday in France with five-hundred dollars a night in wine alone had coincided with Cass finding out that she no longer had parental support. Nice. I had no issue with how the stepfather spent his money; it was the screwing over of his wife’s kid that pissed me off.

Students like her were the truest victims in the system. With families technically wealthy enough to afford to send them to a respectable public school, these students didn’t “qualify” for government-subsidized loans. If their families checked out on them, they either took out sketchy loans that would haunt them decades into adulthood—or apparently they worked at strip clubs off the interstate.

I made a few calls to contacts in New York and Europe—because people, like my business partner, always panicked when you said you were taking vacation, which was why I had aspired to make myself as irrelevant as possible, so that when I decided I wanted to do something more entertaining—I could do so without drama.

Money had never been an issue, but since the IPO, money had become inconsequential. I could never spend it all, so it was only time that had any real value to me. However, there was one meeting, tomorrow in San Francisco, that I didn’t want to miss.

When I was finished, I got up and walked down the hall to the guest bedroom. Cass was asleep on the mattress, which was still wrapped in plastic. She lay there with only a thin blanket from the sofa wrapped around her. Considering I’d set the air-conditioning to artic to set off the brutal summer temperatures, she must have been frozen.

I walked over, scooped her up, and carried her back to the master. She was still asleep when I laid her on the bed and covered her. What I had told her earlier was the truth, pure and simple. People, women in particular, generally saw two things when they looked at me: money and someone they wanted to fuck.

I had learned this lesson early. Freshman year of undergrad, to be exact. Anastasia Carmichael. She had been the TA of my sociology class. Twenty-five and hot as hell, she had sucked me off under her desk during office hours. Her story had been: ‘
If anyone found out about us, I would lose my stipend and be kicked out of the doctoral program’
.

The truth had been: she’d had a fiancé—
and
she had been fucking her graduate advisor on the side. When I had shown up at her apartment with a two-carat stone to propose, she had dropped me like the stupid kid I had been at the time.