In the blink of an eye, he eats up the distance between us before pressing the fabric into my outstretched hand. My nails dig into the soft cottony material. With a glare, I drop my book. Humor ignites in his eyes as it hits the marble at my feet with a loud thud. My fingers tremble as I shrug out of the blazer and drop it to the floor before yanking his shirt over my head. People stare as I shove one arm through the short sleeve.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
I pause and scowl. “I’m putting on your stupid shirt.”
He presses his lips together before shaking his head. “You need to remove the other one first.”
“What?” My mouth dries as I stare with wide eyes. Please tell me he isn’t being serious.
“You heard me.” He nods toward the bathroom down the hall. “Go change. Or do it right here in front of everyone. I don’t give a shit.”
“B-but this isn’t part of the school uniform.” My mind spins, trying to come up with an excuse. “The teachers won’t allow me to wear this in class.”
“It might be your family’s name on the front of the school, but mine is the one who runs it.” His eyes darken. “In case you haven’t figured it out yet, I’m the one in charge.” He glances at the digital clock hanging in the hallway. “You’ve got two minutes before the start of first hour. Get moving. I’m not in the mood to be late.”
Tears prick my eyelids. I blink them back, refusing to let them fall before swinging around and taking a step toward the bathroom.
“Oh,” he calls after me, “and lose the bra.”
My shoulders slump as I stomp away and slam through the lavatory door.
I hate him.
I hate Kingsley Rothchild.
Quickly I glance around, thankful the bathroom is empty and I’m alone. Everyone has scurried off to class. I stare at the shirt in my hand before unbuttoning the one I’m wearing and jerking the material away from my chest until I’m standing in front of the mirror in my white lacy bra.
As much as I want to defy him, there’s no point. Hastily I reach around and unhook the clasp until the material springs apart before sliding down my shoulders. I keep my gaze lowered as I pull the shirt over my head and stuff my arms through the sleeves. Only then do I chance a peek at my reflection. A dismayed puff of air leaves my lips as I take in the way it hugs my slender curves. This is probably the first time in my life that I’ve been thankful for B cups. Property of K. Rothchild stretches across my breasts. In order for someone to read the words, they need to stare at my chest.
Doubtful that’s a coincidence.
My nipples tighten, poking through the thin fabric. It’s the dreaded headlight effect. Without a padded bra, there’s nothing I can do to diminish my reaction.
A bell rings throughout the building signaling that first hour is now underway.
Is it too much to ask that Kingsley has already taken off for class?
I’d prefer to make this walk of shame on my own.
Gathering my courage, I push out of the bathroom only to find him waiting in the empty hallway with my blazer thrown over one arm and my book in his hand.
His gaze immediately drops to my breasts. “I like the way my name looks stamped across your titties.” He smirks. “Now there won’t be any question as to who you belong to.”
My hands tighten, the nails digging into my palms as anger bubbles up inside me. “Give me my blazer.”
He closes the distance between us before holding it out. I grab the heavy wool and quickly shove my arms through the sleeves before tugging it protectively around my body, trying to cover as much of the shirt as possible. From the corner of my eye, I watch anxiously to see if he’ll force me to go without it. I wouldn’t put anything past him. When he remains silent, relief rushes through me, weakening my muscles. Then I grab my book before stomping to my locker to toss my shirt and bra inside.
As I’m about to slam the door shut, he reaches into the metal contraption and pulls out the silky material before allowing it to dangle from his index finger.
“What are you doing?”
His lips lift before he stuffs it into his blazer pocket. “Holding onto it so you won’t be tempted to put it back on.”
“I won’t do that,” I ground out.
“Please. You’re a Hawthorne. Who the hell knows what you’re capable of?”
When I open my mouth to argue, he steps closer until his body can press into mine. His hand snakes beneath the wool of the blazer until the palm can settle over my breast before giving it a cruel squeeze. I wince. “You wouldn’t want me to do a titty check after each class, now would you?”