My cock is still locked up inside of her. I’m halfway to hard again.
The times I’ve pictured myself meeting Grace’s father, I’m shaking his hand and telling him, with confidence, that I can give his daughter a good life. I’m not there yet, though. I’m a week away. Longer. Because I won’t be satisfied with one payday. Not if I want to give her the world—and I do.
Already my chances of gaining the respect of Mr. Foster were slim. But if he walks around the corner and finds me fucking his daughter against a wall in her school uniform, there isn’t a chance in hell of gaining his admiration.
Grace wiggles frantically between me and the wall, planting her feet on the ground and fixing her panties and skirt, while I zip up as fast as possible, run agitated fingers through my hair. There is no way to make it less obvious what we were doing back here. Grace is flushed bright pink and I’m sweating. And that’s how Simmons Foster finds us when he strides around the corner, his face a mask of fury.
A few other people come into view behind him. In their school uniforms.
One of them is Collier.
He winks, holds up his phone. “Payback’s a bitch,” he mouths at me.
Nine
Grace
I can’t believe this is happening.
This boy that has become the center of my universe just told me he loves me.
I was on the verge of saying it back to him. Telling him I can barely breathe unless he’s standing right in front of me. Now, right in front of my eyes, I can see it all being ripped away. The fear of him being taken from me causes me to stumble, dizzy, but North catches me up against his side, his arms and presence and scent reassuring.
Even in the face of my father’s wrath.
And oh God, he’s so mad. I’ve never seen his face that deep shade of red, spittle escaping from the corners of his mouth. What is he going to do?
The best I can hope for is that he kicks me out.
Please kick me out.
Cut me off.
Just don’t take away North. Please, please, don’t take away North.
I’m sinking to the bottom of this obsession with him and I have no wish to kick for the surface. My body aches and suffers unless he’s touching it. I’m restless and sad and anxious without him. I’m not stupid. I know the depth of my devotion to him is more than a little crazy. We’re like two chemicals that aren’t supposed to mix, because once we do, there are explosions and changes to the atmosphere. But we did meet—and so be it. I need him and he needs me. There’s no way out of that or around it.
I look up into North’s face to try and communicate this to him, but he’s staring down Collier, a vein throbbing in his temple. That’s when I realize that my friends betrayed me. They’ve been aloof with me since last weekend, since I went home with North. And I knew, I’ve always known, that my circle rejects anything unfamiliar. I feared some kind of social punishment from them. But I’ve been so wrapped up in North that I missed the signs that they were planning to rat me out to Simmons. Imminently. Just waiting for the right moment.
Well if their plan was to wreck my chance at happiness, they couldn’t have picked a better moment. My father looks me over with pure disgust, obviously aware of what me and North were doing before he arrived. When he turns that sneer on North, I automatically step closer to my boyfriend, wanting to deflect the hatred from this perfect, wonderful boy who treats me like I’m crafted from gold. This boy who understands me and encourages me and gives me dark, indescribable pleasure beyond my wildest imagination.
“Get over here immediately, Grace Foster,” my father snaps off.
“No,” I whisper.
Slowly, my father cocks his head. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”
“I said, no. I’m not leaving North. You have to let us explain—”
My father reaches out and grabs my wrist, yanking me hard in his direction.
Pain shoots up my arm. “You’re hurting me,” I whimper.
Before I can get far, North releases a strangled growl and inserts himself between me and my father, chest heaving. Their similar heights allow him to look Simmons square in the eye. “All due respect, sir, if you don’t let go of her wrist, I’ll make you let it go.”
My father sniffs dismissively, but I can see the new awareness in his eyes. The realization that he’s not the physically strongest man present. And he lets go of my wrist, allowing me to cradle it to my chest.
“Be careful, Mr. Foster,” Collier calls, his expression smug. “Whitlock isn’t house-trained. The rules of polite society don’t apply to him.”