Defy (Sinners of Saint 0.5)

My parents always said money made people twisted and immoral. I used to think they were exaggerating. I was starting to believe that they weren’t.

I stood up, smoothing my dress and jutting out my chin. Principal Followhill held my gaze but tugged at her ear. Nervous. Desperate. Clueless.

“All is forgotten?” Her lips barely moved.

“All is forgotten.” I nodded, walking out of her office $10,000 richer.

I drove straight to a local bar.

After all, I had some money to burn. And dirty little secrets to forget.

I WOBBLED BACK TO MY apartment building at midnight, my breath stinking of Bud Light and stale peanuts. Trying to fish for my keys, I halted in front of my door in the darkened hallway, rummaging through my loaded handbag. When I finally felt the sharp edge of the key, I jerked out my Pointe shoe keychain and it clunked to the floor. Blowing a lock of my hair from my face in frustration, I sighed. It was going to be a bitch to retrieve. I was getting too old to get tanked.

But I didn’t even have to bend down.

Because someone else picked my keys up for me. From behind.

My heart throbbed faster, yet I stilled, feeling the warmth of another body pressing against mine. The air pulsated with the vitality of an impending fantasy that was about to be fulfilled.

Fear and lust filled my veins with adrenaline and dopamine. The overlapping feelings made me heady, excited and aroused.

Crap. I couldn’t resist him in my current state. His erection dug into my ass, and I swallowed.

I watched his hand unlocking my door from behind. His warm lips whispered into my ear. “Get in and get naked.” It was an order.

The door flung open with a little push from his hand. I wanted to cry in excitement. Correction: I did actually cry in excitement. There were tears of joy in my eyes. What can I say? Booze and eighteen-year-old jocks who are hung like a horse made this girl hella happy.

I practically skipped into my living room/kitchen, which was decorated with brown boxes and my old couch. I had to move to hell-knows-where next month and was already starting to pack. Seeing my life crumbling, stuffed into half-filled cardboard containers, only made my decision to have sex with my student easier. It wasn’t like I was ruining anything substantial I’d built. I was a loser, practically homeless and soon-to-be unemployed. An outcast. Jaime took the edge off of the reality of my future.

I felt his huge form pacing behind me, ready to pounce at any moment.

I pulled off my polka-dot dress and threw it on the floor. Turning around, I looked at him for the first time, smiling under my lashes. Jaime did not return the playful smile. In fact, his brows were knit tightly together and his jaw so clenched, it looked like it was about to snap. He had a cut lip and dried blood coating his nostrils.

He fought. Again. Probably with Vicious, judging from the nasty welts and purple bruises.

“What happened to you?” I swallowed.

He ignored my question. “This is how you repay me for fixing up your shit, Ms. Greene?” His voice was dark and serious. Not at all like an eighteen-year-old’s student.

“Jaime.” My tone danced unevenly. Jaime…what? I stood him up. Even though I never did agree to meet him at my place. How long had he been waiting, anyway?

I was standing in my bra and underwear in my living room, dealing with a cranky teenager and was pretty fucking sauced. Another low I didn’t think I was going to stoop to. I hugged my own waist, covering some of my skin.

“I like your bra,” he said hoarsely, but it did not sound like a compliment. It sounded like a threat.

I looked down to examine the pink lace.

“It’s my favorite. Victoria’s Secret.” I licked my lips, sounding dumber than an Adam Sandler character. I was so out of my element. Jesus. What the fuck was wrong with me?

“Come here,” he demanded, pointing at the floor.

I paced in his direction, my eyes bugging out at the thrill. He was wearing dark Diesel jeans and a black muscle shirt with his gym’s name on it. And flip-flops. I loved men who could pull off flip-flops. His bun was spectacularly messy, too.

When I got to him, I looked down. No toe hair. A keeper.

“Down on your knees, Greene.” His voice still had a menacing edge to it.

Where did that come from? He was usually a pretty playful guy. In an I’ll-fuck-you-over kind of way. I did as I was told, because…well, because at this point, I was pretty much the Followhills’ bitch. Sit, bend, cash checks, forget secrets, kneel down. I was lucky they hadn’t asked me to scoop dog poop from their front lawn.

“I have a blow job with your name on it for making me wait here like a soft dick.” He brushed a brown curl from my face.