Page 25 of Savage Ambition

He set his book down, rising from his desk. “No, but I’m not surprised that you’re here. You couldn’t stay away, could you? Not after what happened today.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I held my ground as he closed the distance.

“In here, I own you,” he said.

“You don’t own anything,” I spat, anger flaring hot in my chest. “I’m the one paying, remember?”

His laugh was soft and vicious. “Is that what you tell yourself to sleep at night? That your money gives you power here?” He circled me. “Money buys you access. It doesn’t buy control.”

“Then what am I paying for?”

“The privilege of my attention and the rare opportunity to surrender to someone who sees the real you hiding under that perfect reputation you’ve built as a nice guy.” He stopped in front of me. “You’re paying for the right to beg me to ruin you.”

I tilted my chin defiantly. “I don’t beg.”

His laugh was dark and knowing. “Not yet. But you will.” He leaned against a desk with casual arrogance. “Tell me, does Jace know who you’re with right now?”

The mention of my friend sent a jolt of panic through me. “Leave him out of this.”

“Why? Because he might find out his best friend likes to get fucked by men?” Dante’s eyes glittered with malice. “Or because he might discover you’re paying to fuck the one man he hates most in the world?”

“I said leave him out of it,” I growled, taking a step forward out of anger.

Dante didn’t move, didn’t even flinch at my advance. “He almost caught on today, didn’t he? When I had my hand on you in front of the university. When I was hard against your ass while he stood there clueless.” His smile widened. “Did you like that? The danger of being discovered? The thrill of keeping our dirty little secret?”

“Fuck you,” I snarled, hands curling into fists.

“That’s the plan, isn’t it?” He pushed off the desk, closing the distance between us again. “That’s why you keep coming back. To fuck me. To use me.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “To pretend for a few hours that you’re someone who matters.”

The words hit me hard. “You don’t know shit about me.”

He reached out, tracing a finger down my cheek in a mockery of tenderness. “Don’t I? I know you’re torn between wanting to punch me and fuck me right now. You hate yourself for returning here, but you hate the thought of not coming back even more.” His finger trailed lower, down my neck to rest at my pulse point. “Your heart races when I touch you, especially when you’re angry.”

Without warning, he slammed my back against the wall hard, his forearm pressed against my chest. “It means I’ve been in your head all day,” he murmured, his face inches from mine. “You can’t stop thinking about what I did to you. About what I’ll do to you tonight.”

I struggled against his hold, shoving at his shoulders. “Get off me!”

“Make me.” His free hand slid down my body, cupping me through my jeans with a brutal grip. “Your cock doesn’t lie, even when your mouth does.”

I bucked against him, trying to dislodge him, but the movement only pressed me harder into his hand. He squeezed, the sharp ache blending into the intense friction. “Stop it!”

“Why?” His grip tightened further, drawing a strangled gasp from me. “Because you’re afraid of how good it feels when I hurt you? When I make you take what I give you?”

“Fuck you,” I spat, heat flooding my face as my body betrayed me, hardening under his punishing touch.

His smile was vicious. “No, I’m going to make you fuck me. Hard. The way you’ve been obsessing about since last night.” His palm ground against my growing erection. “But first, I’ll make you beg for it.”

With a surge of strength born from rage and humiliation, I shoved to create space between us. He let me, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction at my resistance.

“You think you can make me beg?” I challenged, advancing on him. “You think you have that kind of power over me?”

He didn’t retreat, meeting my advance with absolute calm. “I know I do. I can feel it in how hard you get when I manhandle you.” His hand shot out, gripping my neck before I could react. “In how your pulse races when I choke you.” His fingers tightened, not enough to cut off air but enough to make breathing a struggle.

I grabbed his wrist, trying to pull his hand away, but he used the momentum to spin me around, slamming me face-first against the whiteboard. The marker tray dug into my stomach as his body pinned mine, his hold on my throat shifting to the back of my neck, forcing my cheek against the cold surface.

“Why are you always resisting what we both know you crave?” His free hand snaked around to my front, palming my erection through my jeans. “You want it to hurt, don’t you? You want me to force you past your limits.”

“No,” I gasped, the lie transparent even to my own ears as my hips pressed into his touch.