Pretty Dirty (Dirty Bad Things Book 2)(66)

He was not who I was expecting.

He who made me blush and tingle all over — who made me lose my ability to speak, and who made me just grin at him like a stammering idiot while my body grew warm in places that made my pulse skip a beat.

Those piercing blue eyes. That dark hair. That body and oh my God those tattoos. He was everything I’d always secretly lusted for, which is exactly what I’ve been doing ever since that day.

Lusting.

Badly.

For two months, even just passing the new Headmaster’s office door, or — fuck — hearing that deep, powerful, baritone voice of his over the intercom system was enough to make my panties soaked. Actually seeing him in the hallways was enough to get me to almost risk getting caught skipping school again so that I could get home and get my fingers to the places on my body that he lit on fire with need.

And after two months of melting over the untouchable Mr. Knolls, I thought I was free. That is, until I found out about the bullshit classes I had to take this summer. Until I realized that while my parents went on a tour of Asia for the summer, courtesy of my Dad’s work schedule, I’d be here — back in West Haven, back in Thornbull, and back to turning into a wet, sticky, whimpering puddle every time my Headmaster looked at me.

His name is Christian Knolls.

He’s thirty-eight.

He’s the Headmaster of my school.

And literally everything about him makes me want to drop to my knees in front of him and worship his body. Every single thought I’ve had since that day in his office has revolved around wanting him to tear my clothes from my body, bend me over his desk, and do every single filthy, depraved, wrong thing to me that he wants to.

My “bad” reputation at this school is all built on bullshit and stories I’ve spread myself. You see, half the school might think I’m a whore, but despite that bad girl rep, there’s just one, tiny thing:

I’ve never actually done it.

You know, “it.”

Any of it actually. True story. I mean even Jon and Mike here had steady girlfriends all through school. But not me. No boyfriends, no flings, no one-night-whatevers. None of it.

Me pretending to be bad has always just been an act — a way to distance myself from the lame, cookie-cutter crap of this town and this school. Except now, there’s one little problem: Christian Knolls makes me want to actually be bad.

He makes me want to be very, very bad, and I want to be bad all for him.

And today, I’m going to do something about it.





3





Tempest




The bottle trembles in my hands as I take a slow sip. I know he saw me come back here. I know because I know when he’s in his office, and I know I “snuck” behind the gym in full view of his window. I know a man like him — a firm, hard, dominant, alpha of a man — won’t be able to let something like skipping class go. I know he’ll investigate.

I shiver again.

I know he’ll catch me being bad, and I know what that means.

…Or at least I hope it’s what it means.

I know I’m wearing my skirt pulled up too high. I know I’ve got one too many buttons of my uniform blouse undone. I know I’ve got an extra layer of slick, wet, pink gloss on my lips.

I know I’m wearing the sexiest black thong I could find at the mall last weekend.

I know when Christian Knolls catches me skipping class and smoking behind the gym, he’s going to be mad. I know his gorgeous, chiseled jaw is going to clench and I know that his thick, muscled shoulders are going to bunch and tense, making the sexy as fuck ink around his neck and his wrists ripple in a way that makes me melt.

I know he’s going to be punish me for being bad.

…And then I’m going to show him just how bad I can be.

I take another sickly pull of the bottle, wrinkling my nose at the taste but hoping to God it’s worth it, when I see Mike and Jon pale in front of me. Mike looks like he’s just shit his pants, and Jon looks even worse.

I feel his presence behind me even before he speaks. My body tingles, and trembles, and tenses before that deep, powerful, commanding baritone even rumbles from his lips.

“What the fuck is this,” he hisses, the “s” sound of his words sending a lighting bolt from my ears to right between my legs and instantly soaking my panties. I bite my bottom lip between my teeth and squeeze my thighs together. I can feel the sticky heat of my need for him clinging wetly to my thong and molding it to the lips of my pussy.

“You two,” Christian growls, jabbing a menacing finger past me — I still haven’t turned — at Jon and Mike. “You two will report to vice-Headmaster Dalton’s office immediately.”

The two dorks just stare at him with horrified looks on their faces.

“Now, gentlemen!”

Mike and Jon all but jump in the air, scrambling over each other to actually sprint back across the lawn to the main building.

And then we’re alone.

“Turn around, Ms. Kensington,” the gorgeous, dominant Headmaster growls from behind me.

I swallow thickly, trying to force myself not to actually shiver. I drop the bottle to the ground and kick it away with the toe of one of my black wedges.

“Tempest.”

My name on his lips makes me break, and this time, I do shiver. And I know he see’s it. I turn, slowly, feeling my pulse beating a million miles a minute and feeling my body turn to absolute mush in front of the much older, very off-limits, impossibly sexy, rough and dominant Headmaster, who also happens to be the one man on the planet who I want to make me his.