Savage Heir by Jagger Cole

13

It’s notlike I’ve been invisible since I got here. I mean I’m publicly “with” Patrick North, I sit at the elite’s table, and even for a place like Oxford Hills, my dad is kind of famous.

But today, something is different. Something is very, very different. I wasn’t invisible before. But today, everyone is looking at me. They whisper to each other in hushed tones as I pass. Their brows arch, and their eyes judge.

And no, this is not a dream. I’m fully awake, and fully aware that the entire fucking school is staring at me like I’m a leper.

By the time my first period world history class is over, it feels as though the entire lecture hall was talking about me, not the Roman Empire. I clutch my bag tightly over my shoulder and scurry out. My face burns as the eyes, the whispered words, and the sneers follow me through the halls until I burst out into the sunlight.

My head spins and my chest feels tight as I whirl. Panic claws at me until suddenly, a familiar face is right in front of me.

“Hey! Hey!”

Charlotte looks worried as she grips my shoulders and shakes me gently. I blink, sucking in a lungful of air as I focus on her.

Her brow furrows. “Are you okay?”

I nod. My mouth feels dry and my skin still feels clammy. But I take another breath and look up at her.

“Yeah… I think so, at least.” I bite my lip. “Char, I don’t want to sound like Ainsley Hendershire, but it feels like everyone is staring at me.”

Charlottes face scrunches and twists. “Uh, I mean, they are.”

I pale. “What?! Why?!”

She frowns. “What do you mean, why?” She stares at me. “Look, if you didn’t want to talk about it last night, that’s fine. But… are you seriously confused why this would be big news?”

I stare at her blankly. “Charlotte, what the fuck is going on?”

“Tenley, Ilya Volkov was seen leaving our cottage last night. Followed by you, alone, five minutes later, apparently looking… disheveled.”

The ground drops out from under me. And if I was floundering before with the whispers and the stares, now, I’m in free-fall mode. My chest constricts as the heat flushes up from my chest all the way to my cheeks. My eyes widen in horror.

“What?!”

“Katherine Vaughn and a few of her friends from the swim team saw Ilya leave our cottage, and then you right after.” She wrinkles her nose. “Needless to say, if Katherine Vaughn knows something…”

The whole fucking school knows it. I’ve barely been at Oxford Hills a week and even I know that.

Disheveled?! I mean, I was flustered, because The Wolf himself had just huffed and puffed his way into my fucking bedroom.

I groan as my shoulders slump. “Char, it is not what it looks like.”

When she looks visibly relieved, my brow furrows.

“Oh my God, did you really think—”

“Well, I don’t know!” she hisses back. “I mean you say you’re going to drop Ilya, and then the next thing you know, you’re going to his house again, and then he’s at our cottage, while I’m not there.”

“Charlotte!”

“Well fill me in, Tenley! I mean you were kinda late to dinner last night after going home to drop your stuff off. And you did look flustered.”

“Yeah,” I mutter. “Because that little psychopath was waiting in my fucking room when I got home!”

She pales. “Are you kidding me?”

I shake my head. “No, he was just… there, waiting for me.”

“That’s fucking terrifying.”

No, it’s not.

I blush at the immediate response that, mercifully, only echoes in my head and not out of my mouth. The problem is, Ilya waiting in my bedroom wasn’t terrifying. Well, it was, at first. The real issue is, it quickly wasn’t.

The problem is, I wasn’t flustered when I got to dinner last night because I was scared. I was flustered because being alone with Ilya Volkov in my bedroom had my pulse racing and my skin tingling. It had my thighs clenching together with a forbidden, terrible heat.

The problem is, being alone with Ilya Volkov didn’t leave me feeling scared. It left me feeling excited.

“Tenley?”

I blink and quickly shake my thoughts away to focus on Charlotte.

“Hmm?”

She frowns. “I said what the hell did he want?”

“Oh…” I swallow and wave a hand absently. “Just stupid tutoring stuff. Since I’m stuck with him.”

She makes a face. “That’s so fucking unfair. And so creepy.”

“Tell me about it.”

She pouts and then pulls me in for a hug. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to assume…”

I pull back. “Assume what?”

She winces. “The, uh, the rumors going around don’t exactly involve the two of you going over tutoring notes.”

I pale. “You’re joking.”

Her head shakes with a sympathetic look. “Afraid not. Phoebe Carlson told me Ainsley Hendershire said you looked like you’d just—”

Her mouth snaps shut as her face reddens.

“Just tell me,” I groan.

“Like you’d just been fucked sideways… her words, sorry.”

I cringe as my eyes close. It isn’t just that this is going to be biting me in the ass hard in terms of my day-to-day social interactions. I mean, I’m “with” Patrick. And the last thing I, him, his father, or mine, need is for me to be publicly thought of as one of Ilya Volkov’s little groupie conquests.

But that’s not entirely what makes me cringe.

“Better not tell Patrick I just got into your panties.”

I’m cringing because after my flustered, scattered-brained dinner with the elites—where I could barely make eye contact with Patrick—and after walking home and mindlessly watching one episode of The Good Wife before I lied to Charlotte about being exhausted and went to bed…

After all those things, all I had was my horrible, disturbing, filthy thoughts of Ilya.

Sordid thoughts. Dirty thoughts that turned into X-rated dreams that had me tossing and turning for half the night before I… well…

My face burns at the memory.

Before I took matters into my own hands.

I’m cringing because last night, I touched myself while fantasizing about The Wolf himself, again.

“Look, it’s just stupid rumor shit, right?” Charlotte shrugs and tries to put a bright face on. “People will forget about it before lunch when some new drama or rumor pops up.” She smiles at me before she pulls me in for another much-needed hug.

“It’s going to be fine.”

I nod glumly.

“Where are you off to?”

I jerk a thumb over my shoulder. “Kemp Hall. You?”

She frowns. “Edward Hall. Want to get dinner in tonight?”

“Yes,” I groan. “More than anything.”

She grins. “Hey, don’t sweat it. Keep your head up and ignore the bitches. This’ll blow over in no time. It’s going to be fine, trust me.”

“We need to talk, now.”

I gasp as the big hand clamps down on my arm, yanking me back from the front entrance to Kemp Hall. I whirl, my heart jumping into my throat as I look up into Patrick’s angry face.

No, angry doesn’t cover it. He looks furious; enraged even. I swallow thickly, gasping as he yanks me by the arm away from the entrance and around the corner into the shadows of the ivy-covered old building.

“Patrick—”

“Is it true?!” he hisses, leering down into my face. I cower under his furious wrath.

“W-what?”

“Is. It. Fucking. True?!” he snarls. “You and Volkov!”

I frown. “Is what true, that he was at my cottage?”

Patrick’s lips curl. “Did you fuck him?”

My jaw drops. “Seriously?!”

“I’m asking, aren’t I?!”

My mouth purses. First and foremost, really? Do people really think I’m the kind of girl who would have quickies with The Wolf of Oxford Hills before dinner with my boyfriend? Seriously? That alone has my blood boiling.

But then there’s the second part: that Patrick and I are not actually together, and this is none of his fucking business.

“Not that it’s any of your business—”

I gasp as Patrick grabs both of my shoulders and slams me back against the stone exterior of Kemp Hall. His face is red and livid as he leers close to me.

“You’re goddamn right it’s my business!” he snarls.

I tremble, scared. The “golden boy” with the farmhand chin and the twinkling eyes is gone. Instead, all I see is a fury and a rage I’ve never once seen in Patrick before.

I swallow. “No,” I croak, meekly, and hating myself for saying it so limply. I take a shaky breath. “No, Jesus, I did not sleep with Ilya. Are you kidding me?”

Patrick’s lips curl. “Then what was he doing at your cottage.”

I bite my lip, my eyes dropping.

“Answer me, Tenley,” he growls.

“It was a tutoring thing, okay?”

He scowls when I look back up at him.

“It was just a tutoring thing. You can relax—”

“I told you to drop that.”

“I can’t.”

“You can, and you will. You’re not going near Ilya and his crew of fucking criminals, do you understand—”

“You don’t own me, Patrick.”

He bristles at my words. His mouth thins, and his nose flares as he breathes. But his grip on my shoulders loosens and then drops as he takes a step back from me.

“No,” he says quietly. “But I will someday.”

I shake my head. “Patrick, this entire thing with us was just for the cameras—”

“For now, yes,” he sighs. And suddenly, the anger and the rage evaporates like it was never there. Suddenly, the Patrick I know is smiling that charming, lopsided smile at me. As if he wasn’t just Mr. Hyde at all.

“You want to follow through on your Plan?” he asks. “Which road do you think takes you there, to a DC law office and a judgeship. Me? With my father being the next two-term President of the United States and my own track to Congress?”

He beams at me, and then his face clouds.

“Or by being another pathetic lackey to the criminal scum that have bribed and bullied their way into this fine institution.”

He reaches for me, and I flinch. Pain seems to cross his face.

“I’m sorry I lost my temper,” he says gently. “I was just… I was so angry and hurt that you’d…”

“I didn’t,” I say with a small smile.

He beams back. This time when he reaches for me, I allow the gentle hand on my arm. “I know, babe.” He sighs. “Look, I get that Ilya seems wild and fun.”

I frown. “He doesn’t—”

“I mean who doesn’t love some rock n’ roll, right?”

“Patrick—”

“But he is poison, Tenley. You haven’t been here for three years like I have. And seen how he is.” His jaw clenches. “He’s a drug addict and womanizer. He’s a scumbag. And his kind do not belong here. Make no mistake about that.”

His shoulders drop as he places both hands on my shoulders, gently this time. “He’s not like us, Tenley. He’s just not.”

I nod. “Okay, I get it.”

“I’m just looking out for you.”

He lowers his face and kisses the top of my head. When he pulls back, he’s smiling.

“This is a brand, Tenley,” he grins, wagging a finger between us. His smile darkens. “Try to act like it, okay?”

My brows knit, but I nod. “Yeah, I got it.”

“Great,” he beams as he pulls away. “Dinner tonight?”

“Oh, Charlotte and I—”

“Great, I’ll see you at six.”

Before I can say another word, he’s striding away. I blow air through my lips as I sink back against the ivy and stone at my back.

What a freaking day.

The phone answerson the second ring. Or at least, I think it does. It’s hard to tell, because there’s no answer. Just the click of someone picking up the line, and then silence.

I swallow. “Ilya?”

“Yes.” His deep, thick voice resonates through the phone and directly into my ear, like The Wolf himself is standing right beside me, purring into my very thoughts.

I tremble as I take another breath in the semi-darkness of my bedroom.

“It’s… uh, it’s me.”

“Hi me.”

I blush. “It’s Tenley.”

“I put that together.”

My teeth rake over my lower lip.

“I’m not tutoring you anymore,” I blurt, so fast that it almost comes out as one jumbled word.

Ilya sighs deeply. “I thought we’ve been over this—”

“Do what you want,” I snap. “Fire me or report me to the student services office. I don’t care, Ilya! I am done being fucked with by you. I’m done jumping through hoops for whatever psycho amusement you’re deriving from it.” My eyes narrow. “I do not play mind games. I don’t. Period. So this crap? Done. Do what you will, but stay out of my way and out of my life, got it?”

I’m flushed with adrenaline, my very ears ringing with it by the time I’m done. My heart is pounding, and I brace myself for the snarling threats I’m sure I’m about to get.

But there’s just silence. Like a full thirty seconds of silence.

I chew on my lip before I open my mouth. “Are you still—”

“Is this because people are talking about me leaving your cottage last night?”

There’s amusement in his voice. And that cavalier tone makes me furious.

“Oh, you think?!” I snap. “I have a lot resting on my shoulders, Ilya. I have a future and a plan to get there. I have a brand, you know,” I spit, parroting Patrick’s words.

Ilya chuckles. He chuckles. My temper flares as I grit my teeth.

“Well, I’m glad you find that fucking funny,” I snap.

“No, Red. I just would think that a rumor of me coming over to your cottage to… what are they saying in the hallways? Fuck you sideways?”

My core flutters as my thighs clench. Heat flushes through me.

“I would think a rumor like that would do wonders for your… prudish reputation.”

“My reputation is my own business, thank you very much!”

“It appears not.”

My eyes narrow. “I’m hanging up now. Stay away from me, Ilya. We’re done with this tutoring bullshit.”

“I think not.”

I stiffen. “Excuse me?”

He growls thickly over the line. “Do not forget our deal, Tenley.”

“Oh go to hell, Ilya—”

“Or I will come find you. And you might not want—”

I hang up. The sudden silence is deafening. My heart thuds and my skin feels electrified. But slowly, a grin starts to creep over my face.

I just hung up on The Wolf, mid-threat. And damn does it feel good.

I silence my phone and put it on my bedside table. In the bathroom, I brush my teeth, change into my pajamas, and then pad back over to the bed. Under the covers, I glance back at the phone once more before closing my eyes.

I feel victorious.

I feel free.

I feel like the hunter who’s just slain the Big Bad Wolf.

I gaspas I sit bolt upright in bed. I’m clammy and damp. My heart is racing and my skin tingles with a thousand forbidden touches. I glance at my phone in confusion and frown: it’s two-thirty in the morning.

My brow knits as I try and replay what just woke me up. The intense dream. The heat. The way he growled into my ear as he spread my legs—

With a gasp, my hand flies to my mouth. My eyes widen as it all comes rushing back. And suddenly, I’m well aware of why I’m awake: because I just had the most vivid, hottest sex dream of my life.

And it was about Ilya.

Illicit heat blooms between my thighs. I bite my lip, sinking under the covers as my hands slip down my stomach. I gasp when I feel how soaking wet I am—so wet that my panties cling to my pussy.

I could stop. I could resist. But something tells me, I’ve already failed that test when it comes to him.

My finger rolls my clit. My other hand slips over, sinking a finger deep inside of me. I gasp, moaning as I let the filthy fantasy involving the filthy, inked psychopath himself wash over me.

In my mind, he takes me. He pins me to the bed and forces my legs apart. His hand is on my hip, the other around my neck as he rams his cock into me. He’s not gentle. He’s not tender. He’s not romantic.

And I love it.

I come in a swirling mix of throbbing pleasure and horrible self-loathing.

But mostly, I come thinking of him.