She takes the key out and drops them into her purse and then hangs it on a hook on the wall of the small foyer. When she flips on the light, I shut and lock the door behind me and look ahead of her into the house.
It’s small but clean, everything neat and tidy, and a part of me relaxes. She takes a few steps inside and flips on another light, illuminating a library, and I can’t help but smile. Why wouldn’t the school librarian have an impressive collection of her own?
“Um…” she starts, and I turn to face her. “I’m… I’m going to go change.”
My hands in my pockets, I trail my eyes over her trench coat, remembering what’s beneath it. I could make her take it off and stay in just her bra and panties. I know I could. She’s that petrified of the information I now have on her. But that won’t do anything to build trust between us. And I have a feeling that what I’m going to request of her is going to require trust too rather than fear alone.
“Where would you like me, Ms. Richards?” I ask, letting inuendo coat my tone, and I know she caught it when the blush rises in her cheeks once more.
She shifts on her feet. “Um… anywhere really. I have… well, I have the chair in there, or the couch in the l-living room.” She takes a couple steps and gestures to something I can’t see yet from this side of the wall. “Or… or the kitchen table is fine,” she adds, pointing to the other side of her, where the kitchen is.
“Anywhere, you said? So you wouldn’t mind if I joined you in your room while you change?” I taunt, lifting a brow, and smirk when her eyes widen.
“No!” she cries then clears her throat. “I-I mean, no, I’ll just take a minute. Make yourself comfortable… out here.” And then she spins around and hurries to the back of the house, disappearing into a room and closing the door behind her.
I chuckle to myself, strolling farther into her modest home until I’m standing in her living room. As small as the place is, I don’t feel cramped. It feels cozy, everything in whites and grays with a dark-gray floor covered in a lighter rug. She has one comfortable-looking love seat and a matching chair, as if she doesn’t really ever have company over, so she doesn’t have a need for much seating. Peeking into the kitchen, I see the table is a two-seater, not four or six, and I realize she probably only has the second chair because it came as a matching set.
How lonely she must feel. Is that why she’s part of a sex club, a place that would more than likely guarantee adult company? But with the masks she and the employee were wearing, and the ones the people wore who entered the club while I had her pressed to the wall, it seemed everyone wanted to keep their identities hidden. So it was just sex then? Because surely that wouldn’t be a very viable way to meet people you’d want to start a relationship with, no one knowing who you are or anything about you other than your sexual appetite. One thing I’ve learned from hearing other adults talk is that a relationship based on sex has no potential of lasting. It’s why my parents always tried to force into my mind that I shouldn’t be having sex with girls I care nothing about. It would lead to nothing good, so I shouldn’t be doing it.
Yet wasn’t the plan I conjured on the ride over here basically the same thing? If she goes along with it, won’t it just be a relationship based on sex?
No, there’s already more to it than just sex, and we haven’t even done anything yet. The feelings she provokes in me… they have nothing to do with sex, and I’ll just have to find a way to sow those seeds along with everything else that happens.
In the end, I want Evelyn to be mine.
Chapter 6
Evie
What the hell am I doing? I should be… what? Calling the cops? Reporting him to the school? Telling his parents? No, no, and no. I can’t do any of that. It would do no good. It would only end up with me being fired for trying to sully his name. As I was told the first time I tried to report him at the school, I shouldn’t waste my time.
The best thing for me to do would be to just do as he asks, put up with him for the rest of the school year, and then he’ll be off to college and will forget about me. Right? It’s October. There’s only a little more than two quarters left. I can handle that.
And as far as him being a student… he’s eighteen. He’s a consenting adult. If anything, I would be the one who could claim non-consent if it were to come down to it. Not that anyone one care. Not that anyone would believe me. But at least I couldn’t be thrown in jail for inappropriate behavior with a minor. Because I have no doubt what Nate plans to do with me is highly inappropriate. The promise in his eyes, the threatening words against my ear, the innuendo behind the seemingly innocent things he asks. There’s no way what he wants from me could be anything but sexual.
I pull out my drawer and tug on a pair of
