Filed to story: The LORDS Series Free PDF by Shantel Tessier
I saw it on the news the following week. His two business partners being dragged out of their downtown office building and shoved into cop cars. They were both married with children.
I wondered why Mr. Taylor hadn’t been arrested along with them, though. I couldn’t ask my mom because then she’d know I had listened in on her session. Two months later, I got my answer. Mrs. Taylor was back, and I sat in that same spot and listened to her cry to my mother once again.
Her husband had committed suicide. Went home after their last session and shot himself in the head on their bed where he had given her up like an offering to a cult. He could not live with himself after what he did to her. He was so disgusted that, at the time, he hadn’t realized that what he liked was wrong. Until he understood he betrayed his wife. A twenty-five-year marriage down the drain for a kink.
For three hours, I sat there listening to her cry, and she felt guilty. Her husband was the one who betrayed her, yet she felt responsible for his death.
She was pregnant. She’d found out that morning, and that was the reason for her emergency session. For ten years, they tried to have a baby. They wanted kids later in life. They were both focused on their careers, and once they decided to start, it was too late. Or so they thought, and he had stopped sleeping with her altogether.
I’ll never forget the words she told my mother when I peeked into the cracked door and saw her on the couch crying. “He gave me the one thing I always wanted. I’m pregnant, and he’s no longer here. Because of me. Because I couldn’t love him for who he was.” She said she didn’t care which man who raped her was the father. She was keeping the baby and would raise it to know her late husband as the dad.
She sobbed. My mother sobbed for her own personal reasons. It was traumatic for both of them. And me?
I learned two things listening to the Taylors’ sessions. First, love is utterly fucking bullshit. Who in the fuck allows their friends or anyone else to rape their wife? Let alone record it and expect her to be okay with it?
And second, I learned that just because your body craves something doesn’t mean you should give it what it wants. So I pushed everything my body begged for to the back of my mind. But that didn’t last very long.
I was young when I realized I wasn’t like other women. When I was eighteen, Sin cornered me at a party and told me I was pretty. I knew he was lying. A way to fuck with me. Hell, a friend probably dared him or something. But then he told me that my eyes were so beautiful that he wanted to cut them out and place them in a jar in his room so he could look at them every day.
It made me wet. It also made me realize that I’m more fucked up than any patient my mother had ever seen. What would have made any woman cower made me lean into him. I convinced myself it was the two lines of cocaine I had just snorted too, but that was a lie. Deep down, I knew I’d never have a healthy relationship with a man because I’d never be happy with what society would call normal.
I want toxic. I want madness. I want someone who makes me question my sanity. And I know I won’t be happy until the masked man decides to make me his forever. I’m perfectly fine spending the rest of my life not knowing who he is as long as he continues to come see me.
CHAPTER TEN
ELLINGTON
IT’S ALMOST TWO in the afternoon when I walk into my psychology of human sexuality class. This is my last class of the day, thankfully. I have big plans to walk in my mother’s footsteps regarding my career choice. I have my own reasons, but she doesn’t have to know that.
I’m only a junior at Barrington University this year. Sex has always made me curious. And I think the fact that I learned so much at such a young age played a big role in that. I now understand why she didn’t want me to hear what was said inside the walls of her office. Put the fact that it was unethical to the side. Just the words of her clients gave me nightmares at times.
I was thirteen when I started getting curious. I’d hear words being used and google their meaning or look up images. If I’m being honest, I’d say I need therapy now. Pretty sure I can diagnose myself as a sex addict. But it’s an amazing thing to take your body to the next level. Let alone someone else doing it to you. Sex is like anything else-an act that can be used, bought, or sold. It’s addictive. It’s that high you’re constantly chasing. If you ask me, it’s the most dangerous drug out there. It makes you irrational, desperate, and a little psycho.
People look down on women who have multiple partners, but it’s acceptable to have a tobacco addiction that can kill you. In a world of everything costing a fortune, an orgasm can cost you fucking nothing. Except maybe a little bit of dignity, but I don’t care about that.
Sitting down in my seat in the front row, I open my backpack to pull out my notebook, but it’s not there. “What the …?” I unzip the front pocket and look inside. My heart starts pounding as I think about where I had it last. It was in this class yesterday. I didn’t work on it last night at home because it was finished.
“Elli, you’re up,” Mr. Hamilton states, getting my attention.
“Shit,” I hiss to myself.
“Something wrong?” he asks.
My eyes lift to his, and he arches a brow. His hands are on the hips of his Armani slacks. Pretty sure he teaches this class for shits and giggles since he lives off his daddy’s money. He’s got some Fortune 500 company based out of New York. He’s a Lord. Barrington University is for the one-percenters. You can’t escape them here.
His dark brown eyes stare at me expectantly.
“I, uh … no.” I rip my bag open again and drop my eyes to look inside it once more as if it will appear like magic. It’s not that I don’t remember it by heart. It’s just that if I don’t have it on me, then where the fuck is it? “It’s just-“
The door swings open, and all the air rushes out of my lungs when I see three guys enter the room. Three men who do not have this class. My eyes shoot to the professor, and his brows crease. “What can I do for you, gentlemen?” Mr. Hamilton asks. He allows outside spectators, but these three would never willingly want to be in here.
“We’re going to join your class for the day,” Sin answers.
He looks even better than he did this morning in the kitchen, if that’s possible. He’s got on a black T-shirt and a pair of jeans and tennis shoes. That’s it. But I can’t help but notice the way his shirt pulls against his broad shoulders, and his abs are visible through the thin fabric. The jeans fit snugly on his thighs, and I look lower to see if I get the same visual as I did this morning in the sweatpants. I do.
My heart beats wildly in my chest. So loud that it makes it hard to breathe.
“Uh, I’m not sure-“
“That’s not a problem, is it?” Corbin interrupts the professor.
“No. No problem.” Mr. Hamilton shakes his head, running his hand down his button-up. A clear sign he doesn’t approve, but he’s also not going to turn them away.
No one turns away these men. They are what you call royalty at Barrington University. Get straight A’s even though they never show up to their classes. A Lord can do as minimal as possible and graduate with honors. As long as they complete their assignments and survive, they’re rewarded.
I sit frozen in my seat as the three of them walk toward me. They come to a stop in front of my desk, and I look up at them through my lashes, my lips parted, trying to calm my breathing. What the fuck are they doing?
A part of me knows. I just refuse to believe it.
The corners of Sin’s lips tilt up, and my pulse races at his silent threat.
“You’re in my seat,” Corbin barks at the guy to my right, making us both jump.
The kid gets up and scrambles away, not even bothering to take his things. Corbin takes the seat next to me, shoving the guy’s stuff to the floor, and sits back, getting comfortable by spreading his legs. With his hands interlocked behind his head, his head falls to the side to look at me. His unruly dark hair flopping across his eyes.
I avoid his stare.
“Move,” Jayce demands the girl to my left.
Fuck!
She does as she’s told but much slower with a smile on her face. I’m pretty sure she tells him to call her later as she walks away, making sure to run her hand across his upper chest and winking at him. Her intentions are very clear. She leaves the room altogether, obviously having something better to do for now.
“I’ll take your seat, Elli,” Sin tells me. His voice instantly has my pussy wet, my thighs clenching.
I swallow nervously. “I-“
“You have a story to read,” Sin adds and then pulls a notebook out of the backpack that hangs on one shoulder, slapping it down on my desk.
My heart stops when I see my name written in black marker across the top. How did he get this? Where the hell did he get this? Blood rushes in my ears and sweat beads across my forehead. I never get nervous when reading my stories. They’re more like fantasies. As far as the class is concerned, it’s sexual scenarios. Mr. Hamilton says reading sex scenes out loud will prepare us to be comfortable hearing couples talk about their sexual experiences once we’re seeing clients. What they want and what they’re lacking in their relationships.
Why am I anxious now? Is it because I’ve had a crush on him since as far back as I can remember?
I’m not sure why I care if I have to read it in front of him and his friends. They’ve already read it, I’m sure.
“Ellington?” my professor snaps, and I look up at him. He straightens his already straight tie and nods to the podium. “You’re up. And we are now running behind schedule.”
Numbly, I reach out and grab the notebook and get to my shaky legs. Ever so slowly, I make my way to the front of the room. I turn to face the audience, my eyes on the notebook. My nose is running, and I rub the back of my hand across it.
“Um …” Licking my lips, I open the book and take a deep breath, knowing I can’t escape it. This is my worst nightmare come true.
The hem of my black minidress is shoved up my back to expose my ass to them. My fishnets are being ripped, and my thong is shoved to the side.
Fingers enter me, not even bothering to check if I’m wet, and I shift on the bed at the discomfort, mumbling unintelligible words around the metal gag that rests behind my teeth, keeping my mouth open.
They pump in and out of me so hard that it forces my body to rock back and forth on the bed. The rope wrapped around my wrists pulls on me even more.