From Chapter 6
Dammit. I know what to do. I need to do it. As much as Tops are drawn to soothe us … oh fine ‘brats’, us brats are drawn to soothe Tops. I’ve watched Grayson do it a ton, Chris, Bellamy and Johnny too. Even Bray when he’s in the mood. I swallow. “Oh, sir? One more thing. We can still have people over, right?” It’s not against House rules for each of us to have one friend from another House over. If it’s more than that, it turns into a party, which would require permission, but as the rules stand, that means one for me and one for Grayson.
His eyes narrow. “Who?”’
I shrug. “Haven’t decided yet, but there is this hot Top, Nikolage, from one of my harder classes. Maybe he can uh, help me with my homework?” I waggle my eyebrows, suggesting that yes, fucking Nikolage is what I mean.
His chair slides out, he stands, hands flat on the desk and my heart’s beating so damn fast. I have to take a stealthy breath. Maybe I should abandon the whole thing—I’m poking at a fucking lion and I know it—but I also know in my bones it’s the right thing to do.
“Why?” I dare to cross my arms at him—a, God … a brat’s red flag, okay?
“Come here, my little Finnegan.” He flashes shark teeth at me. He is predator, I am prey.
I want to buckle, I want to tell him I’m just kidding, but I’m in too deep now. I commit. “So you can spank me? Forget it. It’s not against the rules. I was kind enough to even run it by you. I’ll be leaving now.”
I went too far didn’t I? Yep. Too far.
Xavier clears his desk in a smooth, panther-like leap. I’m quick to respond, gripping either side of the leather chair I was just sitting in, catapulting myself over it. But I was a hockey player, not a gymnast and though my response is quick, my catapulting skills aren’t graceful. I catch the chair and hit my knee, landing like a rock on the other side. “Fuck!” I roll on the ground behind it, licking my wounds.
How is it I can take one helluva spanking, but this paralyzes me?
Xavier’s there fast, reminding me of Superman, with the way his jacket flares. He crouches beside me. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. Are you hurt?”
I laugh. “I’m fine. I wasn’t scared.”
“You were a bit, but … well I thought you wanted me to chase you.” I’ve never seen the man blush, he does now. He can’t even look at me.
I wait until he braves my eyes again. “Xavier, I did want you to chase me.”
He stares frozen, my words sinking in, as my heart thumps loud drumbeats into my ears. While I wait for him to come to, I rub my sore knee. It is fine, but there’s gonna be a nice bruise I’ll have to explain to Ani later. I smile thinking of the arnica he’ll insist he has to apply to it. Xavier notices my rubbing.
But it’s too late. He scoops me up and it’s fucking embarrassing how easy it is for him to lift me. It’s not like I’m small. He’s got me bridal style and he swings me around, placing me in the chair and bending down to inspect the knee. I wore loose jeans, he’s able to roll them up to have a look. “Doesn’t look to be swelling, but you’ll ice it anyway when you’re home. Understood?”
He’s holding my knee in both of his elegant hands, which are hot against my skin. I have to look down at him. “I will, sir.”
I’m kicking myself now. This was a disaster. One point to me on not being a brat, a real brat would have pulled this off, I end up injuring myself.
“Now that it’s established your knee will be fine, we will address, Nikolage.” His nose wrinkles, his form takes up all the space in the room once again.
Shit. Already forgot about Nikolage. “There’s no Nikolage. I just said that to—”
“—I know Nikolage.”
“I meant there’s no Nikolage for me, sir. I only said that to, never mind. May I go?”
He’s staring at me for a new reason now, a smile spreads slowly, reaching his eyes. He yanks me up. We’re close, my lips aren’t far from his. “I want to spank you so badly right now.”
That was the goal. “You uh, you can, sir.” My voice is above a whisper.
“I know. I can spank you whenever I want. But that would not be a good idea. It’s day eight, Finnegan.”
“I am well aware of the day, Headmaster Harkness,” I say, boldness returning. Two can play the game of cheek, but only one of us will win, we both know it’s going to be him.
“All right, that’s quite enough cheek from you, brat.”
I light up everywhere. Maybe him calling me brat isn’t so bad?
“I don’t date people, Mr. Brighton. I own them. Do you want to be owned?”