Page 2 of Bait

…No one wants to even suggest the utterly shocking idea that a young girl like me might justwanta man like Oliver Bard. Badly. Desperately. Feverishly. No one wants to admit that a girl my age has desires. That I have fantasies—dirty, filthy, vivid ones. No one wants to go there in their heads, because the idea ofhimbeing the monster in this scenario is just, well,easier.

I know this could blow up in my face, but I’m willing to chance it. Because I know in my heart that I’ll regretnotgoing after this tonight for the rest of my life if I don’t. I’ll always wonder, and if he gets away, what’ve I been saving it all for?Whohave I been saving it for? Like I said, I knew the second I saw Oliver Bard that I wanted it to be him. I saw a powerful, dominant, older man, and every fucking cell in my body said, “Him. It’s going to be him.”

Him, and no one else.

Thisiswrong, I know that. But I don’t care. Because I’ve made up my mind, and I know what I want. And what I want ishim, no matter what.

Even if this is borderline illegal. Even if it’s morally reprehensible. Even if I’m a high school senior, and he’s my professor. Even if he’s thirty years old, and I’m only sevente—

Tick. Tock.

My eyes swivel to the clock, and suddenly, I freeze as a warm shiver teases through my core.

Eighteen. I’meighteen, as of five seconds ago.

And now, it’stime.

2

Oliver

The thuddingof my pulse hammers through my ears, deafening me to anything elsebutthe sound of it.

…Well,almostanything else. Because beyond that, there, lurking in the background and echoing my pulse, is the other sound I hear.

The clock.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. My eyes scan the pages of the essay assignment in front of me, but I’m hardly reading it. At all, actually. My mind is anywhere elsebutthe history of the legislative branch, fuckingtrust meon that. Because tonight, my mind, like it always is when she’s around, islost.

All of me is lost around her. The walls shatter. Morality crumbles. Thoughts I’d never in a hundred years imagined I’d have come roaring like forbidden fire into my every thought, consuming me from the inside out. Around her, I’m weak—lost, adrift.

Around her, I’mhungry.

No, I haven’t acted on any of the illicit, filthy, and before tonight, downright illegal fantasies that’ve played through my head since the second I laid eyes on Anastasia Penworth. Of course, I haven’t acted on them. Obsessed, yes. But not career suicidal. Morally suspect, but not bankrupt.

…Not entirely at least. Not yet.

Tick. Tock.

The clock continues its march towards what comes next, and my hand clenches into a fist on the desk, the other in danger of snapping the red marker in my hand. It’s almost midnight.

It’s almost her birthday.

No words have been spoken between us—at least, hardly any that don’t pertain to class, or school. But I know damn well that it’s not just me who’s been waiting and wanting. And I fully grasp how that soundsexactlylike the words a predator would use to legitimize his illicit thoughts. I understand that “she wanted it too” is practically a soundbite-ready quote for the ten o’clock news right before they show the creep being shoved into the back of a squad car.

Believe me, amongst the myriad of filthy, extremely wrong, and incredibly illicit dreams I’ve had involving Anastasia, there’ve been one or thirty others involving my ass being thrown into prison. But in a few minutes time, that’s not going to matter. In a few minutes time, Anastasia Penworth is turning eighteen.

…In a few minutes time, she’slegal.

And soundbite or not, Iknowdamn well that we’ve both been thinking it. Dancing around it. Letting our eyes linger longer than they should. We both know why we’re here tonight—why she pulled her ridiculous little stunt of getting up in the middle of class to mouth off to me. Anastasia might have a bratty streak in her, but she’s not a bad student or a troublemaker.

…Sheisa bad girl, though.

Despite the good grades, and being here, at Winchester, amongst the children of senators, CEOs, and other elite, and being on the varsity cheer squad, and the impeccable record?

Besides all of that, deep down, hidden away, andclawingto get out, Anastasia Penworth is abad, bad girl. I’d never have thought it, or know it, if it wasn’t for the fact that I’m drawn to her like a moth to flame. Or maybe it’s more like a moth to a nuclear fucking bomb. And then, I supposed the oh-so-subtle hint of leaving her fuckingpantiesin my desk drawer. How did I know they were hers? How’d I know that the tiny white thong with the little pink lip-stick hearts on them belonged toher?

Because the day before I they showed up in my desk, they are onher. And when she paused on her way out of my classroom—the last one out the door, as usual—and bent over to pick up her dropped pencil, that little plaid uniform skirt pulled up high over her ass, and there it was, pulled tight between the smooth, flawless globes of her ass.

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