Page 24 of Hate To Love You

To see if her tits are just as plump and round as her ass. To hear her moans as I pound into her sweet little pussy so hard, she’d be ruined.

I never knew I could get this turned on by a woman who has no respect for who I am and thinks she can say and do whatever she wants around me. It’s not something I’m used to, and if it were any other girl, I don’t think I’d let it go so easily.

But Gwen? She’s a whole other story. She’s going to wreck me, and I’m going to let her. I’ll let her do whatever she wants to me.

I imagine running my hands over her soft skin, tracing the curves of her body. My dick twitches in my pants at the thought of having her.

I wanted to know what Lainey had said to her. She looked less than pleased when they hung up, and I’m interested to know what her friend could have said to make her upset.

It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that we have less than two weeks to come up with something and finish this project, or Professor Whitely is going to fail me, and my father? I don’t even want to know what he’ll do.

Speak of the mother fucking devil. My phone lights up as a call from none other than Robert Steele appears on the screen. I let out an exaggerated groan before pressing the button to accept the call. If I ignore it, he’ll just keep calling.

“Father,” I say in an abrasive tone.

“Son. I spoke with Dean Ashby today,” he says casually. Great, what now? “He informed me that you’ve been attending all of your classes, and your grades have gone up. He’s impressed at your turn around.”

I don’t hear it often, but it almost sounds like there’s a hint of pride in his voice. Like he’s genuinely proud of me. Except, I know it’s all one big fat lie. He only wants me to do well so I don’t tarnish his reputation with the Elite.

“Yeah. Everything’s good,” I tell him, unsure of what else to say.

“How is Logan? You’re watching out for him, right?” I don’t know dad, maybe you should ask him yourself.

I run my hands through my hair and sigh. “Yeah, dad. He’s good.”

“Good, well I have to get back to work. Bye, son,” he says gruffly, hanging up the call before I can even say goodbye. Typical.

I really don’t understand how my mother deals with that man every day. How could she love a man so cold and callous?

But she doesn’t dare disappoint Robert. No one would. He’d bury you in the ground and make sure no one ever found you.

With all her good, my mother could be considered almost as bad as my father. She’s been forced to sit idly by during punishments doled out by him, unable to defend her own children.

I know she can’t leave him. It’s not what Elite families do, and my father is all about status and appearances. He’d never allow her to leave, even if she could.

This life, it isn’t something I asked for, and it’s no longer something I want. I despise my father and his actions. I am thankful for the Elite because that’s where I met Pat, Mason, and Holland. But if I could, I’d leave this life behind to start the one I want.

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The now chilled breeze hits my face as I run through campus. I couldn’t do my normal run this morning, so I had to wait until after class. Gwen was more tolerable today, but that might be because I wasn’t paying attention to what she was saying.

I was distracted by the way the swells of her breasts sat above her tight purple shirt, and how her tongue poked out just a little while she was concentrating. Her intoxicating floral scent made me salivate and I had to fight the raging hard on that began to form in my pants.

So, here I am, running through campus, attempting to get rid of the thoughts of Gwen racing through my brain.

I’m fucking lost at the fact that I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her. I’ve never had this problem before. I’ve never met a woman quite like Gwen.

She tough and resilient. She doesn’t take my shit and she isn’t afraid of me, which is a first. Even most of the professors are scared of me and what my father could do with just a call to Dean Ashby.

She hates me, but maybe I can change that.

I round a corner where some students are spread out on a blanket, having a small picnic, when I have to stop abruptly to avoid running into a small blonde standing right in my way.

I rip my headphones out of my ears, glaring down at the familiar face in front of me. Jesus Christ, can this girl not take a fucking hint? This is getting fucking old.

“Hey, Ryker,” Amy says, tucking a piece of her curled blonde hair behind her ear. Her light hazel eyes are surrounded by black lashes, the tan on her skin making her look a bit too orange. I must have been really drunk when I slept with her.

My jaw clenches. “Amy,” I say curtly. My arms fold across my chest, and Amy shifts from one leg to another, a nervous gesture.

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