Page 70 of A Thin Line

“I don’t get that, dude. I can’t get hard for a girl I can’t stand.”

“You’ll get it someday. The best part is jizzing in her face. And she licks the cum off like she hates it but you know she loves every second of it.”

Thank heavens the professor came in the room then—but I’d never forgotten it…the concept of having intimate relations with someone you hated.

And yet here I was actually wishing I could lose my virginity to my sworn enemy. I couldn’t stop thinking about his hands and mouth all over every part of my body. Feeling tingly and aroused, I got out of the shower and toweled off.

I needed to avoid the man as much as possible.

I knew I could try to relieve the pressure myself, but I’d never quite figured out the knack to release—so what was the point? All I knew was I was going to avoid him as much as I could. That meant no dinner tonight—and, tomorrow, I would eat breakfast and lunch later. Fortunately, the weekends were a lot more lax and I could get away with eating at a different time.

Still, as I dressed, my thoughts kept going back to him. And that was so stupid. I didn’t know how old he was, but I knew he was thirty or thirty-one, ten years older. He wouldn’t be interested in someone like me for so many reasons—besides our families hating each other, there was that huge gap in our ages. There was also my inexperience, while a man of his age and renown had to have had plenty of sex with his pick of women. And we came from two completely different worlds. He’d probably never enjoyed chicken and dumplings, one of my dad’s staples—while much of the food I’d eaten here was brand new to me.

We would never work—and that was why I had to get him out of my head, because I’d always vowed to save myself for the right man…the perfect man.

And that was not Sinclair Whittier.

As I walked out of the bathroom, a sharp rap on my door made me jump. And I knew who it was. There was only one person who would knock on my door like that—especially now. “What?”

“Your presence is required at dinner.”

I stormed across the room and flung the door open—in nothing more than a towel wrapped around my body, another curled turban-style over my wet hair. My arms, shoulders, and legs from my thighs down were exposed, barely dried from my shower. No doubt I did it because I wanted to evaluate his thoughts on the matter—because, no matter how much I protested, my body wanted him in the worst way, whether he was the right man or not.

His eyes skimmed over me, hungry, and my nipples tightened in response. Part of me hoped he would take me right there, entering my bedroom and forcing himself upon me, taking me because he owned me. The thought made my pussy grow wet, and I could barely swallow.

But then his eyes were on mine again, making me question if he’d even noticed. “Get dressed and get to the kitchen for dinner.”

“I’m not hungry.”

Through clenched teeth, he said, “Your. Presence. Is. Required.”

“There’s nothing in my contract that says I have to eat.”

“I won’t be forcing you to eat. I’m demanding your presence.” When he arched an eyebrow, my pussy clenched. Oh, dear God, I was a basket case. “And I can amend the contract to say so if you’d like.”

“Fine.”

I allowed my anger to help me stop thinking of him in any way other than that he was a Whittier—horrible and evil. I went to dinner and simply sat there, staring at his plate, hoping to ruin his appetite. Fortunately, Edna was long gone for the weekend and didn’t have to deal with the discomfort of serving two angry people.

And I continued that behavior over the entire weekend. He didn’t expect me for breakfast or lunch, so I stayed sequestered in my room, reading books and talking with my father, keeping the conversation light. During dinner, I refused food, daring him to say something—but his eyes were the only thing that communicated at all…and they’d shifted from anger to arrogance.

At night, I turned the television on that was still in my room and found some sitcom reruns, anything to keep my mind from falling asleep while thinking of the man I hated and the line I was considering crossing anyway…

Chapter 25

My Monday punishment was bathrooms again—only this time I had to scrub the tiles with a toothbrush, and the only thing the sisters had to do was remove the towels and replace them. At lunch, Edna fetched me from the third floor and said, “I remembered you telling me you missed macaroni and cheese and tuna fish sandwiches.”

Looking up from the place where I squatted in front of a claw bathtub, scrubbing the grout that didn’t need scrubbing, I grinned. “You didn’t.”

“I did, dear. And that macaroni and cheese isn’t getting any warmer.”

It wasn’t long before she and I were sitting at the big wooden table in the kitchen, probably my second favorite place in the mansion aside from my bedroom. “Master Sinclair told me to keep a close eye on you today—but I know you always do your work.” Leaning across the table, her voice took on a conspiratorial tone. “And don’t say anything about lunch.”

“Why? Is this kind of food not allowed in his hallowed halls?”

She laughed as she picked up her glass of tea. “I honestly doubt that. Once in a while, he eats foods that his father never allowed in the house, like hamburgers and pizza. The elder Mr. Whittier always said that there were certain plebeian things his family must never do. Food was one of those things. And the boys were never allowed to have birthday parties with balloons and games, especially once Mrs. Whittier was gone.”

Her face collapsed into sadness, so I hoped I could lighten the mood again. “Don’t worry, Edna. Your secret’s safe with me.”

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