Saving Grace: A bad-boy virgin romance

by Savannah Skye

  I glance down at my watch and realize that the time has flown. We’ve been here well over an hour already, and I have somewhere I really need to be.

  “I’m sorry.” I shake my head and grimace. “I have to go. Can we finish this another day?”

  “Yeah, sure,” she says, forcing a half-smile while running her finger around the top of her half-drunk glass of wine. “Thanks for your time, Professor Ridley.”

  “You can call me Jack.” I rise to my feet and pull my jacket over my torso.

  She stands to join me, locks her eyes with me and we just stare into each other for a little too long, trying to figure out how to proceed. I know how I want to proceed, but also know it’s a dangerous path that stands a fair chance of ending with my life being burned to the ground, leaving a path of destruction in its wake.

  She also seems to be at war with herself, her eyes dancing and her fingers fidgeting. Finally, she pushes forward slightly and plants a kiss on my cheek, burning a hole straight into my dark soul. Her body brushes against mine; hot fucking fire and desire.

  “I’ll see you in class,” I say before twisting on my feet and fleeing the scene of the crime. I clench my teeth as I push through the glass doors of the restaurant and rush onto the sidewalk.

  I pray Hank digs up dirt on Grace and it’s worse than I think.

  Because I need something to put a wedge between me and that girl…before I can’t control my urges anymore.

  6

  Grace

  My heart is racing, beating so hard against my chest that I feel like I’m about to drop dead as I round the corner by the coffee shop. That went a little good, and a little bad at the same time because while I got to know him better, I quickly realized that I hate this fake sex kitten persona I’ve been trying to play the part of.

  When I made my first move, it was all about proving to myself and Willow that I’m not some shy little girl incapable of adventure. The plan from the get go—as Willow would so elegantly put it—was to ride that man into the sunrise. But now, I find that I’m really starting to like him.

  I wish I didn’t have to pretend, and I absolutely cannot believe I worked up the nerve to kiss him, even if it was only on the cheek. Innocent enough, but I’m sure he could see the hesitation in my eyes.

  Speaking of eyes…

  I saw something in his when he’d gotten so serious as he noted the time.

  What was that about?

  Just as my phone alerts me that my Uber is about to arrive, I swipe my phone against the screen to cancel my ride.

  Follow him, Grace, the devil on one shoulder says.

  Don’t be a fucking creep, the angel on the other says.

  “I’m going to follow him,” I say under my breath, sending the imaginary angel on my right shoulder into an exhaustive fit, which I manage to ignore.

  I peek around the corner of the brick coffee shop and watch him make his way down the empty city sidewalk as the sun begins to set behind us. He pushes his hands into his jeans as he walks—no…prowls—down the city streets.

  I inhale a sharp breath, my heart racing even faster than before. This man is going to be the death of me one way or another. I round the corner again and stick as close to the shop exteriors as possible.

  My throat is dry, my palms sweaty and shaking. I just can’t seem to shake the thought that he’s some sort of secret agent or something. Perhaps he even has some alter ego.

  Oh!

  Maybe he’s an escort and pleasures women at night for money because he’s not just a professor.

  A dreamy smile passes over my lips as I briefly entertain that idea.

  I continue to follow him, making sure to keep my distance all the while being close enough that I don’t risk losing track of him. I’m a complete novice when it comes to espionage, but there’s something oddly empowering about stalking after a hunky man in the dark.

  I mean to be quiet—spies tend to be as silent as ninjas—but my lips and vocal chords betray me as the Mission Impossible theme song hums softly from my lips.

  The city blocks of shops and restaurants give way to a small park that sits idly in between two busy intersections. Jack pauses ahead of me, waiting for the walk signal at a crossroads. To remain out of view, I crouch behind a large shrub planted beside an elderly park bench. I crane my head to get a peek from around the bush and by my calculation, I’m going to be sitting here for a while. That darn light runs on a five-minute interval and it just turned green.

  My phone vibrates in my pocket and I let out a silent screech of terror, immediately throwing my palm up to cover my treacherous mouth. When I dig the phone from my pocket, there’s a notification waiting for me.

  WILLOW: Have you ridden that hot salami yet?

  My cheeks turn bright red, I’m just damn sure of it. A homeless man cocks me a curious glance from the opposite park bench. But I just give him a quick wave and a smile and shift to the other side of the shrub so that I can still see Jack.

  I look back down at my phone and shoot Willow a reply.

  GRACE: Stop bothering me.

  WILLOW: Oh my God!

  WILLOW: Fucking hussy

  WILLOW: Are you seriously texting me while riding that cock?

  GRACE: I’m doing recon. Talk later.

  WILLOW: Recon? The hell you mean recon? You’re not James Bond. You’re supposed to be John Wayne with tits. Now get on that fucking horse or I know of someone who will.

  Three seconds pass before another text quickly follows.

  WILLOW: …I’m talking about me by the way.

  GRACE: Why are we friends?

  I switch my phone into silent mode and force it back into my pocket. The green light flashes red, so I climb back to my feet and begin to tail him again.

  Only to find he’s looking my way!

  I throw myself backwards, right into the shrubbery. I’m being poked and prodded, but it sure as hell beats the embarrassment of being caught tailing someone. I stare up at the evening sky, the clouds giving way to pink hues of darkness and begin to question my priorities in life, and just how I found myself here. There’s a lot of self-reflection about the choices I’m making as I struggle to find the courage to rise back to my feet.

  A brief flashback to playing with Barney earlier reminds me exactly why I’ve found myself here, so I find the strength to rise from the ashes—err, bushes—and get back to work.

  I trail him for what seems like forever, almost getting caught quite a few times. Sometimes out of my own novice mistakes and other times just by dumb luck. As I approach a street vendor selling festive gear, I slip the worker a twenty-dollar bill and grab a pair of black sunglasses and matching hat off a rack without so much as stopping to check the prices.

  By my calculations—admittedly, they’re very flawed—we’ve gone about ten city blocks. I’m starting to give up because I’m tired and also because I feel incredibly silly and stupid. He’s just a guy walking the city in the evening. No intrigue there. I’ve clearly let my imagination run wild.

  Just then, he slips into a bar just up ahead.

  I have nowhere to be.

  I wait outside for a few minutes before pulling the steel door open and sneaking inside. There’s no bouncer waiting inside to check my ID, so I slip into the dimly-lit space and cling as close to the wall as possible as to not arouse suspicion.

  My eyes search the room for him and find him with relative ease. He’s sitting in a booth, alone, with his eyes transfixed on two men talking loudly in front of him.

  I make my way to a table in the far corner, take a seat and plop my oversized hat onto the table before me while keeping my head low and out of his line of sight should he turn around.

  Countless scenarios go through my mind as I try to ascertain what exactly could be going on. He had said that he had to be somewhere, but he made it seem like it was somewhere important. Yet here he is—here we are, because I’m a nosy ass girl—parked at an empty table in a dingy dive bar.


  Something—or someone—bumps into the side of the table, stealing my attention. I jerk in place as two college-aged men fumble away from the table, laughing like drunk hyenas.

  When I turn back around, he’s gone. Jack is gone. I scan the room, searching for him to no avail, so I rise to my feet to get a better vantage point. Craning my head and leaning to the side, I try to peek past the gathering crowd on the dance floor but still no sign of him.

  A shiver runs down my spine and my stomach turns.

  I don’t know what to do, fearing that he could appear out of nowhere and catch me in the act. I pull my shades back over my eyes, grab my hat and head for the back door. I keep my head down as I make my way past the bathrooms first and then head toward the—

  A hand shoots out from the dark coatroom and drags me inside.

  An embarrassing, wailing scream escapes my lips as I look up in the dim light to see him staring down at me, a mere few inches away from me.

  Busted.

  Jack

  She looks up to me with dark, haunted eyes that swarm with innocence, but I’m increasingly realizing that she’s not who she claims to be. I can’t believe she followed me. Worse, I can’t believe I only noticed a few seconds ago.

  Makes me feel like a dupe because I’m pretty fucking sure she was sent by someone to follow me, to track my movements, and I’m going to figure out who.

  The gloves are off. No more treating her like a child. She’s clearly here to cause me trouble. Now it’s time to make sure I cause her even more.

  I push her backwards with one hand until she’s pressed flat against the wall.

  “Why are you following me, Grace?” I question her, ripping the hat from her head and tossing it aside. I watch as she swallows nervously.

  “I… Uh…” Her eyes shift to the left—a sure-tell sign that someone is about to vomit lies from their lips. “I wasn’t following you.”

  “Bullshit,” I scoff and take a measured step closer to her. “I’m going to ask you again. Why are you following me?”

  “I love this place.” She shrugs and forces a half-assed smile, but I’m not buying her act, not anymore.

  She’s clearly lying. I reach one strong hand behind her back and pull her flush against me. As for her punishment? I’ll give her an easy way out because it serves my purpose on multiple levels. Either she’ll walk away, OR, she’ll stay and it’ll set me up for more one-on-one time with her. Once I get the intel back from Hank, I’ll finally get what I’ve been wanting from her guilt free.

  If this broad wants to try and play me, I might as well get some play out of it too.

  My cock jumps in my jeans, screaming, begging for release. Thinking of all the ways I want to play with her, her body, her emotions. Thinking about the way I’ll have her screaming my name. Screaming for release. Screaming for more.

  “Why don’t you admit the truth, sweetheart. There is no school paper.” I push my hips against hers, wedging her tight little body against the wall. I push one knee between her thighs, and revel in the way she gasps. “You came here because you want me.” I lean down and press my hips against hers, grinding closer so she can feel how hard my cock is. “That’s all you had to say, you know.”

  She stares me down, her eyes doing wonders for my constrained erection. She’s got those fuck me eyes, but with a hint of fear and hesitation. She knows she’s caught. She knows she’s screwed.

  And then she rises to kiss me, just as she did at the restaurant. Instead of landing those perky lips against my cheek, she presses them tight against my mouth. I’m a little taken aback, but I don’t fucking hesitate for a second to engage right back.

  I press a hand to each of her cheeks as I grind my mouth against hers, nipping lightly before lapping my tongue over her wet pout. My body shifts against hers, moves to the rhythm of my tongue.

  Need to be inside her.

  Her breath is so hot, her body even hotter. I drop a hand to her hip and grip her tightly as I work my tongue into her mouth. Friction in my jeans threatens to burn a hole through the denim.

  I can’t help but to notice the way she seems to be inexperienced in the most innocent display of sexuality. Her teeth clamp down over my tongue and she sucks, hard, forcing me to draw back and cast a glance down at her.

  She’s playing this part of an innocent little schoolgirl far too well. Somebody should just give her a fucking Tony and let her own the stage as the most talented, sexiest rising star.

  I don’t mind playing her game just a little while longer, until I can get some real answers. I trail one hand up her smooth leg and under her skirt. She gasps, drops her head just slightly over my shoulder as I make my way to her sweet spot. I caress her opening through the thin fabric of her panties, and fuck if I couldn’t push my jeans down right now and fuck her right here and now, only allowing her to come once she spills the truth.

  She whimpers as I crawl underneath her panties and run a rough palm over her hot fucking pussy. She looks at me, her eyes rolling as she contemplates her net move. She kisses me softly at first and then tries something new, tries slipping her tongue past my lips. But she’s sloppy.

  I’m blinded as the lights in the small room flicker on.

  “Shit,” A mans voice says from beside me. “Sorry. Thought this was the bathroom.”

  I throw one hand over my eyes as I squint, trying to get a better view of the asshole who just ruined the perfect moment. With a flick of his finger, the lights are back off and he’s gone.

  When I turn back to Grace, I can see it clearly in her eyes. She’s about to run. She drags the back of her hand over her mouth and averts her eyes, can’t even bring herself to fucking look at me. “I…” She stutters. “I have to go.”

  There’s no stopping her as she bolts from the room, leaving the hat she must’ve bought off that street vendor on third street behind. Not bothering to give her chase, I reach down and grab the hat and palm it in my hands.

  I had forgotten why I was here and make haste at getting back to work. There are two men at the bar who are members of the mob, the enemy. At this point, I’m near certain that she’s working for them or another one of my countless enemies.

  This night has been one for the record books, and the only thing I’ve correctly predicted about it is that it would end in a terminal case of blue balls.

  7

  Grace

  As I walk through the corridors of Davidson Hall, I can’t help but to feel as if everyone is staring at me. It’s like they know every little detail of my ongoing affair with the professor, which is ridiculous since, A: There isn’t an affair to know about, and B: How could they possibly know?

  Maybe because your face practically bursts into flames every time you look at him?

  I hold my books tight against my chest as I make my way to his class. I’m mortified that he caught me spying on him. I’m even more mortified at my terrible attempt to cover up my embarrassing act of espionage. I didn’t sleep much last night at all. Instead, I stayed up all night replaying the events in my head and realized that perhaps this is the best-case scenario. No more bull crap or tiptoeing around the truth. I can be myself, with the knowledge that he wants me just as much as I want him.

  It doesn’t make it any less mortifying, embarrassing, or nerve-wracking though.

  I still can’t shake the thought that there was a dark and sinister reason he was there at that bar. My curiosity might just be the death of me, but I’m more determined than ever to figure out the truth. It’s become my sole purpose in life.

  Well, the second purpose. The first is to lose my virginity to him, but as a side quest, I definitely want to discover who he is when nobody is watching.

  But his hands… And that mouth. They’re made of pure magic.

  I hear Jack lecturing the class as I come to a standstill outside the classroom. I’m never the girl that’s late. In fact, I can’t recall a time in my entire academic life when I was ever late. There’s always a first, I suppos
e. Fate would have it that it would be at the exact moment I least want to draw attention to myself.

  Don’t blame fate, honey. You’re the one with your head in the clouds thinking about Jack’s hands on you.

  I walk into class with my head down and make a beeline for my seat, hoping he doesn’t call attention to me as he scribbles the topic of the day on the board.

  THE CRIMINOLOGY OF CULTURE

  “We’re going to ignore the text today as we turn our focus onto the—Nice to see you decided to join us today, Grace,” his voice booms from the front of the room.

  My eyes go wide, my cheeks flushing red. I twist on my feet to find him staring right at me, and then right on through me as if his gaze is capable of burning a hole through my body like Superman.

  I force a polite smile and manage a mumbled apology even though I want the floor to swallow me whole and end my misery, “I’m sorry.”

  He continues to watch me as I take a step backwards and slide into my chair, sinking as far down as humanly possible and praying for the time to fly by. My attention span is out the window as I watch him lecture, not listening to a word he says in the present, instead remembering back to the previous night. His every word echoes in my mind, and I can practically feel his hot breath on my skin, feel his strong hands against my flesh. See dark, hot eyes watching me as I squirm under his fingers.

  The class bell rings before I know it some fifty minutes later and I immediately shuffle my books into my arms, prepared to flee. I want to talk to him. I do…just not now. I need a little time to get my mind right and then I’ll catch him in his office after class. But apparently he has other plans.