TAMED: A Bad Boy Billionaire Romance

by May, Linnea

  I don’t notice her until she raises her arm, drawing my attention to herself by force. I know what to expect even before she speaks. She wants to prove a point, and she wants me to know that she is not intimidated or enchanted by me, like most of her peers are.

  The look on her face says it all. It’s different from most other girls in this class. Her face is stern and focused. This is what makes her stand out from the crowd.

  The female crowd around her displays the same infatuation that I have become all too used to. I can see them left and right, their empty eyes hanging on to my every word. How boring. Infantile admiration is written all over their faces.

  But not on hers.

  She is pressing her small lips together as she waits to be called upon by me. I didn’t expect to be interrupted this early in the lecture, so she has the element of surprise going for her. That surprise soon fades when she starts speaking and proves my suspicions right.

  I thrive on seeing her eyebrows furl when I pick up her arrogant interjection and continue saying things she will hate. Calling on her again a few minutes later is just the icing on the cake.

  “Why don’t you just tell us, Mr. Portland,” she says with that snarky tone in her voice.

  I will remember this, and I won’t forget to punish her in some way or another.

  She refrains from any further interruptions during the lecture, but after I dismiss the class I notice that she is packing her things rather slowly. She lingers while most other students storm out of the auditorium and even longer while a handful come down to speak to me.

  They are mostly girls who are thanking me for this “enlightening” first lecture and one guy who asks whether there will be material for them to download as the semester progresses. I answer their questions and thank them for their remarks, but try to dismiss them as quickly as possible. It’s not only about me not having the time, or desire, to hang out with these spoiled kids, but mainly due to curiosity as to what she might have to say to me now that the lecture is over.

  The girl is standing a few feet away, keeping her distance while there are still other students around. Only when the last of them finally leaves does she dare to approach me.

  “Yes?” I ask before she can open her mouth. “Anything unclear, Miss?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes,” she says, now standing right next to me. I notice a little shiver when I lay my eyes on her, even though she tries her best to appear confident and calm.

  She is not. Her nervousness is obvious.

  Good. Very good.

  I sigh. “Well, how can I help you?”

  “I need credit for this class,” she says, crossing her arms in front of her small chest. “And I was wondering how you would go about that? Do we have an exam? A paper? You never mentioned anything and you never posted a syllabus, like our professors would.”

  I notice the special emphasis she put on her last few words. Like our professors would. She is trying to put me in my place, to remind me that I am not a scholar. I wouldn’t be surprised if she sees it below herself to be taught by me at all.

  However, her question is legitimate and deserves an answer. I am surprised that she is the first person to even ask about this.

  “There won’t be any grades or papers,” I say. “You’ll pass this class with standard attendance-”

  “That’s unusual,” she interrupts. “Normally, graduate students are not required to attend classes and we’re evaluated by-”

  “I know that,” I say, now interrupting her. “But you may have noticed that I like to do things a little different.”

  “Is this in agreement with the dean?” she wants to know.

  Now, she is starting to agitate me. I take a step closer to her, so close, that I can perceive her scent. It’s just her, no disruptive perfume that distracts from her natural scent. Clean and innocent, unobtrusive.

  She flinches, but doesn’t move away from me. Her breathing accelerates, her chest heaving under strong inhales and exhales. I love the effect I have on her, and her arrogant demeanor only adds to my excitement.

  This girl is in a lot more trouble than she could ever imagine.

  “Of course, this is in agreement with the dean,” I hiss. We are standing so close that she must feel my breath on her face as I speak.

  She looks up at me, her eyes narrow and attentive.

  “If you want a grade for this class - even though it is not required - you can arrange something with my teaching assistant,” I add. “Write some kind of silly essay or something. I really don’t care.”

  She nods. “Alright. I will do that then.”

  “Fine.”

  “I’m wondering, though,” she adds, taking a deep breath before she dares to continue. “You said you’ll give credit to students by standard attendance.”

  She pauses, looking up at me as if she is making sure I am listening to her. I beckon her to continue by raising one of my eyebrows, casting her an impatient look.

  “How do plan to check on that? Do you take attendance? I don’t think you did today…”

  This girl. It’s almost as if she is asking for punishment.

  “Why don’t you let that be my worry,” I tell her, and her eyes flicker. She is not very tall, barely reaching up to my chin as she stands before me in her ballerina flats. I can’t help but wonder what she would look like in heels. I bet she has never worn any before and couldn’t walk in them. It would be fun to watch her try.

  “You just worry about your own work,” I add. “And let me do my job.”

  “So, write a silly essay paper you mean?” she repeats my previous words.

  I nod. “Yes, exactly.”

  “You don’t seem to take this very seriously,” she states.

  I don’t understand why she is still here. Is she seriously trying to lecture me? Does she want me to bend her over my desk right here and now?

  “And you take it a bit too seriously, young lady,” I say. “Your ambition may be admirable, but a more pleasant attitude wouldn’t hurt.”

  Her eyes widen with indignation and she inhales sharply. Oh, I have upset the little Miss.

  She takes a step back, and as she does, I can instantly see her shoulders relax a little. My proximity caused her to tense up more than she would ever be willing to admit.

  How sweet. How delicious.

  “I’ll talk to your assistant about the paper,” she says, acting as if the last few words of our exchange have never happened. “Thank you.”

  With that, she abruptly turns around to leave.

  “What’s your name?” I ask.

  She stops and turns toward me, her eyebrows raised with worry. “Why do you want to know?”

  “I am your teacher, you are in my class, and I feel like you might be one of the few who will actually ask questions,” I say. “Wouldn’t it be nice if I could address you with your name every time I have to call on you?”

  She hesitates.

  “Besides,” I add. “It’s only polite to tell someone your name when you’re asked.”

  “Is it?” she wonders. “It could also be a good way for a teacher to take revenge by grading unfairly when they can put a name to a face they don’t like.”

  “I told you, I’m not grading you in anyway,” I say, chuckling and shaking my head. “Besides, who says I don’t like you?”

  There it is. She blushes. This uptight confused little creature blushes in front of me.

  “I like you,” I say to worsen her embarrassment. “Students like you. It’s more fun to deal with someone like you than a doe-eyed admirer who won’t give me any backtalk. No challenge. Kind of boring, don’t you think?”

  Her cheeks and ears are glowing crimson red, and her lips part in an attempt to speak. She has never been seen as a rebel, as someone who talks back, someone who poses a challenge to her teachers. That is not who she is.

  This is new to her.

  “Harlington,” she says eventually, her voice thin and shaky, very unl
ike it was before. “Lana Harlington.”

  “Thank you, Miss Harlington,” I say, nodding toward her. “I am looking forward to being your teacher for this semester.”

  She nods, but doesn’t say anything. Instead of her mouth, it’s her eyes that move. They flutter like wings of a butterfly. She stares at me with those flickering lashes for a few moments, before she decides to turn around.

  My eyes are glued to her back as she walks away to leave the auditorium, shaking her slim hips dressed in a dark gray skirt that hides her perky ass.

  I am going to wrap my hands around those hips. And I am going to spank the hell out of that tight, little ass.

  Just you wait, Miss Harlington.

  End of Preview.

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