Disobeying Him

by M. K. Hale

  At the thought of setting him up with someone else? “What? No, I just coughed a little. In the middle of my throat.”

  My nausea when thinking about him with someone else was worrisome, but everything would be fine. I would help Nate get over his mystery issues and acclimate to life, get an A on my paper, and become a therapist after many, many more years of schooling.

  “I’m driving him to a shelter this morning before my first class,” Nate told me, with a drop of sadness in his dry eyes.

  “You’re going to miss him.” I poked his side, painfully aware of the gorgeous skin laying beneath the thin T-shirt. “You could keep him you know.”

  He lifted Fluffykins from me and held him close. “No animals are allowed in the dorms.”

  “You’re an RA, you could get away with it.”

  He pressed his lips together as the cat nudged its head into his chest, begging for some attention. Nate scratched behind its ears. “I can’t afford to lose my job if I get caught housing an animal.”

  “I thought you were rich or something. What does a job matter?” Was he having money trouble? Was there something deeper going on with his family? He needed someone to lean on more than ever.

  “It just matters, okay.”

  “Okay.” Time to do some recon. “So you said you don’t date. Have you ever dated? Like back in high school when you were maybe less jaded?”

  He frowned. “Why are you asking me?”

  “I’m just wondering what your dating history is like. I’m a curious person.”

  He saw right through me. “It’s not an appropriate question for you to ask your RA.”

  I rolled my eyes. So far, the few times he lost his cold professionalism were when it became hot professionalism in the bedroom. “You’re not just my RA.” I gestured between us. “We’re friends.”

  “No, we’re not,” he said.

  A hard punch to the jugular may have hurt a little less than his words. “What do you mean?”

  Nate sighed and placed Fluffykins back down on his mattress. “Look, Allie, I’ve let this go on long enough; that’s my fault. I am your RA, and you are my resident. I’m responsible for you and your safety. You might think we’re friends because I’ve been giving you leeway over stunts like the water gun fiasco and the cat, but it’s over. If you break the rules again, I’m going to have to write you up.”

  “Write me up?” I was trying to help him. Anger flared inside me but doused itself. He was pushing me away because he knew I was finally cracking him. No one liked change, but it was better to accept it than ignore it. Nate was changing. He was realizing I was right about him. Aww. Patient’s first denial.

  “Trust me, I wouldn’t find pleasure in it.”

  “No, you need something else to find pleasure in,” I commented.

  “What?”

  “Blondes or brunettes? Does eye color matter to you? What do you look for?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “In a woman,” I clarified.

  He stared at me, concern lighting up his eyes. Clearly, his brain did not work as fast as mine. “Allie, again, I don’t date. If this is some game—”

  “Why don’t you date? Will you tell me that?” So I can correct it.

  “No, I won’t tell you that.” He scoffed, shaking his head at me in distaste. “You act like details about my personal life are supposed to be made available to you. We are not friends. We are not anything.”

  We were something. Therapist and patient. He just fought not to accept his role. “If you tell me why you don’t date anymore, I’ll leave you alone.”

  “Forever?”

  “For a week. I’ll leave you alone for a week.”

  He looked at the cat as if it could help him make sense of me. Admitting defeat, Nate answered, “I don’t date because it ended badly the first time. Goodbye now.”

  Caught up on a long-lost love? I could help with that. After some research. “Want to give me a name?” It would save me a lot of time.

  “No.”

  “That’s fine.” I winked at him as he glared. “See you in a week.”

  It turned out social media trumped diamonds for being a girl’s best friend. After I found Nate Reddington’s account, I cyber-stalked him back to his high school years in search of his mystery girl. If she was the reason he needed control and distanced himself from people now, she also held the key in helping him move on.

  Maybe he did not date because he was still stuck on her. Maybe I could rekindle something for him.

  When I clicked on her profile, I gagged again, fighting back nausea. She was beautiful. Of course she was. All of her pictures featured her wearing a variety of colored bikinis. Tanned gold skin. His ex’s dark black hair soaked up all light, making her the focal point in every photo.

  She glowed.

  Did I glow?

  I brushed the bad, jealous feeling aside and dug deeper into her account. I did some Google-ing of both of their names. After two hours, I had all the information I needed.

  He had broken up with her after she had told a magazine reporter about Nate’s troubling past with his father, betraying his trust. That bitch. Isn’t that what I’m doing? It was different, of course. Nate had opened up to her, and she had sold his secrets for money. No wonder he pushed people away and refused to date. He could trust no one with his secrets. As a part of a famous billionaire family, anything he had to say was worth more than a shiny penny to the press.

  Poor Nate.

  “He just needs to start over,” I told myself. I would find him a trustworthy girl.

  The next few days were spent trying to find single girls on campus who did not have black hair—as I did not want to remind him of the girl who had gifted him his baggage—and were interested in a submissive and dom relationship. The best way to do that was to invite the girls who frequented a secret BDSM sex club on campus to my dorm room for a meet and greet mixer. Finding the secret BDSM club was easy, as they seemed happy to talk to a potential new female member.

  I bought some cranberry juice and set up a punch bowl in my room as the girls arrived. My roommate again made no appearance in our room, so I had nothing to worry about. I hit “play” on my music speakers but kept them at the lowest volume, so Nate would not come over before I was ready.

  It felt like I was forming him a harem. Just got to narrow it down.

  “You would say you’re trustworthy?” I questioned one of the girls. She was a year older than me and perfect for Nate. “Dating this guy means being able to keep his secrets. No matter what.”

  “Is he rich or something?” The light shining in her eyes at the prospect eliminated her from the list.

  “Something like that.”

  Maybe searching for a girl without black hair and a submissive streak was not enough. Maybe she needed to be rich too, to understand the pressures on him.

  “Are any of you from wealthy families?” I asked the room full of fifteen women. Most shook their heads. “Dang.”

  “When do we get to meet the guy?” a blonde asked.

  “He is…hard to get through to. So I need to choose who I think he will open up to.”

  “I’m great at getting men to open up,” one yelled, sipping the punch. “Opening up their pants!” She cackled, drunk, which surprised me considering it was eight o’clock at night and the punch I served had no alcohol. “Turn the music up,” she yelled again.

  The others started chanting.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea—”

  “Do you have pictures of this guy?” one girl asked. “You were so cryptic in your message.”

  “He’s hot, trust me.” I had left his name and picture out of it because I did not want someone to show up with a “Nate Reddington” obsession. He needed someone who would treat him like a normal person. Though, no normal person ate dinner at five o’clock.

  “And he’s a dom? What level dom? Hardcore?”

  “I don’t really know,” I said. “He h
as handcuffs.”

  “That doesn’t make someone a dom.”

  “He’s…got a controlling personality,” I offered.

  “Hot.”

  “Turn up the music,” the drunk girl yelled again.

  I walked over and guided her to my door. “I think you should go.”

  “But—”

  Loud, passive-aggressive—or just aggressive-aggressive—knocking came from the other side of my door. Oh jeez. I had been hoping to correlate the meeting time with his shower time. He had been taking half-hour-long showers over the past week. Another sign he needed a woman.

  “Did you just gag?” the drunk girl flinched away from me.

  “No.” I took a deep breath and opened my door. “Hi, neighbor.”

  Nate peered over my shoulder at the room full of gorgeous women and narrowed his crazed eyes on me. “What’s going on here?”

  “Just talking to some friends,” I said.

  “I thought Gavin and Ryan were your friends.”

  “They are my guy friends. I need some girl friends.”

  He glanced at my room full of girls again. “How many friends do you need?”

  “Why, do you think there should be a maximum number?”

  He tossed me his classic scowl. “You’re breaking the rules again. No more than five people in a room.”

  “Who’s this?” The drunk girl swayed beside me as she looked at him.

  “No one. You need to leave.” I shooed her out, and Nate made room in the doorway for her to slip out. “See? Now I’m down to fourteen people in my room. That’s less rule-breaking than fifteen.”

  “Everyone needs to leave right now or I’m writing you up.”

  Oh, Nate, I am doing this for you, you dummy. “Sure, but before they do, do you see anyone in here you might want to get to know better?”

  His eyes did not leave mine. “No. No one. Now end this party.”

  “If this is what you think qualifies as a party, we need to get you to a real shindig.”

  His frown increased because he did not want me to see him smile. “Shindig?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Is this the guy you want one of us to hook up with?” a redhead called out, interrupting our private conversation.

  Nate’s expression changed as he absorbed her words. His eyebrows pointed down, his lips thinned, and his jaw locked.

  “WHAT?”

  Chapter 11

  Nate:

  * * *

  “Is this the guy you want one of us to hook up with?” someone had asked, and Allie’s face went red and scrunched up with guilt.

  “WHAT?” I had come over to tell her to keep it down and instead found a mini party in her room. And she was trying to find someone for me to hook up with?

  What the fuck was wrong with this girl?

  “You invited all of these girls here for me to hook up with?” I asked in a gritty tone.

  “Not all of them. Not at the same time.”

  I threw my arms up in the air. “What is going on with you, Allie?”

  She stood her ground and pointed a finger at my chest. “You need to start dating again. It’s a step in your recovery—”

  “My recovery?”

  “You have all this baggage from your old relationship.”

  “My old relationship?” How did she know about Abigail? Did she… Had Allie Googled me?

  “Now I know your issues come from trust. So I gathered these girls here to find someone good for you, who could help you—”

  “You’re the one who needs fucking help,” I yelled at her.

  She flinched, backing away from me. “I’m just trying to—”

  “Stop. What more do I need to say? We are not friends. We are less than nothing. Stop thinking I’m something you need to fix. How messed up are you to do things like this? Are you focusing on me so you don’t have to focus on yourself and your own problems?”

  Her lily pad green eyes widened. “I—”

  “Are you obsessed with me? A lonely stalker? What is it? Why won’t you stop playing with me?” I knew I looked crazed, running my fingers through my sculpted hair, making it a tangled mess, but I did not care. I did not care about anything other than making sure Allie never came near me again.

  “I’m not playing with you, I—”

  “If I have trust issues, it is because of people like you.” This time, I pointed my finger at her chest. Her perfectly curved, bouncing chest. I tore my gaze from her, hoping to calm myself. As I looked around her room, attractive women with curious expressions stared at me. “You wanted me to hook up with someone here?”

  A part of me had thought Allie’s interest in me was rooted in her attraction to me. That maybe she liked me and was drawn to me. But her forming a harem for me to choose from did not say she liked me. It said she pitied me. And pity made me so fucking mad.

  “You.” I met the eyes of a brunette in the corner of the room. She wore a red dress just like Allie had on the first day I had met her. I waved her over to the doorway. “Let’s go.”

  “What?” Allie squeaked as the woman walked up to me without hesitation. “What are you doing?”

  “You want me to hook up with someone else? I will.”

  “No, I wanted you to date,” Allie said, her words coming out in a rushed jumble. “Have a relationship. You can’t throw yourself into meaningless sex—”

  “Why not?” I asked. “Who are you to judge me when I don’t see you dating anyone?” Even though the suggestion came out of my mouth, I wanted to suck it back in. The idea of Allie with a boyfriend—with anyone but me—it made me gag.

  Ignore her. Allie had crossed a line tonight and needed to be punished.

  “Would you like to come to my room?” I asked the brunette, who stood beside Allie after approaching upon my request. I wanted Allie to hurt the way I hurt. Her betrayal cut into my spine like a jagged dagger of shark teeth stuck in my back. If I hurt her, she would never try to fix me again. She would give up on me.

  It would be safer for me if she gave up.

  “I’d love to come to your room,” the brunette purred, but I never looked at her.

  I searched Allie’s expression for a white flag of surrender.

  Allie held strong. “Why are you doing this?”

  “You wanted me to find someone. I now have someone. Thanks, goodnight.” I waved, wrapped an arm around the brunette, and led her next door.

  “No,” Allie shouted, trailing me in the hallway. “This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. This won’t help you heal.”

  She was upset because it would not help me “heal.” Not because she cared about me. But because she saw me as some kind of project. A project she failed at. Good. Let her fail. She had made me feel inadequate for the last time.

  I held my door open for the brunette as she walked into my room and slammed it closed in Allie’s face.

  “Nate, stop, I’m sorry,” she called from behind the door.

  I turned some light music on for the first time ever in my room. Anything to tune her out.

  “What’s your name?” I asked the brunette.

  “Hannah.”

  “I’m sorry I pulled you into this, Hannah. You can leave if you want.” I sat on my bed and put my head in my hands.

  “I don’t want to.” She sat down next to me and my mattress moved up and down at her new weight. “What’s the deal with you two?”

  “She thinks she needs to fix me. I guess by finding me a woman.” I blew out a breath. “It’s toxic to think someone can heal someone else. Even I know that.”

  “What do you need to heal from?”

  I hated questions. Especially after being questioned by Allie. “You should go,” I told Hannah.

  “If I go, she will know we didn’t hook up,” she said. “It seemed like you wanted her to think we did.” She placed a hand over mine, and I removed it, sinking away from her touch.

  “She wouldn’t care.” Allie would not feel th
e jealousy I wanted her to because she had been the damn person to find a group of fifteen women for me. She did not feel the same possessiveness for me I felt for her. Whatever. It was better that way.

  “I think she would care,” Hannah chipped in with her opinion.

  “How did she find you?” I asked.

  “EC,” she explained. “Erotics club.”

  “What?”

  “She said you were looking for a submissive.”

  Thoughts overwhelmed me until I threw myself back on my bed, the springs creaking. “That fucking girl.” She had found a sex club on campus just to find me a potential girlfriend? Had she talked to any of the male members? Was she interested in any of them?

  “You want her,” Hannah said.

  “Only in the sexual sense.”

  “Hmm.” She got up on her knees, balancing on my mattress. “Let’s make her jealous.”

  “I told you, she wouldn’t be jealous.”

  “Oh, come on, you don’t even want to try?”

  I bit my lip. A deep, dark part of me wanted to see Allie hurt. Maybe even feel some of the humiliation I felt. And even though I told myself it was not the main reason, I wanted to see her jealous. I wanted to see her face go tomato red as she tried to stake her claim on me and failed. I wanted her to care about me. For real. Because being the only one with feelings after everything she had done was getting old.

  “Moan,” I told Hannah.

  She blinked, a small grin stretching her delicate face. “What?”

  “Moan. Now.”

  She jumped up on my bed, facing the shared wall where Allie lived, and moaned like I was fucking her.

  “That’s it, baby,” I said loudly against the wall, making sure Allie could hear me. A loud thud sounded in her room, but that was it. “Just like that.”

  Hannah giggled, and I slapped the wall as if it was her ass. She stopped giggling. This time her moan was real.

  I waited to hear Allie do something. Yell something.

  Instead, a loud whack occurred from the opposite side of my wall. Did she want to start a slapping war?

  I banged a hand at the wall again as Hannah moaned louder. “You feel so good,” I told her. “Best I’ve ever had.”