Read Online Master Class: An Alpha Billionaire Romance (+ Bonus Book 'Silent Daughter 1') by Linnea May - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Linnea May
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for her to react when she is nervous.
"I'm sorry," she says. "I really hate beating around the bush."
"That's okay," I declare. "It's a refreshing change."
I don't even have to lie to her. Despite the way her eyes consumed me a few minutes earlier, despite the obvious effect I have on her, she still doesn't turn into a gushy admirer, but sticks to an uncomfortable truth. It shouldn't surprise me with a girl like her, but I've never seen this particular feature run free in such an unfettered manner.
"It makes me wonder," she continues. "What's the purpose of the book?"
She lifts her eyes, now latching on to mine with an intense gaze of curiosity.
"Why did you write it?" She adds to her previous question. "Did you even write it yourself?"
I smile at her, incapable of ignoring the satisfaction it gives me to see her wrapped in my clothes. She looks like she's already mine, and I haven't even touched her yet.
Her question is justified. I've been asked before, mainly by journalists, and for them I had a ready-made answer that was only partly true.
"The truth is," I say. "I was idealistic, maybe I still am. I took an unusual road to get to where I am now - and I thought my learning experience could be useful for others out there."
That is the partial truth I kept telling journalists. I never called myself idealistic to them directly, but I made my point clear about wanting to share my knowledge about what I learned going the route I did.
However, I don't believe that anyone will listen. They never do. People have their own idea of what will work in this world and what won't - and there is a widespread consensus that education is the key to anything worth striving for. While that may not be entirely wrong, I find myself arguing for an alternative.
"Really? That's it?" Miss Harlington asks, raising her eyebrows in disbelief. "You did it for the same reason you're teaching here? Because you think you have something to give?"
She doesn't adopt the same arrogant tone I heard the first time she talked to me after class, but the implication of what she's saying is more or less the same. She doubts my ability to teach someone like her anything, just because I'm lacking a degree and thus haven't earned her respect.
Miss Harlington, like many others, lives in a small and simple world - and couldn't be more wrong, especially in regard to what I could teach her.
"I have many things to give, Miss Harlington," I say, deliberately speaking in a soft and seductive voice. My eyes search for hers, locking her in place. When I see her shoulders tensing up, inching toward her ears, I know that my attempt at touching her was successful. She is like a cute little puppy raising its ears for attention.
"Like I said, I still think that-"
"Let me ask you a question," I interrupt her. I lean forward, placing my elbows on the desk that separates us."I'm sure you have a goal in life? Someone you're aiming for, something you want to achieve? Something that caused you to end up here, at an Ivy League school with, I assume, consistently good grades?"
She stares at me, her eyes like drops of blue ink on a light sheet of paper. The rain messed with the little amount of makeup she put on this morning. I'm surprised to see her dark lashes painted at all, but the black mascara is striking now that it has started to dissolve around her eyes. She'd look like this after a good cry, too.
Or after a thorough spanking followed by mind-numbing orgasms.
"Well, yes," she says. "I think I could be a good scholar. Once I'm done with my master's degree, I'll go for a PhD, like my sister."
"Your sister has a PhD?" I genuinely want to know.
She shakes her head. "Not yet, but she's working on it. At this university, actually."
I chuckle, adding a snide undertone when I say: "Your parents must be so proud."
Miss Harlington takes another sip of her coffee and shrugs her shoulders. "I don't know. They 're both professors themselves, they probably expected no less
"I'm sorry," she says. "I really hate beating around the bush."
"That's okay," I declare. "It's a refreshing change."
I don't even have to lie to her. Despite the way her eyes consumed me a few minutes earlier, despite the obvious effect I have on her, she still doesn't turn into a gushy admirer, but sticks to an uncomfortable truth. It shouldn't surprise me with a girl like her, but I've never seen this particular feature run free in such an unfettered manner.
"It makes me wonder," she continues. "What's the purpose of the book?"
She lifts her eyes, now latching on to mine with an intense gaze of curiosity.
"Why did you write it?" She adds to her previous question. "Did you even write it yourself?"
I smile at her, incapable of ignoring the satisfaction it gives me to see her wrapped in my clothes. She looks like she's already mine, and I haven't even touched her yet.
Her question is justified. I've been asked before, mainly by journalists, and for them I had a ready-made answer that was only partly true.
"The truth is," I say. "I was idealistic, maybe I still am. I took an unusual road to get to where I am now - and I thought my learning experience could be useful for others out there."
That is the partial truth I kept telling journalists. I never called myself idealistic to them directly, but I made my point clear about wanting to share my knowledge about what I learned going the route I did.
However, I don't believe that anyone will listen. They never do. People have their own idea of what will work in this world and what won't - and there is a widespread consensus that education is the key to anything worth striving for. While that may not be entirely wrong, I find myself arguing for an alternative.
"Really? That's it?" Miss Harlington asks, raising her eyebrows in disbelief. "You did it for the same reason you're teaching here? Because you think you have something to give?"
She doesn't adopt the same arrogant tone I heard the first time she talked to me after class, but the implication of what she's saying is more or less the same. She doubts my ability to teach someone like her anything, just because I'm lacking a degree and thus haven't earned her respect.
Miss Harlington, like many others, lives in a small and simple world - and couldn't be more wrong, especially in regard to what I could teach her.
"I have many things to give, Miss Harlington," I say, deliberately speaking in a soft and seductive voice. My eyes search for hers, locking her in place. When I see her shoulders tensing up, inching toward her ears, I know that my attempt at touching her was successful. She is like a cute little puppy raising its ears for attention.
"Like I said, I still think that-"
"Let me ask you a question," I interrupt her. I lean forward, placing my elbows on the desk that separates us."I'm sure you have a goal in life? Someone you're aiming for, something you want to achieve? Something that caused you to end up here, at an Ivy League school with, I assume, consistently good grades?"
She stares at me, her eyes like drops of blue ink on a light sheet of paper. The rain messed with the little amount of makeup she put on this morning. I'm surprised to see her dark lashes painted at all, but the black mascara is striking now that it has started to dissolve around her eyes. She'd look like this after a good cry, too.
Or after a thorough spanking followed by mind-numbing orgasms.
"Well, yes," she says. "I think I could be a good scholar. Once I'm done with my master's degree, I'll go for a PhD, like my sister."
"Your sister has a PhD?" I genuinely want to know.
She shakes her head. "Not yet, but she's working on it. At this university, actually."
I chuckle, adding a snide undertone when I say: "Your parents must be so proud."
Miss Harlington takes another sip of her coffee and shrugs her shoulders. "I don't know. They 're both professors themselves, they probably expected no less
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