You have a job to do dumbass.
I remind myself of the real reason I am here, and my slightly improved mood comes crashing down.
“This way. Chop chop,” Mrs. Owens shouts as it echo’s from beyond the doorway. A circling set of stone stairs winds its way up to the tip of the turret and I suddenly feel like I am at a wizarding school. On each floor is two doorways leading to what I assume are the bedrooms and I find myself begging the stars for a single. I would hate my life even more than I already do if I had to room with a stranger.
“This is you,” Mrs. Owens finally says after climbing way too many floors that I forgot to count. It’s not like I won’t be able to find it however, the door that leads to my room happens to be the last doorway at the top of the turret.
I won’t ever be behind on my steps at least.
The older woman takes a card from her pocket and scans it against the smart lock, and when the green light flashes the door clicks open.
“Please take good care of this. I know you all seem to think I am here to serve you, but I have better things to do with my time then replace all the lost room keys,” I take the card she holds out before me and again without waiting on a reply from me, she makes her way down the stairs.
“Your schedule is on the desk, along with your login for the student portal. Goodluck Miss Griffith,” Then she is gone.
I turn back towards my bedroom door that is ajar and take a deep breath before pushing it open all the way.
“Oh, thank fuck for that,” I whisper as I enter the room. To my absolute delight, there’s only one bed, and it’s enormous. A king-sized expanse of charcoal velvet and crisp linen tucked beneath a tall, arched window. The crisscross of black leaded glass cuts the view into jagged shards of grey sky and forest shadows, a quiet reminder that I’ll be sleeping in what is, by all reasonable accounts, a haunted castle.
Why Marlowe ever wanted to come here is beyond me. Sure, it’s the sort of place money builds when it wants to show off, but she never struck me as the academic type. More champagne and curated selfies than classical literature and crumbling stone. Still, here I am. Hereweare.
My suitcases have already made it to the room, thanks to one of the silent caretakers we passed on the way to the dining hall. I drag the largest one toward the wardrobe, not exactly vast, but enough to hold the basics. There’s a matching tallboy, and a pair of heavy bedside tables carved with strange, curling patterns that seem more decorative than practical.
Curious, I pad across the creaking floorboards to the bathroom and freeze, a slow grin tugging at my lips.
A freestanding clawfoot tub sits directly in front of a high, narrow window carved into the turret wall. The view casts out across a sea of dark trees and creeping mist, the forest pressing in close like it’s watching. I can already imagine myself there, soaking in steaming water, alone, gazing out at a world that feels half-forgotten.
Creepy, yes. But darkly beautiful.
And entirely mine.
My stomach growls and I take a quick glance at my watch. Twelve thirty.
“Jeez that tour went on for two bloody hours,” I say to myself. It’s not a new trait, talking like a crazy person. It was one I decided on doingdeliberately so I didn’t lose my mind with my loneliness. If Marlowe or Silas didn’t seek me out, I could go weeks without talking to anyone, so I decided to be my own company.
I open my bag and quickly grab my redbull plus a bag of salt and vinegar crisps. I quickly demolish them while reading through the welcome pack that was left on my desk. I have an iPad that I have to take practically everywhere, a lanyard with a card passes on it for the different wings and buildings, then finally my schedule.
I sigh. “Not too bad,” I lay myself backwards onto the bed and close my eyes.
There is a long list of degrees I could have been signed up for at Marrowton academy, at least with English Literature, I enjoy the topic. Not that it matters if I enjoy it, I’m notreallyhere for me.
Okay time to stop sulking and make a move. I decide to unpack my things to pass the time between now and dinner time, hopefully everyone will be in the dining hall, and I can sneak down and make something while its quiet. I know I will eventually have to speak to people and try and make some friends, but I just need one night. One night to prepare myself for the unknown I am about to walk into.
***
ASHER
“Oh…Asher…Yes…Right there. Don’t stop!” I can’t tell if it’s her fake voice or tits that are turning me off tonight, but even with Darcy bent over the desk in lecture hall C, while I pound into her perfectly trimmed and preened pussy, I can’t seem to get any closer to the release I need. I shift my hips slightly and push her head further into the mahogany table and pick up my pace. The slapping of skin-on-skin echoesaround the empty hall, as the setting sun casts shadows around the space. Shadows I try to imagine are people sat watching me plow into Darcy from behind.
Nope. Nothing,
God not even my fantasy of being watched can improve this casual fuck.
I peer back down to the woman moaning and groaning like a porn star and grimace. It’s not insulting because I know I’m a great lay. It’s her need to try and please me to become the future Mrs. Vander that has her pretending so hard. She wants me to want her the way our parents expect, but even though we do this on a regular, I have absolutely no intention on marrying Darcy Gibson-Graham. Not for power, money, or even just because it’s what my parents want. The reason is because she doesn’t set my blood on fire. Yes, she is attractive with her flawless make-up, bouncy blond hair, banging body, and game for pretty much anything I ask of her. Unfortunately, that burning desire bred from need to claim and conquer just doesn’t come.
Not like that white haired stranger from this morning. The image of her pops into my head and I find myself hardening inside of Darcy.
Finally.
