Page 34 of Break My Rules
Her tight pussy clenching me to oblivion and back.
I pull out my phone and start to type a message. ‘Missing you.’
But I stop and delete it just in time. It’s too much, too soon. I want to take my time with her and do this right.
Because something tells me, she’s the one. And we’ve got forever to make this work.
Chapter9
Tessa
My focus might be a million miles away from Oxford—going over my list of suspects, and caught up in memories of my lazy weekend with Saint—but my academic schedule for the week is clear: I need to get my act together, before I lose my scholarship and visa, and get sent packing back to America.
I have to hit the books, and hard.
Luckily, Saint’s townhouse is perfect to hole up and study, and without him around as a tempting distraction, I manage to blitz through my reading list and make good progress for the week. The luxury espresso machine and cupboards full of snacks sure don’t hurt, either. By Wednesday, I’ve just about finished on an assigned essay due today, and I’m feeling like I might be able to scrape through this semester, when I hear the doorbell sound.
I bounce downstairs, from where I’ve adopted Saint’s library as my study den. “Jia,” I say, surprised, when I find my old roommate standing on the steps outside. She’s got a box in her arms, and a judgmental stare on her face as she pointedly looks up at Saint’s home.
“Nice digs,” she says, peering past me into the hallway. “Guess I know why you’re not slumming it with us back at the flat anymore.”
“Hi,” I say carefully, used to her passive-aggressive comments now. “Nice to see you, too.”
“You left some stuff behind,” she says, unceremoniously shoving the box at me. I grasp it, off-balance, and notice some of my books and papers crumpled carelessly inside.
“Thanks for bringing it by,” I say brightly.
“Well, we thought about holding onto it for you,” Jia adds, giving me a smirk. “For the next time you and the Professor break up. Kris bet five pounds you’ll be back by the end of the week, but I think you could last all the way until November.”
“Gee, thanks,” I reply flatly. “Your confidence is touching.”
“Well, what do you expect?” she asks. “You’re together, you break up, you’re back here fawning over him again… It’s not a good look. People are talking, around college,” she adds. “About you, and Saint, and your dirty little affair.”
“And I’m sure you’re telling them all to mind their own business.” My cheerful act is straining now. It’s clear, she isn’t here because she’s genuinely concerned about me, she just wants to stick the knife in. “Anyway, thanks for the box. I better get to college. I don’t want to be late for my tutorial.”
“Why, is Saint teaching?” Jia smirks, backing away. “I would have thought you’d already got your grade all sewn up.”
She walks off, and I slam the door on her, scowling. At first, I enjoyed hanging out with Jia and Kris, and thought we could be real friends, but soon enough, it was clear that lurking beneath their fun adventures and gossip was a real nasty streak.
Now, she’s just proved it.
But I don’t have time to dwell on her bitchy comments; I grab my books and jacket, and hurry over to the Ashford College campus, where my next tutorial is set to start. The professor’s office is in the East Wing, up a creaky staircase, and when I enter the room, I’m surprised to find that the class is already underway.
“I’m so sorry,” I blurt, looking around the room at the other four students, who are all sitting with their notebooks out and studious expressions on their faces. Oxford prides itself on its small, demanding study groups, but damn if it doesn’t make it hard to sneak in unnoticed. “I thought we were meeting at four thirty?” I ask, scrambling to check my printed schedule.
“I emailed this morning, moving the time to four o’clock,” the tutor, Professor Abernathy, explains. She’s a tall, hearty woman in her forties, renowned around college for her love of Romantic poetry—and the two poodles who are laying at her feet.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” I say again, finding a seat. “I’ve been so busy; I didn’t think to check. Here,” I thrust my printed assignment at her, now crumpled from my rushing again.
My classmates exchange looks, and I brace myself for a dressing-down. Abernathy is harsh but fair, and she hates lateness, but today, she gives me a surprisingly understanding smile.
“Of course, you must have a lot on your plate right now. How is he?” she asks.
I blink. “How is who?”
“Alexander St. Clair,” the professor continues. “Saint says you’ve been in London with him, supporting the family. It’s perfectly alright if you’d like to take some more time with your essay this week,” she adds, with a sympathetic smile. “I understand, this must be a difficult time.”
“Oh.” I swallow, surprised.Saint called her?“Thanks. That’s… That would be great. And he’s doing better, Mr. Saint Clair. Saint says he’s expected to make a full recovery.”