Good Grades & Mystery Games (North University Series Book 2)

“What the hell is this?”

Evan looks down at the ribbon I dropped in his hands. He has five minutes before his performance in the hall and his nerves have been rubbing off on me, so I’m offering him something to keep him settled.

“Are you dumb, or are you dumb?” I mutter, pulling the blue silk out of his hand.

He smirks. “Are you giving me a gift, Angel?”

I roll my eyes, fiddling with the material to tie it around his right wrist. “Yeah, well, I missed Christmas and your birthday, and you’re just so obsessed with me, keeping hair ties on your wrist and all that, so I thought I might as well just-”

He cuts me off with a kiss, wrapping his now free hand around my neck, pulling my closer to his bare chest. I feel like I’m drowning in his touch. In his presence.

“You don’t ever know when to shut up, do you?” he whispers against my mouth.

“It’s your fault,” I mutter, trying to regain my composure. “You do this thing where you look at me like-”

That bastard. He’s shirtless, his shirt hanging over the back of a chair in the music room, his face is freshly shaven, and he looks so fucking sexy, and he expects me to form coherent sentences while he gives me the smile. What a fool.

“You can’t look at me like that, Branson. It’s ridiculous,” I say, pushing away from him, but he catches his arm around my waist, pulling me right back to him.

“I thought we established this already, sweetheart. You’re ridiculous.”

This is going to be torture.

I’ve been to the grand hall at North University twice in my life. The first was on the first day of school, where we had an induction assembly where they told us that futures were made here. The second time, I was sitting in a row with Wren, Miles, Xavier, and Michelle all sitting next to me as we watched Evan Fucking Branson perform a piano piece on the stage in front of us.

He walked onto that stage with all the confidence in the world, his head held high, a huge smile on his face, dressed in black pants and a white shirt. No tie. It honestly might be the hottest look I’ve seen him in and that’s saying something. Even hotter? The fact that we’re only a few rows from the front where he can see us and he’s sitting in front of a grand piano, his sleeves rolled up, and I can see my ribbon on his wrist.

I swear I’m getting flustered just looking at him. I hope the rest of them don’t notice. We almost got caught by Miles and Xavier the other day and even Anderson picked up on the subtle kiss he gave me as we stood outside of his office, waiting for our final check in for the project. It’s getting harder and harder not to show people how much I’m drawn to him, but hiding it only makes the pulsing tension between us burn more.

Kennedy and Wren are giddy beside me, never having seen him play before. But I have. I’ve seen him play just for me. I’ve seen him teach me. I’ve seen the way he gets lost between the notes and the melodies, his whole body moving with the song.

He pulls the microphone to him even though he’s not singing. “Hi, everyone. I’m Evan Branson,” he introduces. Miles lets out a loud whoop and Wren elbows him to keep quiet as everyone’s head turns towards our row. Evan laughs a little into the mic, the sound rushing straight towards me. “This piece is called ‘Linda’s Song,’ and it’s dedicated to someone special I know. Her name is Linda if that wasn’t already obvious. Anyway, she’s going to hate that I’m doing this, but she’s the best Linda to my Danny a person could ask for. My partner in crime, as they say.”

I don’t get time to process what he just said because the second his fingers press down on the keys; I swear my soul leaves my body.

I love music. I always have. But the way Evan is playing right now is something I’ve never experienced before. It starts off slowly, dramatic, and sensitive, immediately bringing tears to my eyes, before building into a symphony made specifically for me.

Or, well, Linda.

“Who the hell is Linda?” Kennedy asks quietly, leaning into me, her mouth practically hanging open.

“And who’s Danny?” Wren asks from the other side of me.

“I don’t know,” I say but I can tell the smile on my face is a dead giveaway. Miles leans forward, across Wren as he tries to keep his obnoxiously loud volume to a minimum.

“Awh, this sucks for you, Scarlett,” Miles whispers.

“Why does this suck for me?”

“Because he’s clearly into that Linda girl and last I checked, your name isn’t Linda,” he says, sounding genuinely upset for me. Wren elbows him for the second time tonight and he slouches back in his chair, locking his gaze back on Evan.

‘He must really like this Linda girl, huh?’ he mutters.

‘Yeah,” I whisper, “he really does.’

Then it gets worse.

Not only is he completely transfixed by the music and the melody, three people enter the stage with horns and flutes. Fucking horns and flutes. Everything sounds so beautiful together. Nothing is too loud. Nothing is too quiet. Everything is just perfect. Pure and utter bliss. I swear I start to tear up. Nearly everyone in the crowd does. When he turns to me, still playing, everyone in the crowd in awe, he smiles faintly, and I smile back.

Because no matter what, Evan Branson is going to continue to surprise me for the rest of my life.

The song goes on for a while, but no one gets bored. How could you? Every note is part of this beautifully crafted piece that tugs directly on your heartstrings. I even rest my head on Kennedy’s shoulder, closing my eyes while I listen, goosebumps rising up my arms.

“It’s just so…” Kennedy says, clearly lost within it too.

“I know,” I reply. “I know.”

*  *  *

As he promised, we all walked out of Evan’s escalade into a Michelin star restaurant downtown for a celebratory meal after his performance. Really we should be celebrating him, but he insisted on booking us all a table, pre-paying for our meal so we could eat together.

We haven’t been able to have a moment alone since that moving piece, but he’s been standing behind me the whole time. I said congratulations but that’s about it. I don’t know how to put into words the amount of emotions I’m feeling right now.

As we get through the doors, I pull onto Wren’s arm, so she turns around to me. “I’m just going to use the bathroom. Text me where you get seated.”

“Okay,” she replies, happily, linking her arms within Miles’s waiting one.

I stumble over to the bathroom, needing a moment to collect myself. Unlike most restaurants, this one holds a corridor of single unisex bathrooms instead of huge ones with multiple stalls. Still, they’re large enough to fit at least three people in, with huge mirrors surrounding the whole room. Of course, it does because Evan had to pick the fanciest restaurant for tonight.

When I get into the bathroom, I lock the door, looking at myself in the golden-rimmed mirrors. My face is still a little red from his performance, so I quickly splash some water on it, letting it cool me down. My phone buzzes on the counter.

EVAN: Where are you?

EVAN: Do you want me to order you a drink?

ME: I’m in the bathroom. Last one in the row. Come here.

EVAN: So, no drink….?

ME: Just come to the bathroom.

As I expected, a few seconds later I hear a faint knock on the door and I open it, all six feet and three inches of him filling the large space.

“Hey, what the hell was that?’ I ask, going to lock the door. When I turn back to him, I see him watching me in all the mirrors. My back is completely exposed by my black dress, so that’s probably what he’s looking at, his eyes roaming all over my body. I suddenly feel so exposed to him with the mirrors reflecting my every angle.

“What was what?’ he asks innocently, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. I copy his position, my back against the sink.

“Evan,” I warn.

“Scarlett,” he purrs, the sound creating a pool of heat in my lower stomach.

‘Drop the act for one fucking second and be real with me,” I say, waving my hand between us.

‘What do you want me to say, Scar?’ I groan, knowing that he’s playing coy with me which is the last thing I want or need.

“Why would you write a song for me and not tell me and play it in front of everyone?” I say. He chuckles lightly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“No one knows it was about you,” he replies.

“You were staring right at me while you were playing,” I accuse and then mumble, “Which is insane because I don’t understand how you can play without looking.’

He steps closer to me, my ass already digging into the countertop. “Are you trying to compliment me, sweetheart?”

I gulp. “I would never,” I say, holding my chin up to him. He doesn’t buy it, clearly, because he still stalks closer to me until he’s a breath away, his whole body covering mine. “You’re the most arrogant person I’ve ever met.”

I shove him in the chest, seeing if he’ll back down, but he doesn’t even stumble. Instead, he unties the ribbon on his hand and grips both of my hands together, pinning them above my head. I gasp, tilting my head up to him.

“Really? That’s not what you were saying the other week when my fingers were deep inside your pussy or the other day when you were kissing me senseless,” he murmurs, seamlessly tying the ribbon over my wrists. “Tell me if it’s too tight, okay?”

“It’s not,” I gasp, needing him to give me something. Something more.

“Good,” he rasps.

The way he can switch from innocent, golden retriever to this burly, almost animalistic man, baffles me. My chest is heaving now, desperate for a taste of him, as he stares down at me while I look up, wiggling my hands in his grip. He holds on tighter to them, pushing them higher until my whole chest is stretched for him. He kisses along my neck, causing me to shudder and shift under his touch. In one swift motion, he bunches up the skirt of my dress, palming my thighs near my underwear, his huge hand wrapped around them.

“I want to know something, Scar,” he breathes into my ear, his hot breath bringing me one step closer to unravelling. I’m panting now and he’s not finishing his sentence. He’s teasing me, edging me, with the slight stroke of his thumb on my thigh. “If I were to slip my hand into your panties right now, will you be as wet as I’m imagining?”

Just the sound of those filthy words on his mouth sends a rush of want straight down to where I’m waiting for him. Everything in my body lights up from the way he touches me, teases me, and mixed in with his words makes my whole body spread with goosebumps, desperate and aching with need.

“No,” I lie. I can feel it coating my thighs, begging for a release. Just being this close to him gets me hot and bothered. The silk around my wrist, knowing that I gave it to him just for him to use it to tease me.

“Don’t lie to me, Angel,” he warns, pressing a kiss to my neck as his fingers dance across the thin fabric of my panties.

“I’m not ly-” My words turn into a guttural moan as he slips his hand into my panties. My mouth hangs open instantly, but he nudges it closed with his nose, his thumb paying very close attention to my clit as it responds needily to him.

“Fuck, Scarlett,” he breathes into the crook of my neck, causing me to turn away from him. I can see myself in the mirror and the image is obscene. I’m pressed against the sink, my hands above my head, Evan’s strong hands wrapped around my wrist as he kisses my neck with his other hand inside my panties. He presses his cheek to mine, watching me watch us. “Look at you. You’re a fucking mess and I’m hardly doing anything.”

“Ev,” I pant. “Don’t stop.”

“Angel, I’ve not even started,” he whispers. I don’t know how his touch unravels me so easily. Maybe it’s because it’s been on my mind for weeks now. But actually, having it suddenly makes every nerve so sensitive to his touch. And I just want more. “Do you want me to put a finger in that sweet pussy of yours or will this do?”

Will this do? He’s got to be fucking kidding me. I try to move against his hand, needing more friction. He’s being too soft, toying with my wetness against my clit, not giving me what I want just because I haven’t asked.

“Two,” I say roughly. “Two fingers. I want to feel you everywhere.’

The sentence is barely out of my mouth before he penetrates me with his middle finger and his index finger, filling me with his large hand. It’s exactly what I wanted. Exactly what I needed, but…

“Ev, your fingers- They’re so…big,” I moan, my hands struggling against his grip. I can’t help but roll my hips against his hand, still needing that bit more.

“I’m just doing what you asked.” he rasps, biting and nipping at my neck. The stimulation I’m getting from his mouth on my neck and his fingers deep in my pussy, driving me insane. His pace increases slightly as I rock my body into his.

“Does it feel good, hm?” His voice is low and raspy, so the only thing that comes out of my mouth is a moan as I clench around him. “As good as that feels and sounds, that isn’t an answer, pretty girl.”

“Evan,” I moan, sounding pathetic and needy. That’s exactly what I am now; a moaning, shaking, desperate and needy mess. All for him. Every touch from him feels like an inferno and I can’t get enough. “It feels good. Too good.”

“Do you want your friends to hear you moaning my name?” he asks, and I shake my head, still trying to move against him. I don’t know why I do it, only knowing it’s going to push me over the edge, but I want this to last forever. “Good. Now let me cover your mouth.”

He drops his hand from holding mine above my head and plants it across my mouth instead. Now my hands are flailing, trying to grip onto something for stability as he continues pushing his fingers in and out of me, the slick wet noises filling the room. I grip onto the sink with both hands, my knuckles turning white.

He teases my clit with his thumb, still pumping in and out of me with long strokes. Jesus, Christ. I’ve never felt this good before. He pulls his fingers out of me only to pinch my clit and I shudder, moaning into his hand while he stares right at me, his face painted in a satisfied, evil grin. I’m sure my saliva is completely covering his hand, but he doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, it seems like he’s enjoying it. My body is trembling now, my hips unable to keep up with the brutal thrust of his fingers, needing to finally be pushed over the edge.

“Are you going to come for me, Angel?’ he asks. I nod my head, my eyes watering as he pulls out of me. Again. He’s trying to destroy me. He slaps my pussy and I moan again. “Good girl.”

He sinks two fingers back inside me, keeping his eyes locked with mine, but they keep rolling back in my head, overcome with pleasure. Needing more. But needing less.

When he picks up his pace, his thumb still circling my clit, I feel the orgasm about to hit me and I roll my head back, still moaning into his hand. My back arches, my legs writhing as he mercilessly pushes his fingers in and out of me, the whole experience feeling like stars are bursting.

“Evan,” I cry.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“I need-” He increases his pace again before slowing it down. My hips aren’t able to move anymore, my body hot and confused with the game that he’s playing. Is he trying to kill me?

He ignores my needy whimpers, instead saying, “What do you need?”

“Stop teasing me. I need to come,” I moan.

“Good, because I’m fucking starving,” he groans as he slowly sinks to his knees.

My head tilts back, unable to look at him even after he releases my hands and ties the ribbon around just one of my wrists instead. He presses his tongue flat against me and my legs shake as I hold on tight to my dress. He’s eating me out so good like he’s been paid to do it. He pushes his tongue into me, and I feel my whole body flush again.

When the pleasure takes over again, my head instantly falls back, moans falling out of my mouth that I forget to keep quiet, but I don’t care. I don’t care how loud I sound with how good this feels. When he looks back at me, watching me on the brink of falling apart, he squeezes my ass.

I twist my head to the side again, not able to look at him as he continues sucking my clit, lightly grazing his teeth against me. I turn to the mirror, watching as his head bobs up and down, my skirt only covering half of his face. I don’t know how much I can take of this. He’s too fucking good at everything.

“Don’t do that,” he warns, his voice thick and heavy, “I want you to look at me when you come for me, Scarlett.”

That’s what does it. The way my name sounds on his lips – desperate and fucking needy. The way those green eyes are staring into mine as I try to speak, and nothing comes out. The orgasm rips through me and pulls through every nerve in my body in waves, as he holds me on the come down, gently massaging my clit as it passes through me.

I want him.

I want all of him.

“I need you to fuck me,” I say when I catch my breath.

“Right now? When your friends are on the other side of this door?’ I nod. He stands up to his full height. He pushes the sweaty hair on my forehead out of my face. “Scar, I’ve been dreaming about fucking you since the first day at North. I’ve fucked my fist imagining doing it raw, hard, and fast. I’ve imagined doing it slowly, taking my time, easing my cock into you until you can’t take anymore. I’ve imagined fucking you so hard in that tight pussy of yours until it’s the only thing you remember, and you can’t walk straight, which means it’s not going to be a quick fuck in a bathroom of a restaurant. I’m going to want the whole day having my way with you. I’m going to look after you afterwards, clean you up and tuck you into bed with me. Because that’s what it’s going to be like when I finally have you all to myself. But today isn’t that day. When I do, I’m going to fuck you like your mine.”

I swallow at the images he’s just painted. I want all of what he just said. Every single fucking thing and more. Does he really expect me to have dinner with everyone after all that? Apparently.

“Okay,” I breathe out. He tilts his head to the side.

“Okay is all you have to say?”

‘Yes, okay is all I have to say because I want you so badly – now – and you’re telling me to wait. I’m an impatient person, Branson, so your golden dick better be good.”

“Trust me, sweetheart, it will be.’

*  *  *

Most of the meal goes by in a blur. After timing our exits from the bathroom to perfection, nobody asks us any questions while everyone gushes over Evan’s performance. I sat across from him, needing the distance.

Still, he managed to convince Michelle to switch places, so he ended up next to me the second half of the night. I had to pretend his large hand resting casually on my thigh wasn’t making me go crazy like his fingers weren’t inside me only minutes ago.

“What’s everyone’s food like?” Kennedy asks innocently as she pokes around her food. “Is anyone else’s lasagne…”

“So wet?” Evan says, his voice low, but no one picks up on the way he squeezes my thigh, inching his hand further and further up so my pussy aches.

“Yeah,” Kennedy says, sulking as she refuses to take a bite of the food. She looks like a little baby, and I laugh, pushing my hair out of my face. When her eyes widen, I immediately notice the mistake I’ve made. “Oh my god! Did you two get matching friendship bracelets?”

“What are you talking about?” Evan asks, his eyebrows knitting in confusion. Oh, that poor, sweet, not-so-innocent boy.

Kennedy points at my wrist. “That ribbon. You were wearing it at your performance. I thought I recognised it,” she says, tutting.

“Oh, yeah, I remember too,” Wren says, looking between the two of us. “Go on, Evan. Show us yours.”

“I don’t have one,” he says, glancing over at me and then back to Kennedy who is not buying it.

“Then why do you both have the same one?” she asks, titling her head.

“Yeah, and come to think of it, your wrists are looking a little red, Scarley,” Miles chimes in. I swear he just wants me to murder him.

“Oh my god,” I groan. “I always wear a ribbon my wrist, you guys know that. Evan must have stolen one of mine for good luck in his performance. He probably took it off between then and now. My wrists are red because I keep switching them around. End of fucking story.”

Everyone falls silent before Kennedy nods, a little frightened at my outburst until they all eventually fall back into a quiet conversation. Evan doesn’t say anything other than moving his hands further up my thigh, knowing that I’m still drenched for him. He hisses when he feels my arousal, his knuckles brushing against my clit.

“That’s my smart girl,” he murmurs, only for us to hear.

How much longer am I going to have to wait for him and that golden dick?