3
Colton
What the fuck are you doing.
What the FUCK are you doing?
I’m standing in my living room, arms crossed, jaw tight, and eyes blazing as I look down at the gorgeous creature laid out across my couch. She’s still got that coat of hers draped over her, but the way it’s barely covering a quarter of her thighs and barely covering her top, actually makes it worse. It makes it look like she’s naked.
I groan, my eyes drinking her in. She shifts, her brow furrowing in her sleep as she turns. The coat pulls up, giving me a glimpse of that perfect, tight little ass and the lacy edge of her sky-blue thong, and I growl.
Fuck. I need to get my shit together.
I scowl as I reach for the throw blanket on the back of the couch and pull it over her, covering her up before I stand back and assess.
This is not good.
I’m a grown man. I’m allowed to go to strip clubs. I’m certainly allowed to bring women back to my house, and if the one I bring home happens to be passed out from shock after I took her away from the creeps who were about to do God knows what to her? Well, so be it.
Except, we have a problem here. And the problem is that she’s not just “some woman.” Not to me. Just like I’m not just “some guy” to her. No, it’s way worse. Because no matter the circumstances that brought us here, right now, I’m the Principal of a private high school with one of his eighteen-year-old students lying passed out and basically naked on his living room sofa.
I repeat: what the fuck am I doing?
But also, what the fuck was she doing? I mean, Winchester Academy is full of rich kids, but Brynn Henley might just be at the very top. The Henley’s are the kind of family that redefine your idea of what wealth is. And I get that rich kids want to act out sometimes—I mean, trust me, I get it. But acting out means getting drunk at a party, or taking drugs, or getting regrettable tattoos, or, fuck, whatever teenagers do to act out.
…It doesn’t mean stripping at a skeezy strip club.
I rake my fingers over the scruff on my jaw. I need to figure out what the hell she was doing there. And really, I need to call her fucking parents.
Brynn starts to stir, and I snap out of my thoughts as my eyes focus on her. She frowns, shifting under the blanket before suddenly her eyes snap open. Her face pales, and she jerks like she’s about to lunge from the couch and run, when I stop her with a calming hand on her shoulder as I stoop low.
“Hey, hey,” I growl, squeezing her shoulder reassuringly. “Just relax, Brynn. It’s Colto—it’s Principal Kane, and you’re safe, okay?”
She nods, blinking quickly before her eyes focus on me, and her face burns crimson.
“Oh, God,” she groans, burying her face in her hands as she sinks under the blanket.
“Brynn—”
“Please, Principal Kane,” she suddenly sobs, tears streaming from her eyes. “Please! Just don’t tell—”
“Hey, hey, c’mere,” I growl, wrapping my arms around her as she collapses into me, sobbing and clinging to my shirt as I wrap her in the blanket and my arms—my mind doing everything it can to forget the way she was grinding on my lap less than an hour ago.
“Byrnn, you’re safe, alright? Do you want to tell me what the fuck you were doing there?”
She shakes her head, still pressing her face into my chest as I gently rub her back.
“Okay, that’s fine,” I say gently. “Look, we should call your parents though—”
“No.”
I frown. “What?”
“No,” she says softly. “We can’t.”
My frown deepens. “Brynn, I’m not going to—look, whatever you were doing there tonight, I’m not judging and I’m not going to say a thing to them.”
I shake my head, my jaw clenching.