Tutoring the Delinquent

2021·0.23 MB·english

by  Kane

TUTORING THE DELINQUENT
JESSA KANE
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Epilogue
Chapter One
Teddy
On the way to my new tutor’s dorm room, I want to punch a hole in the hallway wall.
It’s like this all the time now. The relentless anger slithers inside of me like oily snakes. I’ve
worked myself to the bone on the football field in an attempt to exhaust the roiling emotions inside of
me, but nothing ever gives. There’s a bowling ball sitting on my chest, pressing down, down, so hard
that I can’t breathe sometimes and the only thing that relieves it for even a moment is destruction.
Breaking shit. Acting out as my college counselor calls it.
She can call it whatever she wants—it feels good.
Rebelling is the only thing that helps melt the resentment lately.
On my way past a room of students, they look up from their phones and gasp.
“Is that Teddy Xavier?”
Yeah, it’s me, assholes. Take a good look.
During my first three years of school, I would have waved and flashed them a smile that’s going to
earn me millions of dollars in endorsement deals one day, when I’ve been drafted to the NFL. But
now? I give them the finger and keep walking, the constant roaring in my ears growing louder. I
already hate this fucking tutor. Iris Stirling. She’s going to be smug as hell, I bet. She’s the only thing
standing between me and the championship game next week. If I don’t pass my Western Civilization
test, I don’t play. I’m already skating on thin ice after getting picked up by the cops for being drunk
and disorderly in public. Breaking into a few cars, just because I could. Because I needed to distract
myself from the pain.
So I’m sure Iris Stirling—what a stupid name—is getting off on a major power trip right now,
telling all of her friends that she has Teddy Xavier by the short and curlies. As long as she helps me
pass the history course, she can brag all she wants—I just need to be on the field.
Lately, being on the gridiron has been less about football and more about the temporary relief I get
from the constant anger when I’m tackled hard. But that’s another story.
I stop in front of her closed dorm room door and wrap my hands around the jamb. She’s in there,
chattering away on the phone, and I have to resist the urge to kick in the door, splinter it right there on
the hinges. Just to set the tone. I’m going to let her teach me the shit I need to know to pass the test and
play in the championship game, but that’s where it ends. I’m not her shortcut to popularity or claim to
fame. God, I hate her already. I hate everyone.
Especially him. For leaving. For checking out early.
What the hell is the point of this anymore?
Breathing through the wave of emptiness that passes through me, I bang a fist on the door, ready to
finally meet this chick. Iris. Apparently she’s the campus genius. Too bad she sounds like a basic idiot
from this side of the door.
And when she opens that door and we come face to face, I’m relieved to be right. Already I can’t
stand her. She looks like every other fucking cheerleader or co-ed who follows me around campus
with dreams of babies and a mansion in their heads. Fuck that. I want nothing to do with any of them,
especially since the funeral. I had hundreds of them during my first three years at the university and I
can’t recall a single face, so what would be the point, anyway?
My scowl doesn’t stop her from twisting hair around her finger and giggling. “I can’t believe it.
Mr. Teddy Xavier himself in my dorm room.”
“Yeah, Iris,” I grit, bitterly, wishing I had a fifth of whiskey in my hand. “Lucky you.”
“Oh, I’m not Iris,” she laughs, as if it was a wild assumption. “Iris is my roommate.” She cups a
hand around her mouth and whispers, “Poor you.”
Irritated that this girl, who is apparently not the campus genius, has wasted a full minute of my
life, I duck beneath the door frame and enter the room, my stride pausing when I see the other
occupant. She’s sitting on a twin bed with her head bowed, curtains of messy blonde hair hiding her
face. Her green cardigan is old and thin, buttoned up to her chin, knees pressed together in her
leggings. There’s a Western Civilization book in her lap and she appears to be holding on to it for
dear life.
“Iris,” I say, my voice a hell of a lot softer than when I addressed the other chick…and I have no
idea why. “Are you Iris?”
She nods, her knuckles turning white around the textbook. Is she scared of something? I wouldn’t
blame her. She looks like she could be picked up and carried away by a gust of wind.
“I’m Teddy Xavier.” I duck down a little, trying to see her face, frowning when she only hides it
further. “Obviously you remember we have a tutoring appointment since you’re holding the book. Are
you…?” I really don’t understand the weird discomfort in my chest. Different from the ever-present
anger. More like concern or anticipation. I don’t know. “Is everything okay?”
She nods again. Says nothing.
Frowning, I look around the dorm room. The girl who answered the door is back to sitting on her
bed and she’s taking sneaky pictures of me, as if I wouldn’t notice. I’m sure they’ll be all over Twitter
and TikTok by tomorrow morning, but I can’t find it in me to give a shit.
No, what draws my attention, instead, is the way the dorm room is divided.
Iris has been limited to the island of her tiny bed, while this girl’s stuff is everywhere. She’s
taking up ninety percent of the room with her Taylor Swift posters and furniture and clothes. It’s
obvious where her section of the room ends and Iris’s begins, because my tutor’s portion is bare and
sparse and small. Too small for a person to breathe in, let alone live.
“Hey,” I bark, jerking my chin at the cheerleader-type. “Is this all your shit?”
The phone drops into her lap and she goes from flirty to belligerent in about two point five
seconds. “She said I could have most of the space.”
“Did you say that?” I ask Iris.
Several ticks of silence go by.
Then she looks up at me, the blonde hair falling back to her shoulders. And my stomach takes a
dramatic dive, the way it does when a roller coaster plumets from a great height. Why can’t I fucking
breathe? I actually lurch for the wall to stabilize myself, but I don’t—I won’t take my gaze off of her.
Jesus. Jesus.
She’s so solemnly beautiful with her big, serious eyes. What fucking color is that? Purple? Some
undiscovered shade of blue? Her mouth is unpainted and soft and wide. And I don’t know how I can
tell she rarely uses it to speak, but I do. I just know. I just know everything she’s thinking in a single
instant, almost like we’re using telepathy.
“No, she didn’t,” I growl at the other girl, without taking my attention from Iris. “She didn’t say
you could take up the whole room. Have it fixed by tomorrow or I’ll do it for you.” I point at the door.
“Right now? You can leave.”
“Leave?” she screeches, shooting to her feet. “This is my room—”
“Cool story. Find another one.”
It takes her a minute to gather up her things and stomp out of the dorm room, slamming the door
behind her. During that minute, I can’t look away from the quiet little genius sitting in front of me,
shivering as if she’s scared. Of me? Oh God, I don’t know why, but I absolutely cannot have that. My
whole life is about intimidating other people, that’s how I’ve been an All-American two years
running. But if this fairy is afraid of me, I think it might tear me open like a knife through a sack of
flour.
“It’s okay,” I say, gently as possible.
Her chest starts to rise and fall quickly.
“Should I not have made her leave? Are you scared to be alone with me?” When she only
continues to watch me like a timid rabbit, I have no idea what comes over me. I have no idea, but I
kneel. I kneel down and slowly remove my jacket, tossing it on the floor, holding up my hands.
Showing her I’m huge and strong, but I’m just a man? I have no idea. I have no idea what’s happening
at all, but my heart is going to burst out of my body any second now. “There’s nothing to be afraid of,
Iris.”
“I’m not afraid,” she whispers.
My world grinds to a halt. That voice. That voice. Every syllable out of her mouth is like a warm
washcloth being dragged across the grime inside of me, wiping me clear. Cleansing me. I have to dig
my fingers into the back of my neck to prevent myself from crawling forward and burying my face in
her lap. “Why are you shaking?”
“You stood up for me.” Her tone is totally incredulous. “I didn’t expect it.”
“You needed me to, right?” I look around at the possessions encroaching on her space and I want
to throw it all through the glass window. “Right, Iris?”
Slowly, reluctantly, she nods. “Thank you.”
My throat is too dry to swallow. “What else do you need?”
I sound like a complete idiot. My voice is hoarse, I’m practically growling at this girl to give me
another mission to complete for her. What is going on here? Yes, she’s gorgeous—though most of her
beauty is hidden behind hair and oversized clothes. She’s obviously sweet, too, with an angelic
voice. Apparently she’s smart as a whip. All of those things make her impressive, but nothing
explains my intense reaction to her. No, it’s coming from somewhere deeper. Jesus, it’s coming from
my fucking soul. The soul that is about to leave my body if I don’t touch her. If I don’t establish that
she’s mine.
Suddenly, I’m feverish and aching and burning with that need.
To make her mine.
“Should w-we get started?” Iris asks, her cheeks flushed.
Probably because I’m staring at her like a wolf who has just crossed paths with a lamb.
Hands trembling, she opens the textbook in her lap and blinks at me. “Teddy?” She wets her wide
mouth and my dick leaps in response. “Do you mind me asking…” She tucks some hair behind her
ear, cheeks coloring. “It’s none of my business, but I overheard my roommate saying you got in
trouble for v-vandalism. Among other things. And the dean told me you’ve always been a good
student, but you’re having trouble now.” Her delicate throat works with a swallow. “Did something
happen?”
“Yes.” I haven’t spoken to anyone about this. Not the therapists arranged by my coaches. Not my
mother or friends. No one. But as soon as this girl asks me to open up, everything spills out of me like
water from a dam. “My father died. He…fell asleep behind the wheel.” Frustration wells inside of
me. “What the fuck? Why the hell did he do that? A ten-minute drive from the office to home. I
don’t…I don’t get it.”
There’s no pity in her expression. Only quiet understanding. “You’re mad at him.”
“Yes.”
But that’s when I realize, the anger inside me has gone silent for the first time in months—and I go
toward her like a thirsty man goes toward a well.
Chapter Two
Iris
How am I supposed to concentrate on the development of human civilization in Ancient Greece when
this man is looming in front of me? Why won’t he sit down? He started to take a place beside me on
the thin mattress, but made a sound and started pacing with clenched fists.
Yes, I really should have Googled him prior to this tutoring session. Or actually watched one of
the division one football games on television. At least that way I would have been prepared for the
god—speaking of Ancient Greece—that walked into my room. He’s well over six foot five, bronzed
and…thick. Everywhere. So muscular that his jeans and grey, long-sleeved T-shirt are struggling not
to burst at the seams. His physique would have been enough to render him a distraction, but he had to
be handsome on top of being strong, didn’t he? His dark hair is windblown, eyes light brown, stubble
gracing his jaw.
A man. A grown man.
The campus hero who will not play in the championship game unless I can get him to pass
Western Civilization. That pressure has been weighing down on my shoulders since the dean asked
me for the favor. Of course I said yes. I’m lucky just to be here. Lucky to be attending a university
without paying a single dime. Tutoring the quarterback is the least I can do in exchange for my good
fortune. So many people will never get this opportunity.
“Do you want to sit down?” I ask, opening the textbook and smoothing out the sheet tucked in
between the pages. My notes for our first session.
When he hesitates, raking a hand through his hair, something humiliating occurs to me. What if he
thinks I’m…I’m hitting on him? Asking him to sit on my bed? What was I thinking?
I shoot to my feet, fumbling the textbook in my hands. “I-I’m sorry. I should have asked you to
meet me in the library.”
“No, it’s fine.” He’s staring at me with that strange intensity again. Like he’s restraining himself.
From what? “It’s fine, I’m just…I’m trying to calm down first.”
Calm down?
Confused, I lower myself back down to the mattress, noting that his jaw looks ready to pop free of
its hinge. “You’re not this mad over my roommate, are you?”
“I’m not mad.” He tugs on the ends of his hair. “I’m always mad, Iris. Just not right now.”
The textbook sits forgotten in my lap, his tortured energy holding me in thrall.
He stops pacing and shakes his head. “I’m not putting any more of that on you.” I start to tell him
it’s okay. This larger-than-life man must have a million friends who would gladly lend him a shoulder
to lean on or a listening ear, but if he wants to confide in me, a stranger, I would listen. Of course I
would. But he speaks before I can make the offer. “Do you have a boyfriend?”
I have to slap a hand over my mouth to muffle the laugh.
“What?” He frowns, fingers curling into his palms. “You do, don’t you?”
“No. I don’t. I’ve never…” Why would I volunteer something so embarrassing? The beginning of
my sentence dangles there between us, until I have no choice but to complete it. “I’ve never even been
on a date.” Fire engulfs my cheeks and I flip clumsily through the textbook. “Shouldn’t we be s-
studying?”
“Yeah. We probably should be.” He plants his hands on his knees and leans down until our faces
are even. “So. No boyfriend, Iris?”
Why is he asking? Maybe I’m such an anomaly in his world of television cameras and
touchdowns, he’s fascinated by my celibate lifestyle. I shake my head.
His eyelids grow heavy with relief, his shoulders relaxing. “Saves me some time,” he mutters,
straightening. Looking around the room. “I have an apartment off campus. You’ll have a lot more
space there.” This time when he looks at me, his eyes seem a lot darker. “We will.”
“Oh.” I stand up again, holding the open textbook to my chest. That’s when I notice how fast my
heart is beating. And my knees are sort of wobbly. Because of Teddy Xavier? I’ve never had this kind
of reaction to anything or anyone before. Why does the first time have to be with a nationally admired
quarterback? “You want us to study at your apartment, instead?”
A line moves in his cheek and for a moment, he looks almost amused. But only for a moment. Then
he’s deadly serious. “I’m going to need a lot of tutoring, Iris. Day and night. For years. Do you
understand what I’m saying to you?”
“No,” I whisper, honestly. This happens a lot. I was raised in a quiet orphanage by a nun named
Sister Mary Donovan who’d taken a vow of silence. I’m not great at interacting with people, let alone
very tall, very good-looking men who smell like fresh rain. “I’m sorry.”
He swallows. “Don’t apologize. It’s me. I’m going too fast, doing this all wrong. Jesus, you
fucking fluster me, honey. You know that?” His laughter is strained. “Let’s take this slower, okay?”
I don’t know what else do but nod, sitting back down on the bed. As a matter of fact, I’ve stood up
and sat down so many times since he arrived, I might as well be in mass. I duck my chin into my chest
to suppress a laugh—and that’s when Teddy drops down beside me. Hard. All of his weight lands on
the spot to my left and I go flying, catapulted straight into the air.
“Iris!”
He catches me in mid-air and jerks me down into his lap protectively.
Now, my mouth is right below his. His eyes search mine with a lot more worry than the situation
warrants. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. I’m—”
I break off on a moan when his hand lifts to cradle the side of my face. His palm touches my bare
skin and…and every nerve ending in my body screams in delight. Screams. Powerful enough to
shatter glass. Or me, rather. I’m shattering, shaking. Moaning again.
Mentally, I know I’m embarrassing myself.
I know that.
But physically, I can’t stop rubbing my cheek into his palm, barely capable of keeping my eyes
open, the rush of sensations is so large. Consuming.
“I’m s-sorry,” I stammer. “I’m just not used to…I haven’t been touched by anyone. I can’t
remember the last time. Sister might have given me a hug on my fifteenth birthday…”
Teddy’s breath accelerates, his dark brows slashing together. “I don’t understand. You haven’t
been touched at all since you were fifteen?” His thumb brushes my cheekbone and I go limp with a
sob, but his strong arms tighten and hold me up easily. “Ah honey. What about your parents?”
My brain is so muddled by the warmth of his hand, the tingles his touch spreads all the way to my
belly, I can barely explain. “I was put up for adoption when I was eleven. They needed someone to
help out at the monastery and I was adopted. By the church.”
He processes that with a deep look of concentration, his rough knuckle trailing along the curve of
my jaw, down the side of my neck, making me gasp. “How did you end up here? You’re a freshman,
right? You have to be. I would have seen you. Known you were here…somehow.”
I’m trying to grasp what he’s saying to me, but his knuckle is in the hollow of my throat now, then
it’s traveling lower. Looking me in the eye, Teddy pops open the buttons of my cardigan, one by one.
But when he starts to spread it open, I regain my senses and grab his wrist to stop him. “I-I’m not
wearing anything underneath this.”
“That’s okay, Iris. That’s good. From now on, I’m the one who gets to look. I’m the only one who
is allowed. Understood?” I nod, barely cognizant of what I’m agreeing to, only that looking into this
man’s eyes while he’s touching me feels infinitely right. Like it was inevitable long before he walked
through the door tonight. “If my hand feels good on your face, think of how nice it’ll feel on your tits,
honey.”
Tits.
I’ve never heard that word out loud before.
Some of the language around campus is “salty” as Sister would call it in those rare times she
wasn’t living in silence, but I’ve yet to hear any sexual references being tossed around. To be fair, I
normally put my head down and power walk between classes, because I’m so overwhelmed by the
size of the university. The multitude of people. It’s so much bigger and busier than anywhere I’ve ever
seen or been. It’s safer to stick to my books and assignments. “I…I don’t know.”
Something hard is pressing to my bottom. I wiggle around on the large object, trying to discern its
exact shape. When Teddy grits his teeth and curses, it dawns on me. It’s his hard penis. He’s…
aroused? I’ve read about male sexual response in my health class, though I admit I skimmed a little, it
made my private parts feel uncomfortably warm. “Is that permission, Iris?” he pants. “Is that tight ass
telling me yes, Teddy, play with my tits?”
The temperature in the room is a million degrees, right?
What was I thinking, wearing a sweater? Sure, it’s a cold fall night, but I’m in flames. And I have
that odd, melting sensation between my thighs again, about a hundred times worse than when I read
about male arousal in health class. Because this is real. This man is real and he’s erect for me, for
some strange reason. I’m scrawny and quiet and unpolished. I can’t possibly be what he’s used to.
Still, his touch feels so startlingly amazing, I find myself whispering, “Yes.”
In a split second, the textbook has been knocked onto the floor and my back is being pressed to the
mattress. His eyes are glittering, hands unsteady as he shoves open the sides of my cardigan.
“Holy…fuck.” He drops his face down between my breasts, making a sound that’s a cross between an
inhale and a snarl. “Ah, honey. They’re so fucking pretty. Going to come just looking at them. Sweet
Jesus.”
I don’t know when it happens because I’m reeling from his words, from the pleasure they give me,
but both of my wrists are in his left hand and pinned over my head, his tongue licking up and over one
of my nipples, stiffening it instantly, painfully, his right hand squeezing the opposite mound in a
possessive grip.
And…I implode. I lose the ability to think. The region between my legs, which I’ve never
explored or spared a lot of thought for, gathers up so forcefully it makes me whimper, then scream, my
legs thrashing…and I…is this an orgasm? I see nothing. I feel only ripple after wave after torrent of
pleasure burn through my belly, my femininity, my back arching up off the bed, wrists straining in his
grip. All the while, he looks down at me in pained awe. Lustful shock.
“Teddy.”
“Good girl. Call for me,” he rasps, still teasing my nipples with his fingers, prolonging the roil of