Barely: Winchester Academy Book 7

  Barely

  Winchester Academy, Book 7

  Madison Faye

  Contents

  Barely

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Epilogue

  Extra Goodies

  Sneak Peek - Professor

  Sneak Peek - His Little Bad Girl

  Also by Madison Faye

  Mailing List

  About the Author

  Copyright Notice

  Copyright © 2019 Madison Faye

  Cover: Coverlüv Book Design

  Photography: Sara Eirew

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  Barely

  Off limits, forbidden, twenty years my junior…

  And in way over her head.

  She needs saving. I need to keep away.

  But one taste of those sweet, innocent lips, and I’ll fight like hell to keep her safe.

  * * *

  I had no business looking at her like that. No business wanting her, craving her—the caveman in me roaring to claim and take.

  Of course, that was before I realized who the girl in the mask grinding on my lap was.

  Her name is Brynn Henley. She’s eighteen—barely—and one of my students at the private high school where I’m the Principal. She’s out-of-bounds, but then, she’s also out of time and out of choices.

  Some bad, bad people want her for themselves. They want to take her from me, and hurt her, all to settle a debt to the mob her father owes.

  …They’re going to have to come through me first.

  I have no business with a girl like her. Too innocent, too untouched, too barely legal. But I’ve had a taste, and now, I’ll have the rest.

  This forbidden heat could engulf and burn us both. But the mob made a mistake. They came after what’s mine.

  …And nothing is going to take her away from me.

  * * *

  Each of the Winchester Academy books are completely standalone stories, with no cliffhangers.

  As with all my books, this one is safe, with no cheating, and a HEA guaranteed.

  1

  Colton

  She looks like heaven and moves like sin. Soft, sultry music pulses like a lover’s touch over the club’s sound system, and under the sensual blue and pink lights, and through a fog of fake smoke, her hips sway as her hands slide up to grip the pole tightly.

  And there’s something about her that has all of my attention.

  Yes, you could assume it’s that she’s wearing next to nothing—just this sky-blue, lacy, basically see-through bra and thong panties that hug every single part of her perfectly sculpted body like they were painted on. You could say it’s that she’s grinding her hips and sliding her hands over her body in a way that’s designed to get a guy like me hard.

  But it’s… it’s hard to explain, but it’s more than that.

  For one, she’s no pro, that’s pretty easy to see. In fact, I’d almost say she looks nervous, even though there’s not really a ton of people in here tonight, and even though she’s wearing a black masquerade mask that totally obscures who she is. Her moves aren’t practiced, either. It’s like she just got done watching a how-to video of “dancing sexy,” and this is her first time trying to remember how to do it.

  Secondly, strip clubs are not my scene. Not by a fucking mile. Maybe it’s that I just see through the bullshit that they are? There are guys who walk into a strip club and swallow that fantasy pill whole. The girl is “totally into them,” and she “totally just gave them her real name. No, really, bro.”

  You know the type. But me? Nah, I’m not that type. I see through the illusion. Or maybe it’s just that a woman hasn’t turned my head—stripper or otherwise—in years.

  Several, several years.

  But in any case, with both of the reasons there, here I am just fucking staring at her. Mesmerized, hooked. Like the animal inside of me that I’ve kept chained up finally has the scent of prey hitting its nostrils for the first time in far too long. And now it’s fucking starving.

  There’s the taste of overpriced mid-level whiskey on my tongue, the faint scent of cigar smoke wafting through the air. And around me, Dan and the rest of my “buddies” are cavorting around, knocking back shots, cat-calling girls, and generally doing exactly what you’d expect of a bachelor party of thirty-to-forty-year-old guys to be doing in a strip club.

  But not me. I just watch, my pulse thumping in my neck and my muscles clenching and unclenching as my eyes follow her every move.

  “Bro!”

  I’m startled from my thoughts by two sweaty palms slapping my shoulders from behind. And that’s saying something, because I never startle. I glance over my shoulder at the man of the hour, Dan, my old college roommate from what feels like a lifetime ago. A life before war. Before I met death and chaos. A life before the Special Forces.

  My old life.

  “Hey, man,” I force a smile. “Having a good time?”

  “I’m having a fucking awesome time, man!”

  Hey, it’s not my jam, but to each his own, I suppose.

  “Great, buddy. Listen, thanks for the invite. I know it’s been a wh—”

  “Bro, have you checked out the tits on that Asian chick over there?”

  I’ve changed a lot in twenty years. Dan has not.

  “Must have missed that,” I growl, rolling my eyes as I look away and take another sip of the twenty-dollar pour of Maker’s Mark in my glass.

  Dan chuckles. “Guess you were distracted.”

  “Hmm?”

  He grins and nods at the stage I’ve been staring at, and there she is, still dancing. Still utterly captivating me.

  “Dude, she is so fuckable.”

  My jaw clenches tight. Very, very tight. About as tight as my fist on the glass of whiskey, which feels like it might shatter any second. I understand the place I’m in. And I understand what her job is. But the idea of anyone—of any man at all—looking at her like that, or thinking of her like that, has my blood boiling.

  “Take it easy,” I growl, instead of smashing my glass over his head or throwing him across the room.

  Dan just laughs. “Hey, it’s cool man, it’s cool. You saw her first, huh?”

  He grins, and in the spirit of where I am, and allowing that Dan is wasted, and further allowing that in all likelihood, the wedding next month will be the last time I ever see Dan, I force a smile back.

  “Sure.”

  He smiles. “Well, shit man, go get a dance.”

  “I’m not really into—”

  “Nope! Not taking no for an answer, bro! It’s my bachelor party, and if you want her, she’s yours, man.”

  The growl rumbles in my throat, but he can’t hear it over the music. The music su
ddenly switches songs, and when I glance back at the stage, she’s walking off of it.

  Fuck.

  My eyes scan the room, but she’s gone, and I shake my head. The fuck was I thinking anyways?

  Instead, I knock back the rest of my drink and head to the bar to pay bottle price for one drink again. I thank the bartender, and I’m bringing the glass to my lips when suddenly, hands grab both my arms, yanking them back.

  …And instinct kicks in.

  I whirl, wrenching my hands free, grabbing one of them by the collar of his t-shirt. My fist raises, and it’s only then that I’m aware of Dan’s voice.

  “Whoa! Whoa! Fuckin’ chill, man!”

  I blink, and when the adrenaline cools, and my eyes focus, I realize I’m holding Dan’s best man in my hands.

  Shit.

  “Sorry,” I growl, letting his shirt go. The guy is white-faced and looks like he’s about to piss himself.

  “S’cool,” he mumbles, swallowing as he glances at the other guys in the bachelor party nervously. Actually, all of them are looking at me like that.

  Dan’s chuckling laugh breaks the silence.

  “Fuck, Colton!” he whistles.

  “Thought you were a high school principal,” the best man mumbles, eyeing me.

  “Naw, headmaster,” Dan crows.

  “It’s just principal.” That’s what I am in life these days. The Principal of Winchester Academy, this absurdly expensive, exclusive private boarding high school a few towns away from here.

  I clear my throat and nod at the guy I almost just killed. “And sorry. I—” I frown. “I’m not good with being surprised from behind like that.”

  Dan nods. “True that, bro. He was in the Marines,” he says somberly to his other friends.

  “Special Forces.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I said.”

  I don’t bother correcting him.

  “Anyways, Colton, man, we just wanted to surprise you.”

  “Mission accomplished,” I growl, reaching for my drink.

  He grins. “No, buddy. I mean we surprised you with a little private room action.”

  I frown.

  What.

  One of the other guys grins and steps forward. “Yeah, bro. Dan here wanted to hook you up with a little champagne room, huh?”

  His smile widens as all of the guys make catcalls and whooping sounds.

  “Dan, that’s… I’m not really into—”

  “Well I already paid man, so, c’mon!”

  I frown.

  “Bro, it’s my bachelor party, and I want you to go have fun!”

  Fuck it.

  It’s not that I want to, it’s that I don’t want to keep standing here having this discussion. And hell, if nothing else, I’m pretty sure the private room is private. I can tell the stripper to take a break and keep the money, and I can get some peace and quiet for ten minutes.

  “Sure, man,” I smile thinly. “Sounds good.”

  “Ay! Atta boy!” Dan crows. He nods at a purple neon lit doorway. “Through there, second door on the left!”

  I take a drink as I walk away, ignoring the cheers from the bachelor party as I step through into a dark hallway that smells like cheap perfume. I find the door, and step into a world of blue neon and faux crystal. There’s a big—and I do mean big—guy waiting for me to tell me to keep my hands to my damn self and to take a seat and wait for my girl.

  Great.

  I sit, drinking my whiskey and wondering how soon I can get the fuck out of here, when the door opens.

  …And my jaw tightens.

  It’s her. Fuck, of course it’s her. Blonde hair, black mask, sky-blue lacy lingerie, and fuck-me stilettos. The door closes behind her, and when our eyes lock, I see her instantly stiffen. Actually, she flat out shivers, and I watch as her teeth rake nervously over her bottom lip.

  Well, this is off to a great start.

  “Listen,” I growl, leaning forward. “I’m good, really. My buddies paid for the room, so if you want to go take a break or… I don’t know, do whatever, that’s fine.”

  She swallows, her chest rising and falling, and God help me, my eyes drop right to those fucking perfect tits before I drag my eyes back to hers. Fuck, she’s young—younger than I thought she was on stage. And with all due respect to women who take their clothes off for a living, and I do have some serious respect for them, this girl ain’t it. She just doesn’t have that look.

  “I’m serious,” I mutter. “Honestly, go take a break. I’m just gonna sit here and—”

  “I have to.”

  Her voice is like silk and lace, but I frown.

  “No, you really—”

  “Yes, I do.”

  She nods subtly up at a little glass bubble on the ceiling, and when I see it, my jaw tightens. It’s a security camera.

  “But I don’t want the dance.”

  “I’ll…” she frowns, looking down.

  “What.”

  “I’ll get in trouble if I don’t,” she says softly.

  My scowl deepens.

  “Are you in trouble?”

  She quickly shakes her head.

  “You can tell me if you are.”

  “I—” she opens her mouth and then snaps it shut, her eyes darting to that camera again.

  “They paid for two songs.”

  “Darlin—”

  But she steps right toward me, and when more sultry music comes on, suddenly, she starts to move. And just like before, I can’t look away.

  She sways her hips, and there’s more confidence this time than she had on stage as she starts to dance. She sways towards me, reaching back and pausing for one second, and shivering, before I see her undo her bra. She holds it in place over her tits as she moves closer, and when she steps up onto the banquet seat I’m sitting in, I growl.

  Fuck, why am I hard?

  I don’t do strip clubs. This is not my scene, and this is nothing I want. But she, on the other hand, is everything I want, and when she slides into my lap, something fierce burns through me. She grinds on me, and fuck if my cock doesn’t start to respond. Swelling, thickening, bulging against her. Her breath catches, and she swallows again, her cheeks pink even in the neon blue lighting as she sways and moves.

  She pulls the bra away, and I groan as my eyes drop to her perfect—fucking perfect—breasts. Full, and soft, and perky, with these hard little rosy, puffy nipples capping them. My cock pulses even harder, and I know damn well she can feel it when she gasps quietly. She moves on me, a little awkwardly, but the room is still pulsing with this sexual energy as she gets up, turns, and then settles back down on me. I growl as I feel my cock nestle against her tight little ass, and when she starts to rub and grind, my jaw clenches tightly.

  One song ends, and as the second one starts, she leans back, swaying against me and letting her arm raise. Her fingers thread into my hair, and my pulse races.

  Goddamnit, maybe I am one of those guys. Maybe it’s not that she’s this innocent little broken doll I’m obsessed with because she seems too innocent for a place like this. Maybe it’s just that she’s that good.

  She spins again on my lap, straddling me and looking me dead in the eye as she grinds faster and harder. My cock pulses, my balls swelling with cum as the gorgeous, nubile little tease on my lap drags me into her world. I’m falling in headfirst, and I’m lost in those eyes. But as she leans in close and lets her hand slide up her body and into her hair, suddenly, the string on the mask pops, and it drops away. And my whole world goes upside-fucking-down.

  …Because I know her.

  Actually, it’s about ten thousand times worse than just knowing her. It’s how I know her. It’s the fact that it’s not a stripper sitting on my rock-hard cock in sexy lacy panties with her tits about six inches from my face. It’s that I see her almost every day, wearing a white blouse, a plaid skirt, knee-socks, and flats.

  …It’s that her name is Brynn Henley, and she’s a fucking student at Wincheste
r Academy.

  She’s eighteen. She’s a senior. Her family is beyond loaded. And yet here she is, giving me a topless lap dance in a strip club champagne room.

  Our eyes lock, her face white and mortified looking before suddenly, it’s like she’s been electrified. She bolts off of my lap, grabbing her bra and gasping as she backs away from me.

  “Brynn?” I say quietly, my eyes locked with hers.

  “Please… don’t… I mean, this isn’t what you…”

  She swallows, her face paling.

  “Please, Principal Kane.”

  And just like that, she whirls, and she’s out the door, leaving me lost, shocked, and trying to figure out what the fuck just happened.

  Oh, and hard. She leaves me achingly, confusingly, damningly, sinfully hard.

  2

  Brynn

  If life were a movie, this would be funny. It’d be one of the scenes they picked for the trailer, probably. The guy would be someone cute but harmless like Paul Rudd or Seth Rogen or something, and I’d be… I don’t know. Someone quirky and fun? My mask would drop, the music would record-scratch, and one of us would say some sort of hilarious catch phrase like “I did not see that coming!” And the whole thing would be hilarious to a movie theater full of viewers.

  …This, however, is not the movies. There is no catch phrase in real life, no perfectly timed music pauses or funny pop song in the background. There’s only the horrible, cold, heart-clenching moment of clarity and shame.

  I mean, it’s not every day you walk into the champagne room of a strip club to give your first ever lap dance, only to find your Principal sitting there looking like pure sex in a white dress shirt and dark jeans.

  …Thank God.

  My face burns, and I cringe as I stumble into the backroom that doubles as a changing room for the girls. The door slams shut behind me as I stumble over to the disgusting sofa in one corner, slumping down on it and burying my face in my hands. And it’s only then that the full weight of what’s just happened really sinks in, and the tears start to brim my eyes.