Sonata (Harry Styles FanFiction)

31. Show Me Your Teeth

Darien Grace

Thank fucking God it's Friday.

I'd been repeating that phrase like a mantra in my head all damn day; it was the only thing that had gotten me out of bed this morning. Stella would have been more than happy rolling around in the sheets all day, indulging in wet dreams filled with crystal eyes and carnal promise. I, on the other hand, had felt the absolutely absurd necessity to get up and go to class. Not for the grade, no. I was more than slightly intrigued to see how dear, dear Mr. Styles was fairing after a night of blue balls. Besides, I had yet to return his keys.

You would think, though, that he would have learned his lesson about pissing me off at the cathedral, but no; he had to show up at my fucking job and piss me off further. Honestly, I'd only accepted the drink with my own personal Hades to see how he'd react with a bit of competition.

He failed miserably and I had come out on top, yet again. Tall, dark, and handsome was mouthwatering; he had Stella drenched with a single memory of that glorious mouth. The man was gorgeous and a challenge, but at the same time it was almost too easy.... I didn't know how, just yet... I couldn't even get my own head around it.

But still, it had been a definite shock when Jeremy stopped me on my way out and handed me a valet ticket. He said that he didn't know who'd left it, only that someone had found it on the bar and my name had been scrawled onto it in pen. A memory itched in the back of my mind, the curve of the "R" vaguely familiar, but I hadn't been able to place it until valet brought the panty dropping bike around. The sleek black Beamer reminded me of far less complicated days— the chase. Back then, the Darling Professor was nothing but a wet dream. I wanted him, sure; I was an addict in detox and he was all I could think about, but it had only been a dream. I hadn't had a taste yet. I hadn't actually know what I was missing.

Now fucking sucked, though. He knew more about my life than anyone else in it; more than even Caleb and John; it was like he was throwing that knowledge back in my face.

Poor Darien Grace is so fucked up. She'll do anything for attention.

Well, fuck you, you self-righteous fucker.

I was finished playing his fucked up little game. Now, it was my turn. My game, my rules. He'd thought life was hell before?

Oh darling, you haven't seen anything yet.

I didn't even have to try, my lazy smirk sliding into place as I marched down the hall, spinning the keys to the loaned Beamer around my finger as I walked. My confidence grew with every step I took leading closer and closer to Mr. High and Mighty.

You want a gold digging slut? I'll give you a gold digging slut.

Jas had helped me this morning, approving my special sort of revenge. The Betsy Johnson fishnet stockings perfectly contrasted the soft black leather of my favorite high heeled Steve Madden combat boots. The eight inch heel and the platform put me right at eye level, while simultaneously showcasing and shaping my ass. The hem to my pleated, high waisted leather skirt was one of my shortest, falling just below the curve of my accented ass. Caleb and John had gotten me a set of black diamond solitaires last year for Christmas; I usually only wore them for special occasions and I chose to believe that this qualified. I was in love with the gorgeous single carat studs and they were perfect for what I had planned. Top it all off with a black beaded, mesh peasant blouse tucked into my skirt, my black lace bralette showing through underneath and I was instant boner material.

The entire room charged the second my new favorite heels crossed the threshold. He dropped his notes, the papers flying all over the large desk. His eyes snapped to meet mine, only to drag up and down the expanse of my body. His pupils dilated, his rather large friend straining against his pants.