Little Red and the Big Bad: The Complete Serial by Kris Ripper

Author:Kris Ripper [Ripper, Kris]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2015-01-15T08:00:00+00:00

One Dance

Finding reasons to stay standing at work wasn’t that hard; the mail room counter was high, designed for standing, and most of the stuff Red did didn’t really require use of a chair. But classes were a nightmare.

Also, every fucking day, at lunch, Bad made him pull down his pants and bend over, so he could “see my marks fading,” which Red took as a kind of promise.

God, the fucking orange grove had been…he couldn’t stop thinking about it. And not just because he could feel it every time he moved. Bad had rimmed him. Rimmed him. Like, with lips and tongue and oh-my-god spit. He’d peeled Red open and licked him.

It wasn’t even real. It couldn’t have happened. Except it had, and he knew it, because he remembered every second, and he’d wound through the business department parking to look for Bad’s truck a few times, and the one time he found it, the switch was still there, looking pretty tame in the middle of the day, a little stick, no big deal.

Which is when Red realized he probably shouldn’t find the truck on the way to class. How something that hurt so fucking badly could turn him on like this was totally beyond him, but it didn’t matter. Looking at the switch made him think about rimming, no, even more than that, the way Bad had looked him right in the eye while he unbuttoned Red’s vest. Shit. That had been—so fucking sexy, so fucking wild.

He’d wanted to kiss the man, to grab him and kiss him in a way that was very definitely against the rules.

And then there was the way he’d looked when he held up that leaf. Red still wasn’t convinced he’d bitten down. He’d been so fucking careful. But Bad looked so victorious, like he was desperate to keep beating Red’s ass with that fucking thing, like he had to.

Like he needed this. Just as much as Red.

It was a stupid, treacherous thought. He had to stop pretending, even in his head, that any of this was real. Polly reminded him, again, that he’d been looking for something real, and even as the stripes burned through his skin, he told her he knew this wasn’t it, that it was just an arrangement, and it was okay, he was okay with that.

Because arrangements were great. He was out, proud, and twenty-one years old (just). Having an arrangement with a hot older guy who liked railing on his ass, then rimming it? Yeah, living the dream, that’s what this was. Or at least should have been.

He had to stop thinking about it. He had to stop thinking about Bad. It was getting a little creepy-obsessive.

But then lunch would roll around and he’d find himself doing some kind of fucked up downward facing dog with a poster pen in his ass (which had graduated from Sharpies when Bad found out he kept condoms and those little single-serve lube packets in his bag), and he’d spend the

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