Chapter 49: Public Justice or The Key to Being Charlotte’s Hero

Doing its best and coming up short — literally, the hem kept riding up from all the pulling.

When she breathed, everything moved, when she laughed.

’God help me, everything bounces.’

Soft and full and straining against lace and cotton like both fabrics were in over their heads.

’They were. I am. We’re all in this together.’

When she walked, they shifted — a slow, heavy roll under the fabric, dragging the shirt along like it was trying to keep up with something out of its league.

When she turned to point at some boring building like she was doing architecture a favor, one side lifted and the other followed, and the cloth stretched until it looked airbrushed on. Painted.

’I want to be that paint. I want a career change, honestly.’

The skirt was doing its job. The socks were doing theirs overtime and the shirt was dying on the battlefield — and he’d stood there saluting the fallen, already memorizing every detail for later.

’Fifteen seconds of watching her turn a corner is going to keep me busy for a week.’

Damon looked once.

Then looked again because apparently personal growth had limits.

’Of course she works here. Of fucking course. I leave one locked door and Blackwood hands me the advisor and her. I should start paying tuition in fruit baskets.’

His Predator’s Gaze revealed her panel:

_

[Charlotte Ainsley]

[Desire Meter: 00/100]

Thought: "Please keep walking. Please do not make this weird."

[Thirst Gauge: 41/100 — She wants romance more than she wants to admit she’s tired of waiting for it.]

Thought:"If one more boy calls me babe on a tour, I am going to retire."

[Turn-Ons: Knight in Shining Armor · Public Display of Affection · Damsel in Distress · Hopeless Romantic · Confident Public Romantic Confessions · Princess Treatment · Face Slapping — Her Knight Humiliating the One in the Wrong]

[Turn-Offs: Being Kept a Secret · Discretion · Casual, No-Strings Arrangements · Quickies · Degradation · Name Calling · Free Use · Objectification · CNC · Pet Play · Impact Play (Heavy) · A Man Who Won’t Touch Her in Public · Being One of Several]

[Kinks: Praise · Eye Contact · Kissing / Making Out Focus · Marking (Light) · Light Restraint · Temperature Contrast · Power Exchange (light, being led, never shoved) · Roleplay (rescue and courtship scenarios) · Public Risk · Exhibitionism · Multiple Rounds · Clothing During Sex]

[Fetishes: Hands / Fingers · Voice · Neck / Collarbones · Scent / Perfume · Lingerie · High Heels · Power Imbalance · Full Body Worship · Ownership / Marking · Public Sex / Risk]

_

Zero... but that tracked after all Charlotte hadn’t looked at him twice, hadn’t even clocked him in the pack.

31/100 on Thirst Gauge, though, paired with everything underneath it?

Damon blinked.

Knight in Shining Armor. Damsel in Distress. Princess Treatment. Public romantic confession. Face slapping, not for pain, he clocked immediately, but for justice. Her knight publicly correcting the record on whoever’d wronged her.

’Gods. How is someone this stacked this soft on paper. She doesn’t want a secret. She wants a scene and face-slapping? Does she read so many eastern fantasy novels or something?’

She was walking around dressed like half the freshman boys were about to discover religion, yet somewhere inside she apparently wanted somebody charging in like a romance novel had gotten drunk and learned how to throw hands.

Justice. Public justice.

Some asshole crossed the line, her knight stepped in, humiliated him in front of everybody, and Charlotte got to stand there pretending she wasn’t internally applauding like a lunatic.

’So you don’t want discretion. You want witnesses.’

His eyes had then slid toward Bradley.

Then back to Charlotte... then Bradley again.

A grin slowly appeared on his face.

’Bradley, you beautiful idiot. Thank you for existing. I take back at least twelve percent of the shit I was about to think about you.’

They were nearing the next stop. Charlotte walked ahead talking about some building like it mattered, the pack bunching loosely behind her, while Bradley was already recovering his composure and resetting his shoulders; he was moving closer to her again like a pervert who couldn’t help himself.

Because Bradley never learned, he just reloaded, waited thirty seconds, and assumed the universe had refreshed.

Damon watched him.

’Hey. Cautionary tale. You’re about to be useful. Try not to cry.’

Damon silently activated his Silent Step and hiss legs immediately went easy beneath him and ge felt suddenly light and nimble like the ground simply agreeing to whatever he asked of it as he drifted through the pack without a single head turning.

Either the ability was doing exactly what it was built for, or freshmen had the spatial awareness of furniture.

He activated Weak Point Highlight next, and the world sharpened at the edges:

Bradley’s shifting balance, the slight inward angle of his stupidly expensive loafer and the exact millimeter where it was about to catch a raised lip in the pavement. Charlotte was beginning to turn toward the group and the precise place Damon needed to be standing four seconds from now.

Four seconds.

Easy.

By the time Charlotte reached the stop and started turning back toward the freshmen, Damon was already beside Bradley.

Bradley tripped and time did the thing it did in car accidents, slow and fast at once, and the people nearest Bradley scattered like the sea because nobody in this crowd wanted to catch a falling Ashcroft with their own face.

His stupidly expensive loafer caught the raised edge exactly wrong before his whole body pitched forward with his arms pinwheeling.

For one glorious second Bradley Ashcroft III did the least dignified impression of a windmill Damon had ever seen, two hundred pounds of generational wealth suddenly discovering gravity did not recognize surnames.

Charlotte’s green eyes widened.

Bradley staggered straight toward her with his hands flying up instinctively for the nearest thing that might stop his fall.

Unfortunately for everyone involved, the nearest thing was Charlotte.. and more unfortunately, his hands were aiming with tragic mortifying precision directly toward that proud, ridiculous hit and big rounded chest he’d been not-so-subtly staring at for the last minutes right along with everyone else.

Everyone stared wide-eyed and frozen.

Forty freshmen watched a publicly rejected rich boy accidentally launch himself toward an admissions woman’s tits had apparently overloaded the collective brain.

Nobody moved fast enough, because a man drunk on his own timing had just gone airborne at a woman’s tits in front of forty witnesses, and Damon was, for one absurd half-second, genuinely torn between outrage on Charlotte’s behalf and an ugly little flicker of:

’Lucky bastard.’

Tiny. Ugly and absolutely unacceptable.

Bradley kept falling.

Charlotte had nowhere to go.

Everyone stared.

And here entered the hero.