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There are so many things I wanted to try with her, more toys, more positions, but it wasn’t just the sex.
Fuck, I want to take her out to dinner, to fetish clubs, I want to feed her Sunday lunch and make her do the dishes. I want to stroll through London with her arm in arm, where she could be mine openly and without the risk of repercussions.
Heat gathers at the base of my spine, my breath quickens and my balls tighten. Most of all, I want to press my lips on hers and explore her mouth with my tongue. Pleasure surges through my cock, sputtering cum over my chest and abs.
“Fuck me,” I mutter. “Coming at the prospect of a kiss is pathetic, even for you.”
On Saturday, my landline won’t stop ringing. Out of spite, I ignore the phone, tempting Crius to send someone I can kill.
By the evening, someone knocks on the door. I slip on a pair of gray sweatpants with a matching hoodie, and secure a gun to its waistband around the back.
But when I open the door, I find Dean Westmore standing on my doorstep, still dressed in yesterday’s shirt and tie. The man looks like he slept in the office, if he slept at all.
“I apologize for interrupting you at home.” He wrings his hands. “Our founder called an urgent meeting with the faculty.”
“Couldn’t this have waited until Monday morning?” I ask.
He coughs. “Once again, please accept my apologies, professor. Mr. Bestlasson wants us all to meet him and his brother for Sunday lunch.”
It takes a second to register that he’s talking about Odin. Odin Fucking Bestlasson, Britain’s most powerful gangster is coming to Marina University on the very day I’ve arranged the abduction of his nephew.
Fuck.
ChapterForty
PHOENIX
It’s Saturday morning, four days since he took pains to explain that he hadn’t seen me as a whore and in the same breath showed me that he was fickle. Four days of blistering hatred for the entire male species.
I won’t cry. I won’t cry.
I won’t shed a tear for that bastard.
Hell, I won’t even spit out his name.
“You no longer hold my fascination,” I mutter under my breath. “Now, Run along, Miss Stahl.”
What the fuck?
A sea breeze blows across Marina High Street, cooling my temper, but as soon as the clouds part and the morning sun shines down on my face, its warmth ignites a fury that sizzles beneath my skin.
Men are all the same. They see women as objects to be toyed with, broken, then discarded. It doesn’t matter how they do it—in a friendly way, in a fatherly way, in a fetishistic way—the result is still the same.
I stop at Marina burger, a busy eatery that doesn’t have any vacancies. Neither does the Marina bistro, the Marina butchers, or the Marina bakery.
Maybe I should smile more. Act like I’m capable of being pleasant and not a font of festering resentment. At this rate, I’ll return to the university without a job.
As I walk past the Red Room, an urgent tapping on the window breaks me out of my thoughts.
I turn to find the long-haired shop assistant from three weeks ago motioning at me to stop. Okay, this is strange. We both move toward the door, and the man unlocks it from the inside before flinging it open.
“Hi,” he says, sounding out of breath. “You alright?”
“Yeah.” I rub the back of my neck, wondering if he’s like this with all his female customers or just me.
He hooks a thumb over his shoulder. “We talked a few weeks ago. I was at the counter and you were looking for a dom?”
My insides tighten as I remember how I’d acted up to get Professor Segul’s attention. This guy probably thinks I’m a bratty sub still in search of some discipline.
