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Right now, I hate Professor Segul.
He’s preening from behind that bloody podium like a gray peacock with everyone hanging onto his every word like he’s the patron saint of crypto.
The bastard is veering off what Dr. Xander told him, proving to me that he knew all about the subject from the start but kept the other man in the room just for kicks.
“Phoenix?” Veer asks.
“Not now.” I shake my head.
I can’t cope with him in my ear. Not with this ever-expanding rubber plug in my ass. Not with my pussy so wet and slick that the moisture might leak through my skirt. Not with my clit so hot and swollen and frustrated that it feels like it would explode.
If Veer doesn’t shut up, I’ll scream.
The worst part about this is that I can’t even reach down and make myself cum because Veer’s gaze is burning the side of my face.
“That’s the end of my introduction to crypto currencies,” Professor Segul says, sounding immensely satisfied. “Any questions?”
No.
Half the people’s hands shoot up, and my chest deflates with a whimper. Why of all times does the professor have to be so conscientious?
I just want this lecture to end.
ChapterTwenty-Three
MARIUS
The lecture ends, but my erection prevails. Despite the rumble of students piling out of the auditorium, my mind concentrates on a singular mission: to return to my office and take Phoenix over one of the office’s many leather surfaces.
It had taken every modicum of self-restraint not to look at her as I inflated the remote control plug, yet each time I pressed it, my cock surged.
I gather the attendance sheet, my notes, and the leftover handouts, and stuff them into my folder.
Three figures approach from the left. I can already tell from their identical brown hair and glowing tans that it’s Thalia Grace and her cousins, Mia and Charis.
All hope that they saunter past dwindles when they stop at my lectern, as does my hard on. The middle one places her manicured fingers on the top of my lectern and rocks forward on her tiptoes.
“Yes, Miss…” I let my voice trail off as though I’ve forgotten her name.
A flush blooms across her cheeks. “It’s Thalia Grace, and I have a question about the assignment you sent me.”
I snap my folder shut. “Be sure to email it, then.”
Her face falls. “But—”
“But nothing,” I say, keeping my voice cold. “Students will not dictate the terms of extra attention.” I turn back to meet her furious gaze.
Her nostrils flare, and her lips tremble.
I glare down at her, my features impassive. Miss Grace’s carefully curated beauty reminds me so much of Mother, even down to the coloring. Her brows are sculpted, her makeup contoured, and the strategically low neckline of her summer dress stretches over her implants.
She’s the type of young woman accustomed to holding the attention of men but then fails to see that beauty is only an illusion.
Her mahogany eyes even shine with the same defiance as Mother’s did, all those years ago when I tried to convince her to leave Crius. It’s a painted mask that hides a crumbling personality.
“Once you have read through the textbook and completed your definition of IRR, we will discuss that in class. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir,” she hisses and turns on her heel.
