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Professor ReginaldByron knew tonight was the night he had to make his move. He had been extremely patient and careful in grooming Mary, knowing that he only had one semester to convince his beautiful little slut to surrender her virginity to him. One look at her, and he had known right away that he had to portray himself as a mild-mannered man to win her trust. As long as he spoke gently and softly, he knew it would only be a matter of time before he could persuade Mary, gently of course, to fuck him.
Mary struggled to look impressed as Professor Byron went on and on to talk about artsy and poetic things that her scientific mind was not quite able to grasp.
The older man had captivated her from the very first day of the semester, with how incredibly gentle and soft spoken he was. He was the opposite of her stepfather, who had been nothing but a monster hiding under pastoral robes.
The professor only paused in his speech when a waiter came to their table, and this gave Mary a chance to absently look around.
Oh!
She suddenly realized all the other students were staring at them, and an even more awful realization came to Mary when she glanced back at the professor. Everyone knew that she was infatuated with Professor Byron, and that included her professor himself!
Mary could feel her cheeks turning red as the professor stared at her in a way that he had never done so before. He had always been very professional with her, and this was the first time that...that...
"Please welcome our next guest, the Fifth Duke of Flanders, His Grace, Rathe Wellesley."
What?
Mary couldn't believe her ears. Had she heard that correctly?
The professor nearly howled in rage when he saw Mary look suddenly flustered as her gaze swung wildly to the stranger on stage.
"Mary? Mary?"
His teeth gnashed at the amount of time it took for Mary to drag her gaze away from the stage, but the professor reminded himself to be patient, and so he forced himself to smile as he ask, "Do you know who that man is? Don't you think it's funny he calls himself a duke?"
"He...actually is?"
Reginald frowned. "He's actually what?"
"A duke," Mary said weakly. "He's exactly who he says he is, and a direct descendant of the Iron Duke himself."
What the fuck?
Reginald looked around him and started drowning in a mixture of jealousy and outrage when he saw how every fucking girl in the club was eye-fucking the other man...while that same man kept his gaze on Mary as he smoothly delivered the lines of a poem by John Keats.
Fuck!
Mary started wringing her hands under the table when the duke ended his performance with a bow before gracefully jumping off stage. His every movement reminded her of a sleek, powerful predator, and she could only swallow hard as the duke walked straight towards her.
He was perfectly polite as he invited himself to sit with them, and Mary was secretly aghast when the professor responded to this with shocking rudeness.
"A duke and a student on scholarship, huh?" Reginald was unable to hide his animosity. "You two make unlikely acquaintances, don't you think?"
Mary, seeing the way the duke's icy blue eyes gleam at the question, knew right away she couldn't risk letting Rathe speak the truth about how they had met.
"Do you, um, remember Saffi March, Professor?" she hastily blurted out. "The man she married is one of his closest friends, and that's h-how w-we k-know e-each o-other."
Mary ended up stammering the last few words not because she was nervous...but because it was at that moment she had felt Rathe's fingers slowly closing on her flesh to cup her knee.
@#$!%^&!
Was this really happening?
Mary quickly snapped her legs together under the table, but the duke was nothing if not patient. As the professor sought to capture Mary's attention with pompous words, Rathe focused on coaxing her with tender strokes of his fingers.
And eventually, it was the duke who won her over, and all Mary could do was swallow back a cry as her legs finally fell open, and Rathe's fingers came into contact with the sensitive flesh of her inner thighs.
