Page 19 of Dean's Delinquent

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” Though his tone sounds light and playful enough, his gaze hardens as he looks over at Grigori.

The two seem to be having a complete conversation in the silence stretching between them, one I’m certainly not privy to. Once Dean Anderson nods his head, he gives me one more glance before heading over toward my father. Unable to look away, I watch his retreating back, detesting how so fucking alone I feel already.

“So, John tells me you’re the one who demanded he start the Loftry Lantern,” Grigori chuckles, tipping his drink in my direction.

“I merely pointed out the lack of a paper and how a school of this stature is remiss by being without. I hardly demanded it.”

“What word would you use then?” he counters.

For a moment, I’m dumbstruck as I watch the Russian behemoth shoot back his drink as if it’s water. How does he even know about this? To my knowledge, this was a meeting between the dean and his student. Not the dean, a student, and some random guy.

As he shakes his head while another deep chuckle vibrates in his throat, I get the sinking feeling that I’ve been the topic of several conversations. Does this stranger know what happened in the dean’s office? Did Mr. Anderson regale him with how he bent me over and disciplined me for doing my civic duty?

“It was merely a conversation. If he took anything out of it, it’s his imagination. I can’t control him. Obviously I made a good enough argument, because the paper now exists where there wasn’t one to begin with.”

“I don’t know,” he continues as he leans back in his chair. “I’ve known John for a long time. Never known anyone to be able to convince him to do something he didn’t want. My guess is you came to him at just the right time for him to be so receptive to something so invasive.”

“Invasive,” I scoff. “It’s the free press. There’s nothing invasive if you have nothing to hide.”

“My dear, naïve Miss Hartwell,” Thatcher nearly purrs next to me. “You will soon find out in this business that everyone has something to hide.”

My gut clenches as I look back over at the dean. What does he have to hide? It’s obvious from the others at this table that they could easily deal in nefarious things. It’s just the nature of the business—rich people doing rich people things.

But what about the dean? He doesn’t seem to be hardened like the others. He’s not jaded in a way that speaks to a hard life of underhanded crime.

That doesn’t mean he’s all light and innocence. Everyone has a past. Everyone has a dirty little secret hidden in their closets.

As I watch him interacting with the affluent around him, my curiosity burns far hotter than it ever has before. What darkness lurks that the mantle of dean is hiding?

ChapterEight

Ashleigh

Hot hands rove over my body, touching me, caressing me, and nearly driving me feral. Even though darkness coats my vision, I don’t need to see to know who it is running their fingers up and down over my skin. The scent is as familiar to me as my childhood bedroom.

Dean Anderson nudges my thighs open, forcing me to spread wide for him. Part of me wants to cry out, to beg him to stop this, but it’s only perfunctory. It’s not what I really want. As a Hartwell, it’s what I’m supposed to do.

Even with his stature, he’s still not who my parents would consider worthy enough to steal away my virginity in the middle of the night like a common thief. Granted, if it were Caldwell, I’m sure they wouldn’t care at all. In fact, they’d probably congratulate me, and pray we didn’t use protection.

Rich parents deserve rich grand babies to spoil after all. Shaking my head, I do my best to get back into the sensations washing over me, but already it’s tainted. His fingers, which felt so firm, so intent a moment ago, feel like a soft breeze against my skin.

No!

Why?

This isn’t fair!

In the inky blackness, I reach out, desperation coating my insides as they twist and clench. I just need him to touch me again, to stir those erotic feelings deep inside until I’m no longer able to think, able to breathe.

“Please,” I beg, peering into the gloom to find him. “Please don’t leave me like this.”

All the pent up need spirals deep inside, coiling through me like a snake winding itself around my very being. And still, he doesn’t respond. Fine then, I’ll just have to take matters into my own hands.

I spread my thighs even further and slide my fingers across my swollen clit. Already arousal drips from my opening, making every scrape of my fingertip against my sensitive skin feel all the more intense. Is he watching me? Do I want him to watch?

Fuck yeah, I want him to watch. I want him to see what he does to me, what my body so desperately needs and craves. Throwing my head back against the pillow, I wrench my hips open as wide as they’ll go and touch myself, edging my body closer to orgasm.

But I still can’t see him. Try as I might, I can’t see his face at all. All I can sense is his heavy breathing as he watches me. The spicy, masculine scent of his cologne surrounds me, smothering me as I take it into my lungs in deep gulps.

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