Page 55 of Dean's Delinquent

“But what? What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”

“I don’t want you to catch me so fast. I actually want to try to make it to the center.”

“My dear. Just because I know this maze doesn’t mean I know where you will be in it. I don’t have cameras in here. I can’t see where you are at any given moment. If you don’t want me to catch you right away, then it’s in your best interest to keep your wits sharp and your eyes open. Avoid me, if you can. But at the end of the day, you will be mine. Make no mistake. I’ve wanted this from the moment I laid eyes on you, and I’ve paid my dues in waiting for you to give me a way to claim you.”

“And if I change my mind?” Not that I’m going to. I just need to know. I need to understand the full ramifications of what’s about to happen. But then... he doesn’t know that.

Another wicked slash of his lips crawls up his face as he slides his hand down my underwear again. This time, he doesn’t stop at my mound. He goes all the way down until his hand cups me fully.

The heat of his fingers is intense as he drags them through my lower lips. Unbidden, another moan wrenches free as I buck my hips against him. Unfortunately, he pulls out almost as soon as he eased in.

“Open your mouth.”

For once, I don’t even think of defying him. As soon as my lips part, he plunges his fingers past and wipes them on my tongue. The taste of me explodes in my mouth, filling it with a slimy tang. It’s unfamiliar, exotic, and addicting. However, what’s even more so is seeing the way the dean’s eyes narrow as he watches me.

I think I might be able to come from that alone.

“Now then. This will be the last time I say this. Run.”

Flee.

Fugere.

Fucking run.

Still, my feet don’t move. I’m glued to the spot as I watch him ease the tip of his tongue over the pad of his thick index finger. The same finger that touched me so intimately.

“One.”

He’s counting.

Why is he counting?

“Two.”

Flee.

“Three.”

Fugere.

“Four.”

“Fucking run girl,” the guttural Russian explodes into the night as sharp as the crack of a gunshot. “Your knees won’t like the taste of gravel if he takes you down here.”

My feet finally move into action. Everything whips about as if in a haze. Leaves, foliage, trees, and branches bite at my skin at every turn. Dirt clings to my feet with every step I take.

Where can I go?

Where can I run?

“Five.”

Even now his voice still somehow booms out into the night where I can hear it.

Am I just not running fast enough?

“Six.”

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