Page 95 of Dean's Delinquent

As if disgusted by her lack of response, he turns his head to spit on the ground. In the muted lights, everything finally becomes clear.

Thatcher.

Fucking Thatcher.

Why the fuck does he have my girl?

Grigori and Sergei both look at themselves then at me. My lips thin into a grim line as I nod at them. I don’t care if he’s a rich tycoon. I don’t care if he’s affluent and possesses more contacts than I can even think of.

He fucked with the wrong dean.

Just hold on for me, baby. Your salvation is nigh.

ChapterThirty-Eight

Ashleigh

Every inch of me hurts, but none as much as my soul. I’ve heard the term being bone tired and soul tired, but until this moment, I had no physical way of knowing what it was like. As a nepo baby, I never knew exhaustion. I never knew what it was like to be so tired you just want to break down and cry.

Now I know.

Now I understand.

God help me, I never wanted to learn this way.

Tears stream from my eyes and flow down my face as he continues to touch me, taking liberties with my body I would have never allowed him. The salt dries on my skin and stings my lips where it meets the blood trickling down my chin.

I just want to leave my body, to float above where I’m safe. When Dean Anderson caused me pain, I was able to chase that high, to leave everything and everyone behind. Why, when I need it the most, does that sacred space elude me?

“You’ve just been leading me on, haven’t you? You made me believe you were the dean’s pet, but you’re nothing but a fuck toy. Aren’t you?”

Everything in me screams to stay silent, but I can’t. This asshole has it all wrong. At least... I thought he did. Where is my dean? Where is he when I need him the most?

“I- He-. He’s a busy man.”

“Too busy for his whore?”

More tears gather in my eyes. I refuse to believe that’s all I am to the dean. Granted, it’s not like either of us have declared our love, but he didn’t have to say. I felt it in every raw moment between us. He spoke it with the thrusting of his body into mine, in the way he praised me for taking his pain.

There has to be more to it than mere carnality. Then again, I’m still so very young and naïve. Could I have been wrong about this? About us?

My heart threatens to shatter as he calls the dean yet again. Still no answer. Shouldn’t he have been back at the dorm by now? Shouldn’t he have realized I wasn’t there?

Honestly, what guts me the most is knowing all of this could have been prevented if he actually claimed me in the way the others have been claimed. If he wasn’t so worried about losing me or having me used against him, he would be here by now. He’d know where I was.

Is it pride? Is it shame? If Thatcher continues to get angry, I may never know. Even now, his hand goes for my pants again, and it takes everything in me not to scream out as he slides a finger back into my raw pussy. I can’t give him the satisfaction. I can’t give him the power he so desperately craves.

“Would he care to know how I’m touching you? Caressing you? Do you think he’d care that you’re getting so fucking wet for me? Where is he, Ashleigh? I know you know. Just tell me and I can fuck you like you’re wanting.”

My eyes pop open as I look around the abandoned fairground. Desperation coats my insides and blurs the lines between fantasy and reality. The trees move and shift, turning into figures. But it’s impossible. No one knows where I am. It’s just these horrid lights playing tricks on me.

It must be the exhaustion. Even now, as he forces another finger inside me, I feel my sanity slip until my eyes shutter nearly closed. I can’t take much more before I break. My strength can only hold out so long.

Again, the shadows move behind Thatcher, growing, stretching, becoming human. WWE? Why is there a wrestler here? That’s it. I must have officially cracked.

My breaths come in pained wheezes as he continues to thrust inside me, stretching me out to the point where my tears freely flow down my face. For a moment, I blink, and the wrestler turns into someone I recognize. Sergei? But that’s impossible. It’s just my mind trying to comfort me.

But then he’s joined by another. My dean. God. It’s him. It’s really him. It has to be. Following up the rear is the lethal Russian who masters Chelsea. All of them are here for me.

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