Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 87284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
“If anyone deserves to be bragged about, it’s him,” he murmured. “It’s important we keep him in mind.”
Hadn’t we done that enough?
The alcohol—and Dean—flooded me with good feelings. I didn’t want to talk about Walker anymore. A few hours ago, I’d have said tomorrow was the day I went back to denying my feelings for Walker and how attached I still was. But now, I was changing my mind. I was ready to shove him into the far corner of my mind where he belonged. I wanted to focus on the man I was with right here.
That said, he would have to give me more than hints.
“Do you want me to leave?” I asked.
He shook his head slowly. “You’re not goin’ anywhere. I wouldn’t trust you to make it home in one piece.”
I snorted softly and turned my back on him again. Lame response. To make it about my safety? Fine. Whatever.
I set my glass on one of the shelves and scanned the books in front of me. War, war, war, memoirs, politics, war, war.
Walker’s bookshelves had been more mixed. War, politics, business, economics, boats, hunting, leathercraft, glasswork, chemistry, kink, psychology…
Ugh.
Fucking Walker.
My wedding band burned in my wallet.
Distraction—yes, please. I hauled in a breath when I heard footsteps behind me. The floorboards creaked underneath the thick rug.
Let’s be bad together.
Would it be bad, though? In all honesty? It wasn’t like Walker and I were ever getting back together. He had a new life—despite that he sometimes tried to contact me. To ruin my life further, no doubt. To remind me that I would never get over him.
“You don’t have a single book about BDSM?” I asked.
“Not where students can stumble upon them.” He stopped right behind me, close enough that I felt his shirt brush against mine. “I’ve told you about my book chat, haven’t I?”
I nodded as a shiver ran down my spine. I did remember. Every now and then, he’d invite a handful of students to his home. He wasn’t a professor who played favorites. Instead, he invited those who fell behind and needed extra assistance. He talked to them. Had them over for coffee and book talk. He listened and offered advice.
When I felt his hands ghost up my arms, I exhaled unsteadily and let the desire flow freely. It wasn’t just me after all. He was done playing coy.
Ironically, it pushed me in the opposite direction, and I felt the need to let my mouth run. Maybe to keep the nerves at bay. And I didn’t fucking do nervousness.
“Have, uh, have you ever slept with a student?”
“No.” He dipped down and grazed his nose along my neck.
Fuck.
It was Dean. Handsome, older, sturdy, sweet, strict Dean.
I spoke past the sudden dryness in my throat. “Would you?”
I happened to know someone who was taking Dean’s class next semester. A sweet boy who was too shy for his own good. He’d only seen Dean in passing once, and it’d left him with stars in his eyes. He’d blushed and confessed to fantasizing about group play…
“No.”
We’ll see.
I closed my eyes and did my best to breathe evenly.
The second I felt his lips on my skin, I exposed my neck to him and covered his hands with mine, bringing them around my middle. Fuck, that felt good. All slow and seductive-like. As if he had all the time in the world.
“Stop me, boy,” he whispered.
I shook my head and moaned when he dropped an openmouthed kiss below my ear. “No.” Then I turned around in his arms; he pressed me up against the bookcase, and his mouth came down on my own. Lust and alcohol surged through me, and I locked my arms around his neck and deepened the kiss.
We parted our lips at the same time, and soon I was tasting gin and lemon on his tongue. I gasped at the sparks of pleasure as I felt his hard cock pressing against my abdomen.
He grabbed my jaw and controlled every movement of the kiss, and it made me fucking melt in his grasp. This was a Dominant. One who knew when to take and how much. One who shoved all thoughts on switchy behavior out of my brain until all I had left was a pathetic voice demanding to submit and serve.
He would give me a taste of what I wished I had more of. A moment of submission, even though it was mostly physical.
“Let me take care of you, Sir. Please.”
A low rumble emanated from his chest, and he took himself one more hungry, unhurried kiss. He didn’t say anything in response. He just yanked me away from the bookcase and ushered me to the couch, where I fell down on his lap. Fuck yeah. I could move freely. I could show him how much I missed worshipping a man, and I could do it without verbalizing that desire.