Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 103033 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103033 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
He’d done the same thing in my old room at Mom and Dad’s. Ever since I was little, really. When I turned twenty-four next spring, my steady companion would turn fifteen.
I was thinking about giving him a baby brother.
Macklin finally responded a minute or so later, and I had to read the message twice.
Well, I was thinking about the stars you had in your eyes for a certain Dom at my wine mixer… You know, Dean? He’s a professor at GW, and I just happened to find out that they moved his Naval Warfare class to a bigger hall, so they’re accepting more applicants.
To be honest, I thought about it because you were discussing the Falklands War, and he always starts his class with that war.
Dean…
Falklands War. Naval Warfare. GW.
It couldn’t be.
I hurriedly set the laptop aside and rushed off the couch. Oh my God, it couldn’t be. I skidded across the floor and searched the letter A in my bookcase for military history. Dean Aavik, Dean Aavik, Dean—there! I grabbed the first book and opened it from the back, and I nearly swallowed my tongue. Holy fucking crap! It was him! How had I not recognized him? Granted, he’d worn a devilish smile at the mixer, and in this black-and-white photo, he looked…more professor-like. But still. Sweet Santa Claus, Professor Dean Aavik was in my kink community!
…so they’re accepting more applicants.
Gulp.
Could I?
PROLOGUE 3
Dean Aavik
Early February
Goddamn you, Macklin.
Ever since he’d confessed he’d encouraged a boy in our community to sign up for my class, I saw young Mr. Grimes everywhere. Like right now, when he hurried across campus.
I’d recognized him almost from the beginning, and then to have it confirmed by a sheepish Macklin…?
Fucking troublemakers.
Gael was much, much too young for me, of course.
Perhaps not for casual play, but…I was awfully tired of casual.
Not that it mattered. I didn’t interact inappropriately with students. Never had, never would.
Besides, the boy was clearly interested in history, so he was in the right place. I wouldn’t want him to skip my class because we happened to have something in common far away from the university.
I made my way to the lecture hall after a quick detour to my office, and as had become usual, Gael sat in the back row. Which made me wonder if he was trying to avoid me. Because the way I saw it, he had two options. He could take my class and think along the lines of, “Hey, I know we’re part of the same kink community, but I really want to take this class, so here I am.” Or…he was less open. Perhaps he thought I didn’t keep track of my students and he would simply blend in with the crowd.
He was wrong. One of the reasons I only taught two classes every semester was because I did give a damn. I wanted my students to succeed, and that required commitment and investing time in them. Gael, for instance, had taken four history classes at GW since last summer, and I was particularly interested in why he’d decided to study Russian warfare. Furthermore, with that level of interest in history, why did he never speak? Why did he never raise his hand?
“Good morning, everyone.” I went to my desk at the center and placed my briefcase on top. “While I get ready here, you can open up to page seventy-four in your books. We’re going to talk about NATO’s role in the Falklands War—or the lack of it, rather.”
CHAPTER 1
Gael Grimes
I blew out a breath and eyed the notepad in the passenger’s seat.
Task of the day. Talk to a Dom. A minimum of ten words.
Ugh.
I climbed out of my car and made sure I didn’t scratch Reese Tenley’s very nice Impala. He probably wouldn’t like that.
It’d been parked in the carport all winter with a tarp covering the whole thing, but it’d be just my luck if I managed to scratch it somehow.
Zipping up my coat, I walked out of the carport, sort of relieved it seemed to be a slow night at House Mclean. At least judging by the number of cars parked. On a Friday or Saturday, the lawn surrounding the carport was packed. Now I only counted five vehicles. That was good news and bad. It was easier to get lost in a crowd—but that was also where I chickened out and kept to myself. I had to get out there. I had to escape this loneliness I’d buried myself in.
It was time to make more friends—and it was totally up to me, because others had tried.
I was just so damn awkward and intimidated by people when they were so obviously protective of their kink family. And I was like, what if I fucked it up? What if I messed with their chemistry and caused rifts?