Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 54630 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 273(@200wpm)___ 219(@250wpm)___ 182(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54630 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 273(@200wpm)___ 219(@250wpm)___ 182(@300wpm)
"Please welcome our next guest, the Fifth Duke of Flanders, His Grace, Rathe Wellesley."
What?
Mary couldn't believe her ears. Had she heard that correctly?
The professor nearly howled in rage when he saw Mary look suddenly flustered as her gaze swung wildly to the stranger on stage.
"Mary? Mary?"
His teeth gnashed at the amount of time it took for Mary to drag her gaze away from the stage, but the professor reminded himself to be patient, and so he forced himself to smile as he ask, "Do you know who that man is? Don't you think it's funny he calls himself a duke?"
"He...actually is?"
Reginald frowned. "He's actually what?"
"A duke," Mary said weakly. "He's exactly who he says he is, and a direct descendant of the Iron Duke himself."
What the fuck?
Reginald looked around him and started drowning in a mixture of jealousy and outrage when he saw how every fucking girl in the club was eye-fucking the other man...while that same man kept his gaze on Mary as he smoothly delivered the lines of a poem by John Keats.
Fuck!
Mary started wringing her hands under the table when the duke ended his performance with a bow before gracefully jumping off stage. His every movement reminded her of a sleek, powerful predator, and she could only swallow hard as the duke walked straight towards her.
He was perfectly polite as he invited himself to sit with them, and Mary was secretly aghast when the professor responded to this with shocking rudeness.
"A duke and a student on scholarship, huh?" Reginald was unable to hide his animosity. "You two make unlikely acquaintances, don't you think?"
Mary, seeing the way the duke's icy blue eyes gleam at the question, knew right away she couldn't risk letting Rathe speak the truth about how they had met.
"Do you, um, remember Saffi March, Professor?" she hastily blurted out. "The man she married is one of his closest friends, and that's h-how w-we k-know e-each o-other."
Mary ended up stammering the last few words not because she was nervous...but because it was at that moment she had felt Rathe's fingers slowly closing on her flesh to cup her knee.
@#$!%^&!
Was this really happening?
Mary quickly snapped her legs together under the table, but the duke was nothing if not patient. As the professor sought to capture Mary's attention with pompous words, Rathe focused on coaxing her with tender strokes of his fingers.
And eventually, it was the duke who won her over, and all Mary could do was swallow back a cry as her legs finally fell open, and Rathe's fingers came into contact with the sensitive flesh of her inner thighs.
Aaaaah.
It was all Mary could do not to squirm and whimper out loud as the duke's fingers forayed further into forbidden territory. She nearly died and cried out as she felt the heat of his touch nearing her cunt, and her whole body trembled when his fingers slipped inside of her panties...and started stroking the moist folds of her pussy.
Reginald had so many damn plans to prove to the other man that he was still in control. But the moment he heard the telltale sound of fabric snapping back into place, and he saw how the duke was whipping out a silk monogrammed handkerchief before taking his sweet goddamn time to wipe the familiar creamy wetness off his fingers—-
FUUUUUUUCK.
The professor shook in impotent rage, and he felt even more humiliated and helpless upon looking around. All of his other students were staring at their table, and the pity on their faces made him want to howl yet again.
Fuck, fuck, fuck!
They knew, dammit!
All of his students obviously knew that the duke had already been playing with Mary's virginal pussy all the fucking time Reginald had been blabbing like an idiot.
Reginald inhaled deeply in an effort to calm himself. All was not yet lost. He still had a chance to take his lamb back, and when he turned to Mary, he was once again the mild-mannered professor that had captivated her on the first day.
"You don't look well," Reginald said in concern. "Shall I drive you back to the dorm?"
Mary, however, was no longer the docile little lamb he knew.
The moment Mary had seen the fury in the professor's gaze, it was as if a spell had been broken. She no longer saw him through rose-colored glasses, and she finally realized that his gentleness was also a sham. The professor had been deceiving her...just like how her stepfather enjoyed deceiving everyone else, and it was because of this she heard herself say, "It's alright, Professor. H-His Grace has already offered to take me home."
Professor Byron looked as if he wanted to kill her. Rathe looked as if he wanted to devour her. She wasn't quite sure which of these two was worse, but one thing she was certain of: with the duke at least, she could count on him to be honest, and honest he so was, when as soon as they made it to the backseat of his limousine, and her crutches fell to the carpeted floor—-