Page 48 of Dean's Delinquent
ChapterNineteen
Dean Anderson
“F- forced,” she whispers as she blinks up at me. As if she had no hand in any of this.
“I will not repeat myself. This act of yours is getting quite old. Besides, you’re a smart girl. I’m sure you can figure out what happens when you fuck around and finally find out. “
A slight hint of red washes over her cheeks as she ducks her head. “You beat me with a flogger and then come on me?”
The others around me are no help at all. Deep chuckles and soft laughs surround us, causing my head to pound as anger, frustration, annoyance, and arousal all compete for dominance. Unfortunately, as enticing as she looks right now in just her underwear and robe, annoyance wins out for the moment.
How in the name of all that’s holy did this happen? Even now, as I stare down at the slip of the girl glancing about at everyone’s face, it feels surreal. It feels like a dream, or more aptly put, a nightmare. Her lower lip trembles ever so slightly, and it’s the only thing revealing the last bit of fear it seems.
The small collapsing bit feels so far away as she takes in everything and missing nothing. What the fuck am I going to do about this? For a moment, her hands twitch as she lightly pats herself, no doubt looking for that fucking notebook again, completely forgetting it’s in my hands.
In that case, perhaps I can play a game of my own. “Looking for your notebook?” I whisper into her ear as I slide my hand around her waist to yank her against me.
For a moment, her breath catches, expanding her chest. God, but she’s a thing of beauty. As she trembles in my arms, all I can think about is dragging her to the floor and defiling her, making her mine completely.
“I- I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Enough of this,” I snarl, turning her in my arms. “I’m not stupid. I saw the fucking notebook. I have it here in my hand.” Blood drains from her face as I hold up the little bit of paper and pen. “Want to continue to play dumb? My time is limited right now, but soon you will have my undivided attention. All of it.”
“I’m sorry,” she murmurs, pulling back just a touch.
I refuse to allow it. Now that I have my hands on her, I can’t think of letting her go. Unfortunately, the others at the initiation grow restless and demand my attention.
“Oh, you will be sorry. But later. Chelsea, please take her away.” Ashleigh’s eyes narrow for a moment as she turns around to face the girl in question. By now, I’m unfortunately beginning to recognize that look as her curiosity taking note of fucking everything.
For a moment, I worry Grigori will refuse, leaving her with Melody, but soon enough, their watch dog steps up behind the girl. “Bitch behave?”
To my surprise, she has the audacity to roll her eyes at the man. “Do I ever?”
Seems as if Grigori was not exaggerating. I’m sure this means there will be two asses on fire tonight. Knowing Grigori, however, he’ll give her a real punishment later.
“Chelsea,” he warns with a softer, but no less lethal, tone. “I haven’t fucked you yet, and that asshole is tempting.”
And there it is.
“Sorry, Sir,” she mumbles, looking anything but repentant. “I’ll behave. For now.”
A heavy sigh slips from his lips, and I understand the sentiment all too well. Only, with Chelsea, he knew going into this that she was a brat of the highest order. I’m still running blind, trying to figure Ashleigh out.
Hopefully, the bit of sass and spark won’t turn into something worse. We already have one major brat in this close-knit circle of friends. We definitely don’t need another. In many ways, Grigori has it easy. He’s not the leader of this secret society, and thus he can be indulgent.
I have no such agency.
“Chelsea,” I groan as I note the glint of mischief in her eyes. “This calls for discretion. I need her out of the way, out of sight, and out of my hair until we’re done. And please, for the love of god, don’t rub off on her.”
“Don’t rub her off, Sir?” she grins, tossing a playful glance toward Ashleigh.
Fuck. The girl looks even more curious, if that’s even possible.
Grigori’s features deepen into a dark, fearsome scowl as he grabs the nape of her neck and pulls her back against his chest. “Ty ispytyvayesh' moyo terpeniye, Lastachka.” Thankfully, they seem to make sense to Chelsea, because the rest of us haven’t taken the time to master Russian.
Ashleigh, in particular, peers up at them and mouths the words, as if it will somehow make sense if she says it back to herself. Silly girl. And yet, it somehow endears me to her all the more.
Sergei tilts his head as he watches her, then chuckles. “Boss say she tries patience and loses.”
