Chapter 7 Dredyn
SEVEN
DREDYN
Idon’t typically disagree with my choices. I mean… I am the one who makes them.
So it’s not just a coincidence that I happened to wander into this empty lecture hall after hours.
It’s totally not because I saw Mara Black slip into this building not long ago, alone, a stack of books in her arms. She’s a TA for a professor, and what a little overachiever she is for staying late to grade.
I slip inside and wait, alone, in the dark, in the back row. The lights are off except for the glow coming from her TA office down at the end of the hall. My leg bounces with pent-up anticipation. I’m keyed up and on edge.
What the fuck am I doing? Part of me doesn’t have a plan… Hell, all of me doesn’t have a plan.
Mara Black is off-limits. She’s the Psi Theta Omega princess, and I’m the big bad wolf her brother warned her about.
Maybe that’s why I want her even more.
The door hinge lets out a faint creak as Mara steps out of the doorway, one hand on the light switch.
For a second, she’s silhouetted against the hallway light, all legs and a fitted cardigan hugging her curves, her dark hair pulled back in a low ponytail.
She looks so proper, so polished. Like she doesn’t know how to be anything but perfect.
She flips the fluorescent lights and they flicker to life, flooding the lecture hall with a pale glow. Her hand pauses on the switch when she spots me sitting in the back row. Those big eyes go wide for a fraction of a second.
“Dredyn?” she says, clearly startled. She recovers fast, I’ll give her that. “What are you doing here?”
I don’t answer immediately. Instead, I let the silence stretch as I lean back in the seat, draping one arm over the chair next to me, knowing that the silence is driving her crazy. Women like her crave control, and I’m the type of guy that smashes her reality into bits.
Her throat works in a swallow, but she lifts her chin. “You don’t have Professor Higgins,” she says, brushing imaginary dust from the sleeve of her pink cardigan. “If you’re looking for someone else, they’re not here. So you should leave before… before I call my brother.”
She’s trying to sound confident, but I hear the slight quiver underneath. “Milo, huh? Funny, I don’t think he’s capable of doing much.” My boots echo on the steps as I slowly descend the tiered aisle toward her.
Mara’s eyes track my approach. I can see her grip tightening on the strap of her bag. She takes one step back, into the threshold of the doorway, like she’s debating bolting toward the emergency stairwell just behind her.
I arch a brow. “Leaving so soon?”
Her jaw sets stubbornly. “Yes. I have better things to do than… whatever this is.” She gestures vaguely between us, trying to sound dismissive, but her voice is tight. She turns, as if to go, pushing the door open wider.
Ah, not so fast.
In two strides I’m there, pulling the door closed with a hard thunk and bracing my palm against it.
I lay my hand flat on the wood above her shoulder, leaning into the door, blocking the main exit with my body.
I’m not touching her, but we’re close enough that I can see the pulse fluttering in her neck.
Close enough that I catch a whiff of her scent—something clean and subtly sweet, like vanilla and fresh laundry.
Mara freezes. Her back is half-turned to me, shoulder angled as if she might slip through the crack, but there’s no space now.
I’ve caged her in without even having to put my hands on her.
I can practically feel the tension radiating off her slender frame as she slowly turns her head to glare up at me.
“Going somewhere?” I murmur. Then, I let my gaze drop, raking over her from head to toe.
Her pencil skirt, navy-blue and prim, hugs the subtle curve of her hips. Her pink cardigan is buttoned up to her throat, neat as can be.
“What are you doing?” Her voice is a little breathless now. She presses back against the closed door as if she could put more distance between us, but there’s nowhere to go. Still, her chin tilts up defiantly. “If this is some kind of joke, it’s not funny.”
I huff a soft laugh. “Do I look like the joking type, Polly Pocket?” I counter. My free hand rises of its own accord, fingertips brushing a stray lock of her hair off her shoulder. It’s a light touch, barely there, but I feel her go rigid.
She doesn’t flinch, though. Interesting.
She just stares up at me with those eyes, her lips pressed into a stubborn line.
Why isn’t she afraid of me? I can practically taste the fear from most people when I get this close. Steele men are not good people, and she’s smart enough to know it—to have heard the rumors about me, and what I’m capable of.
But here she is, steady and unflinching, looking me dead in the eye, as if I’m merely an annoyance. Like she’s cataloguing me, dissecting me with that sharp gaze. Like she’s not impressed in the slightest.
The realization makes something hot and frustrated twist in my gut. Damn her. She has no idea what kind of threat I could be, does she? Or maybe she does and just refuses to show it.
“I’m going to ask one last time… What. Do. You. Want. Dredyn?”
There it is, the crack in her cool facade. She even presses a hand against my chest as if to push me away. Her touch is tentative, though, and I don’t budge an inch. Her palm rests flat over my heart; if she feels how hard it’s pounding, she doesn’t let on.
For a second, I just savor the feel of her small hand against me. It’s almost distracting. But her question still hangs in the air, demanding an answer.
I lean in until my lips hover at her ear, making sure she feels the brush of my breath on her skin. “You,” I murmur, before nipping at her ear.
Mara inhales sharply. I feel the shiver that goes through her. Goosebumps rise on the nape of her neck where my breath touched. She quickly masks it, tilting her head away and letting out a derisive little laugh. “You’re insane,” she says, but the insult comes out too soft.
I let the corner of my mouth curl. “Probably,” I agree under my breath.
“Insane for doing this . . . maybe.” My free hand drifts down from the door to trace lightly along her jaw, guiding her face back toward me.
My knuckles skim the smooth skin of her cheek and Mara sucks in a breath, but still, she doesn’t pull away.
My fingers slide under her chin, tilting it up. Now, she’s forced to meet my eyes. Her lips part, and I catch her tongue darting out to nervously wet them.
I chuckle darkly. “How close are your walls to breaking, Hellcat?” I murmur. Instead of backing off, I press closer, closing the last inch between us. Her body goes taut as I crowd her even further against the solid wood of the door.
Her chest brushes mine on her next inhale. I glance down and notice the way her nipples have hardened beneath that prim little cardigan, two tight peaks visible through the thin knit. My blood spikes at the sight. So, she isn’t immune after all.
Mara immediately crosses one arm over her chest, realizing what I’m looking at. A flush blooms over her cheeks—angry and embarrassed. “Enjoying the view?” she bites out, voice dripping sarcasm to cover her self-consciousness.
I flash my teeth in a wolfish grin. “Absolutely.” My gaze doesn’t shy away from her body, making it clear I’m drinking in every detail.
By now, my desire is a raw, pulsing thing, but I keep my expression composed, taunting.
“You can pretend all you want, Mara. Pretend you’re not just as affected as I am.
” My eyes flick back up to hers. “But your body betrays you.”
Without warning, I shift off the door, dragging my palm down the wood as I move backward. Mara’s fingers twist the knob handle of the door, stumbling back into the office.
I follow slowly, steady, giving her just enough rope to hang herself. Every step she takes, I match, until she’s retreating deeper into the professor’s office without even realizing it.
Her hip clips the edge of the desk, and she startles, palms slapping back to brace herself on the wood. Cornered. Exactly where I want her. I plant my hands on the desk, one on either side of her.
Mara’s chest rises and falls rapidly, pushing against my torso with each breath. She’s effectively trapped between my arms, pinned against the desk by nothing but intimidation and her own hesitation.
“You’re boxed in now,” I whisper, leaning in so that our noses nearly touch. Her breath fans warm against my lips—fast little pants she’s trying to control. “No one’s here to see just how much you like being under the big bad wolf, hm?”
“I don’t—” she starts, but her voice cracks. She swallows hard. “I don’t like anything about this. You’re vile.”
“Liar,” I breathe, calling her out. My face is inches from hers, and I let my eyes drop to her parted lips. “Your mouth is saying one thing, but the rest of you…”
My hand ghosts down her side, stopping just shy of the hem of her skirt. Not touching—yet. My cock’s already heavy, straining against my sweats like it knows exactly what it wants. Hell, it’s throbbing just from the way she fucking breathes.
My veins are molten, every nerve screaming to close that gap, to shove that prissy little cardigan up and see if she blushes all the way down her body. My dick aches for it, thick and hard enough it hurts, begging me to play with my new toy.
I lean in even closer, until my forehead almost touches hers. “Tell me to stop one more time, and I will.”
Mara’s lips part. She should say it. This is her chance to tell me off, to knee me in the balls, scream bloody murder—something.
But she doesn’t.
The words stick in her throat. I can see the conflict raging behind her eyes.
A growl rumbles up from my chest. My hand moves, fingertips finally making contact as they brush up her thigh, pushing the hem of her skirt an inch. Mara’s breath stutters.
She still doesn’t tell me to stop.
A tiny whimper escapes her then—quickly bitten down, but I catch it.
My control nearly shatters at that sweet, desperate sound.
My fingers flex against the silky skin of her upper thigh.
I could drag her onto this desk right now, split her open on my cock until she cries for mercy, and she’d give it—
Oh, she’d give it—
“No—” she blurts, eyes wide, palms shoving at my chest. This time it’s real. I stumble back, just enough to lose her. The spell shatters and she slips past me, a quick little thing, darting out of my reach before I can snatch her back where she belongs.
Regret is instant. Hot, bitter. I should’ve locked her down, taken what I wanted. My fists curl on the desk until my knuckles ache.
She’s flushed, lips red, cardigan trembling against her body like she’s barely holding herself together. When her eyes meet mine, she tries to put the mask back on—chin high, princess composure restored. But I see it, the tremor in her hands, the way her legs still wobble when she turns.
“This conversation is over,” she says, grabbing her messenger back and skirting around me and out the door, walking up the steps.
In the doorway, she pauses, looking back at me. There’s a fire in her eyes that wasn’t there before. Her lips part like she wants to say something else, but then she clamps them shut. Without another word, she turns and disappears into the hall, the door thudding closed behind her.
I laugh. Harsh, humorless. It’s the sound of a man coming apart. This was supposed to be simple—scare her off, burn her out of my system. Instead, I’m standing here, hard as a fucking rock, every nerve screaming for what she denied me.
The chalk on the desk mocks me. I sweep my arm across it, sending papers and shards flying. But it’s not enough. The rage boils hotter. I slam my fist into the chalkboard until pain flares through my knuckles.
But the ache isn’t in my hand. It’s in my cock. It’s in my chest. It’s in the gnawing, rotting pit she’s carved out in me.
Sweet, perfect Mara. With her stubborn little chin and eyes that never fucking back down. She’s turned me feral. Obsessed. A goddamn madman.
She’s not mine. She’s not supposed to matter.
But the thought of another man touching her? Hearing that whimper I just heard?
I’ll rip their fucking throat out.