26. Dante
26
DANTE
Friday, September 13, 3:30 PM
“It’s completely unethical conduct and absolutely inappropriate, Mr. Moretti. I’m shocked and utterly disappointed that a dignified faculty member, such as yourself, could have such unscrupulous thoughts and mannerisms. I know as men that we sometimes find ourselves?—”
“Are you done?” I insert, already seeing what Dr. James Amos, Assistant Dean of Thronewood University, is getting at.
Victoria and I have been outed.
We’ve only been married for a day. I’d hoped we wouldn’t have to make the announcement until we had a positive pregnancy test to flash for the lawyers, but the timing is out of our hands now.
I’d put a nice amount of money on my nephew having something to do with this, but I’d have to give a fuck to throttle him for it. Being fired from my position at Thronewood is the least of my present worries. Although it does have the unfortunate side effect of meaning I won’t be able to keep an eye on Victoria as easily. I had a hard enough time letting her return to her dorm to sleep last night, but she had sworn Ellie would be in the room with her every minute.
“Mr. Moretti?—”
“Where is the dean?” I press, annoyed he sent an underling to fire me. “I’m highly disheartened that he couldn’t take the time to do this himself.”
Dr. Amos scowls at me for my rude interruption, the crow’s feet framing his eyes after years of surviving this school’s bullshit deepening. “He had a prior appointment and is unavailable. Hence, why I’m here conducting this investigation.”
“An investigation implies a search for answers,” I retort flatly, “and I already admitted to marrying Miss Waldorf.”
His light brown eyes widen again, as if the truth of the matter is really sinking in this time. “Mr. Moretti, your actions have consequences. This puts a black mark on our reputation. Parents do not send their children here to be seduced by the staff. Especially not when their family has been supporting our institution for generations.”
I don’t bother to correct him. Victoria may be young, but she’s no child. And I’m sure plenty of families send their heirs to this prestigious—I want to sneer at the word—university. Amos can think what he wants and say what he wishes to make the administration feel better. I just want out of this office so that I can return to making arrangements for Victoria and me to leave the States.
“Mrs. Waldorf has already withdrawn her daughter and is threatening to?—”
“ What ?” I step closer to his desk and the man has the good sense to flinch away before he catches himself. “What do you mean withdrawn?”
I know how much her education means to Victoria and the dreams she intends to chase. And her mother may have been the one paying her daughter’s tuition, but Victoria has rights in all this, too.
“I can’t discuss the specifics of any student’s records.”
“She’s my wife, ” I bark out, feeling an annoyed throb behind my temples. “And my responsibility.”
That sounds more like it.
“Anything outside this room?—”
“Victoria is also a legal adult,” I continue, lifting a disbelieving eyebrow and just barely stopping myself from reaching over this paper-pusher’s desk and throttling him. “And while I assume Mrs. Waldorf has, up until now, been paying Victoria’s tuition…”
Dr. Amos remains deathly still, stubbornly refusing to answer my unspoken question.
Motherfucker.
“No one but Victoria can pull her out of this school, no matter how much power they think they hold, so long as her fees are paid.”
The dickhead administrator continues to blink at me, a toady smirk crossing his face.
“We done here?” I clip out through my teeth. “I have a prior appointment.”
He holds my glower haughtily as if I wouldn’t kick his ass outside of this university. “To be perfectly clear, Moretti, you’re fired.”
I salute him with my middle finger before turning on my heel.
“Have a good day, Jimmy.”
His indignant spluttering is more than satisfying as I let the door slam behind me. Time to head to the admissions and financial services office to straighten this latest bullshit out.
—
It doesn’t take long to sort out Victoria’s enrollment status or the funding for her classes because money talks. The moment I strode into the plush office, I received astonished stares and stirred up plenty of whispered conversations. Obviously, the rumors of my relationship with a student and our scandalous shotgun wedding have already begun circulating among the staff.
However, I pay the balance on Victoria’s account, covering the rest of the year despite doubting how much longer she’ll be in attendance.
After my credit card clears, I leave the administrative building behind and head toward my office to pack the few things I have stored there. The quicker I can get off campus, the better. I know Victoria is going to be the center of quite a bit of nasty attention once the student body hears what’s happened.
I probably should have asked if she even wanted to stay at Thronewood before paying an ungodly amount of money to keep her enrolled. The financial counselor who helped me pay for Victoria’s classes informed me she would reach out to my wife and notify her of her change in status while I cleared out my office.
The bottle of Campari in my desk beckons, tempting me to take a much-needed drink after the events of the last few days.
Sitting down in my leather chair one last time, I crack the bottle open and take a long swig, not bothering to find a glass. The bitter and citrusy flavor runs down my throat as I close my eyes, basking in the first few seconds of peace I’ve gotten in what feels like eons.
When I bring the bottle to my lips again for a second pull, I hear the door to the classroom open and the tapping of purposeful steps crossing the empty room.
I slit my eyes open to see Victoria closing in on me, her face screwed up in a look of determination that means she’s clearly heard from the financial aid counselor.
I can’t tell if she’s pissed or grateful.
Her dark curls bounce off the shoulders of the cream-colored sweater she’s wearing. A black polka-dotted skirt skates dangerously high on her upper thighs, although black tights give the illusion of modesty.
I can’t help but watch her as she comes forward. It’s not like words would change anything.
Not what her mother tried to do, what I just got fired for doing, or the tuition bill I may have paid for no reason at all.
I push my chair away from the desk, ready to receive whatever anger or gratitude she wants to give me before she knocks the bottle of Campari out of my palm and sends it crashing to the hardwood floor. The bite of the liquor flavors the air, and the spicy scent of herbs floods the room.
Her soft and alluring body straddles me in the next second. Her hands feather along the sides of my face, drawing all of my focus to her stormy eyes and plush pink lips.
“Why did you do that?” she whispers, peering at me with big, awe-filled eyes. “Why do you keep saving me? You’re not doing yourself any favors.”
I don’t know what the last bit means, but I do know I don’t want her to lose her chance to live out her imagined future because of my brother’s poor decisions and Liams reckless plans to steal everything from her.
“I selfishly wanted to visit your bakery in Paris, princess,” I justify. “Don’t go making this out to be bigger than it is.” She settles her full weight onto my thighs and I nearly forget how to speak. My cock has no such trouble, begging to bury itself in her sweet pussy.
“You’re so full of shit, Dante. And this moral crap that you’re trying to feed me is old. I’m tired of it. I want to stop tip-toeing around what you deserve and what I’m offering.”
I lift a brow. “Offering? I know all about the trust fund—” Victoria’s fingers fall to my lips, silencing me.
I can’t seem to get ahead of this girl for any length of time. I’m exhausted from staying on edge, from trying to keep up with her and predict what she might do or say next. It’s been a long time since I’ve been around a woman long enough to hold a lengthy conversation or argument. The sheer energy involved only intensifies my conviction that I don’t ever want to be married.
Not really.
Victoria’s blue eyes glimmer with equal parts confusion and contentment as she leans down to replace her fingers with that damn mouth.
“Don’t you dare kiss me,” I growl through my tightening jaw. “I don’t need?—”
“You don’t know what you need, Dante,” she murmurs under her breath, her low voice wrapping around me. It’s as if she can sense all the missing pieces of my life that have been scattered and lost for eternity, as if she thinks she can call them back for me. “I’m low enough on the list of priorities that you don’t have to worry about me. Let me worry about you.”
Then her mouth descends the last millimeters separating us, latching onto mine, and I breathe her in. A whiff of lavender, a scent becoming as familiar to me as my violin, fills my chest again.
My fingers find her thighs, tightening my hold on her covered flesh, ready to push her away if she tries taking this too far.
But the moment I allow her access to my lips, Victoria takes hold of my resolve and clenches it to death in her hand.
Her tongue slides into my mouth and I groan, unable to hide my reaction, too lost in the moment to care.
When her ass grinds back against my legs as she works to find a better angle for her kiss, I’m done for. My body refuses to listen to the warnings from my brain about the disaster this will lead to.
I meet her stroke for stroke, unable to fully cede control.
Victoria is my wife.
No matter how you twist it, we said vows before a higher power. The church and the courts recognize that shit. She is under my protection, my care.
Her body is mine to do with as I please.
But that truth comes with a set of problems that neither the law nor Holy Communion can solve. A broken heart is impossible to fix and difficult to heal. I don’t want her to look back on memories of me with regret. I want to be a fucking staple in her past, a seminal moment that she remembers fondly.
Not that it should matter.
Dragging my hands down her legs, I meet the thin nylon of her tights and follow the fabric up and under her skirt. The tight weave of the nylon snags on my calloused fingertips, but I don’t have it in me to care about putting runs in her tights. Then the texture changes and I register the warmth of bare skin as my fingers skate higher—and that’s when I realize she’s wearing thigh-high stockings, not tights at all.
I tease her, playing with the edge of one stocking by plucking at it with the fingers of my left hand. Then I slip my right hand up to tease at her hip, lightly skimming the pad of my middle finger under the lacey edge of her panties. Victoria’s mouth opens in a small gasp and I press my advantage, swooping my tongue in to get more of her sugar and sunshine taste.
“Why are you wearing these?” I murmur as my wife laps at my mouth, twisting a fistful of my hair in her greedy hand.
“You don’t like them?” she breathes, and it’s almost as if she actually cares what I think. And I can’t help wanting to praise her for the sexy hosiery, to tell her just how gorgeous she’ll look when I’m buried deep inside her.
“I don’t believe these are school appropriate.”
Victoria rolls her hips, grinding against my hard cock and an animalistic growl rumbles from my chest.
“Fuck appropriate.” Her mouth moves across my cheek and down to my jawline where she latches onto my neck and continues her seductive little assault there.
“I just got you re-enrolled at this school,” I remind her. “I think getting caught fucking your teacher?—”
“I haven’t even begun to fuck you yet,” she retorts, her hot breath almost burning the sensitive skin between my neck and jaw. “And the thought of you being inside me, sinking yourself into me so deep… Professor…” She rolls those sinful hips against me again and I’m seriously about to lose control over my baser instincts. “Tell me no.”
Now she’s asking me to be the voice of reason.
I should, but I can’t say that word. My brain and body agree that what we really need is the opposite.
“You want to come?” I demand harshly, and I feel her needy shudder of response. “Are you going to ride my cock and take what you promised the other night?”
Victoria exhales before her hands get to work undoing my belt and sliding down the zipper of my slacks. I finally let my finger stroke under her panties, running the length of her slit, and my cock twitches in response.
She’s soaked for me.
She frees me in record time and I yank Victoria’s underwear to the side. There’s nothing stopping her from taking what she wants now.
What she’s been taunting me with since we became husband and wife.
This act—this consummation—will seal our fate. I know I can give Victoria the glowing face of a well-satisfied, happily married woman.
Victoria lifts her hips, aligning herself above my length before sinking down in one smooth, tight stroke.
“Fuck, princess.”
She doesn’t stop, doesn’t wait for further approval before riding my cock like it was what she was meant to be doing all along. Like my cock has always belonged to her, and my body has no problem surrendering the rights to it, not now.
Not when my wife’s ass is bouncing on my thighs in a punishing rhythm. I’m hanging onto my control by a thread, determined to allow her to do whatever she wants, determined not to take over. At least not this time.
“Fuck, look at you, wife,” I praise as she continues to ride me her way. It shouldn’t turn me on like this. Victoria is a vulnerability—plain and simple. And if she can make me do things I know I shouldn’t, she’s already becoming an unacceptable weakness.
You mean like right now when she’s riding your dick?
I clench my hands over her thighs, shoving her down and forcing my cock further inside her in a silent but rough punishment. I can’t say she’s making me do anything, but I’m pissed that she keeps testing my composure, causing a war between my mind and my body.
She’s your wife.
And I don’t care. It changes absolutely nothing.
“You just couldn’t wait, could you?” I grind out, unable to shove her off me because her cunt is so damn tight that I’m literally locked in. She has my damn dick in a chokehold. “You should’ve waited until we got divorced.”
“And do what, exactly, in the meantime?”
I can’t help but stare at her while she works for her orgasm, ignoring my frustration. “Whatever it is that you want to do.”
“I’d never cheat on my husband.”
Six words.
And they rock the axis of my entire world. Gabriella did exactly that. The bitch strung me along while she had a whole-ass family and husband. People who stupidly still loved her despite the time I spent in her bed.
I’m stupefied that Victoria would put me on such a high pedestal. We’ve barely been married for a full day.
Victoria could’ve said anything else. But those six words…
If her faithfulness runs that deep, why am I already dreading this sham of a marriage? Victoria doesn’t place demands on my attention—in fact she’s purposely tried to escape any involvement with me.
I’m always the one reaching out to her. Offering to step in, to save her, to be part of her solution.
She doesn’t need me emotionally.
But maybe I need her.