Page 39 of Broken by my Bully (Lessons in Cruelty Dark Academia #1)

Bastian

The brain releases more dopamine when we fantasizes about sex than when we’re actually fucking. Fantasies in themselves, then, should be enough of a thrill.

We convince ourselves they’re not.

Perhaps because humanity’s survival depends on copulation and reproduction.

Or perhaps because we crave the emotional aspect of such a primal connection with another being.

Seeing their desperate need reflected in ours.

Their emotions. Their arousal.

The realization of their own fantasies.

I stare at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, palms flat on the vanity’s cool white marble.

My pupils are blown black, swallowing the brown.

The line of coke I just snorted lights up my nerve endings like the Fourth of July, sending my heart into a frantic drumming that’s both exhilarating and terrifying.

Balancing on this cusp is what I’ve always craved.

The moment when I always wonder if, this time, it’ll be too much .

I’ve been toying with death since I was a child. Playing Russian roulette with God.

Or Lucifer.

If I die before I wake,

The devil already owns what’s his to take.

A grin flashes over my face, but I quickly smooth it away. No one enjoys looking at the visage of a lunatic. They prefer charming, intelligent, rational Professor Rooke.

That’s why I had to come to this shitty town. People became opinionated about me at my old haunt. They became nosy. Guarantee it will happen here, too. But in such a small town, it’s easier to control the flow of gossip.

I pause on the bedroom’s threshold, watching Haven as she tries to pull herself together. As she tries to rally the defenses I so methodically wreck every time I see or speak to her.

There’s a smile on my lips as I unbutton my shirt slowly, watching her fight the tranquilizer like she fought whoever marked her. But I chose the dosage carefully.

She can struggle all she wants.

In ten minutes, she’ll be mine.

She touches her neck where I applied the salve. Pushes damp hair out of her face. Her blue eyes are wide when she whips her head around to look for me. They widen even more when she spots me leaning against the doorframe.

“Professor?” There’s a note of panic in her voice.

“Please. Call me Bastian.”

Her eyes follow my hands down my chest as I flick open the last button, her rosy lips parting and her eyelids growing heavy.

“Bast…” She slowly licks her lips, forcing her eyes open. “I feel…weird…”

“That’s because I drugged you, sweet girl.”

I catch her as she slumps to the side and gently lay her down the rest of the way. Her eyelids flicker as she struggles to stay conscious, but in a minute or two, she’ll be deadweight .

“Stop fighting it, girl.” I strip off my damp shirt, tossing it into the corner of the room.

The bedsheets rustle as I rip them aside. Haven flinches when the corner touches her back, but that’s her only response.

I grab her under her arms and drag her up the bed until her head is on a pillow. Her head lolls to the side, and I brush damp hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear.

Then I drag the sheets over her and head into my closet to collect a pair of sweats. A quick shower to wash off this godawful day, then I’ll catch a few hours of sleep on the couch.

I’m sure Haven will have a different picture of events tomorrow, when she wakes up. Maybe then I’ll be able to convince her to report the assault.

I close the bathroom door, strip naked, and head for the shower.

The sight of Haven’s wet sundress hanging from the towel rail stops me in my tracks.

Her cheap cotton panties hang there like an accusation. Washed-out pink. Probably from a discount store. The kind of underwear a girl wears when no one’s supposed to see it.

I press them to my face, drawing in her scent.

Fuck.

She smells like innocence and sex and something uniquely Haven that makes my cock throb. I wrap them around my fist, imagining them stretched across her hips as I?—

No.

Not imagining.

Planning.

I’m instantly annoyed that she can’t afford better underwear. That’s another thing we’ll discuss tomorrow. She can’t keep living out of her car. I will force her to join a sorority. That they provide her with free housing and board.

If she’s working, and she must be if she’s gone this long without being found out, then I will have her quit.

I can cover her expenses .

Make sure she never wants for anything.

Whatever she desires, she will have.

If she sees a pretty dress in the shop, she can buy it without bothering to look at the price tag, and the shoes that go with it, she can have those too, and I won’t ask anything of her, won’t even?—

A deep, throaty groan forces my eyes open. I’m gripping my cock so hard, the mix of pain and pleasure nearly has me coming.

I drop her underwear to the floor, huffing out her scent.

Jesus Christ.

Jesus fucking Christ.

I pick up the scrap of fabric and carefully hang it up beside her dress again.

But the smell lingers. No blood, no semen. Just…Haven.

My thoughts race faster than my heartbeat.

Silly, silly, Haven.

Waiting in the dark, in the rain, like I’m the only person in the world she trusts. Yet she doesn’t trust me enough to name Kai. We both know that I know it’s him. But I want her to condemn him.

Why the fuck are you protecting him, Haven?

Makes no sense. None of this.

Unless she’s toying with me, like I’m toying with her. Using me, just like I’m using her.

I snort.

Impossible. This is simply a case of a trauma victim who’s built her walls so high, they block out the sun.

Cool tiles under my bare feet, then warm, plush carpet.

I’ve turned off the fireplace, but the heat remains. In the dark, some of the pebbles still glow like mass-produced coals. I pour myself a whiskey, and perch on the edge of the sofa, but my ass barely hits the seat before I get up again, the coke making me too fidgety to remain still.

I wander through the dark living room, staring at the vague shapes of the books lining my shelves. Their spines bump against my fingertips as I drag my hand over one row, then another. Another.

My second attempt to sit on the couch lasts a few seconds longer than the first. The inside of my mouth is already ragged from the vicious attention of my teeth.

I drain my whisky and pour another, wincing as the alcohol stings my tender skin.

The coke was a bad idea.

Causes thoughts to play on repeat.

Bad thoughts.

Dirty, depraved thoughts that shouldn’t be plaguing my mind.

I sit on the sofa again. Force myself to lean back as I take a deep pull of the whisky. The buzz in my head is mellowing down to a dull roar, the alcohol stifling my obsessive thoughts.

But only for a moment.

One sweet, brief moment.

Then on my feet again, whiskey glass on the table, feet sinking into the thick carpet as I move.

Not to the kitchen. Not to the bookshelf.

My shadow touches the bed before I do. It spills over Haven’s shoulders moments before I pull the sheets down to her feet. It coats her in inky blackness before I turn on the lamp.

Warm amber light floods her features. The soft creases of the hoodie.

Never thought anything in my closet could look this fucking good on a person until she came out of my bedroom wearing my hoodie as a dress. I slip my fingers behind the collar, tugging it away so I can see the marks on her throat.

The salve has barely had any time to work, but the handprints on her throat appear faded in the lamp’s warm light.

I keep pulling at the fabric, baring her shoulder, scanning her skin. A scratch near the top of her arm. Faint, barely visible. I run my thumb over it, trying to estimate if it’s a fresh wound or something older.

Should fetch the kit again. Apply more ointment. Help Haven heal .

I leave the hoodie pulled down her shoulder, picking up her wrist, turning her hand over in mine, examining it. Some dirt under her nails, embedded deep where only a nail brush could have reached. Another small tear in her skin, near one knuckle.

The smell of my body wash on her skin is inebriating. I inhale it deep into my lungs as I press my lips to the small cut, as I lick her finger.

My cock was already hardening in the bathroom as I examined her underwear. It bobs as a fresh wave of blood is pumped into it.

I set her hand down, my gaze already gliding down her body, hungry for more. A predator deciding where to tear open its fresh, still-warm kill.

Her bare feet twitch as I stare at them, but she’s unconscious, trapped in sleep.

Resting. Healing.

Her ankle bone is a sharp point in my palm as I lift her leg, my knees sliding onto the mattress beside her so I can get closer.

To examine her.

To heal her.

She washed her feet, but there are a multitude of abrasions and bruises on her skin. How far did she walk to get here? I didn’t see her car, but I wasn’t driving, so it’s possible I simply missed it.

I close my eyes as I inhale her scent, the tip of my nose trailing along the elegant arch of her foot. I kiss one of her cuts. Trail my tongue along a scratch.

There’s a bruise on her shin. I lavish it with my tongue, inhaling deeply. My fingers dimple the flesh of her calf, then her thigh.

Poor baby,” I murmur, spreading her legs wider. “Let me see what he did to you.”

Four scratch marks on her inner thigh. Fresh. Violent.

I crouch over her like an incubus, angry sounds rumbling out of my throat as I run my thumb over that blatant evidence of violence. I match my fingers to the wounds, then drag my nails down the same path, watching her unconscious body flinch.

Blood beads along the reopened cuts. “Does it hurt?”

I lick the blood away, savoring the copper taste mixed with her skin. My cock grinds against her shin as I work my way higher, drawn by her scent like a fucking animal.

Not my body wash.

Not fresh blood from the wounds I’ve licked open.

Her .

I’m inches from her pussy. The heat of her closed legs radiates against my body, against my face, and with it, her scent.

I don’t know at what point I could have stopped myself.