Page 46 of Broken by my Bully (Lessons in Cruelty Dark Academia #1)

Haven

Is this what feeling tipsy is like, or am I still reeling from Bastian’s news about the sorority? When I had that tequila at Melissa’s house, I never felt like this. I went straight from normal to drunk. College kids and my family aside, I doubt that’s how alcohol is supposed to be used.

This? This is fantastic.

I’m so happy I can’t stop smiling. My body is relaxed. My mind is relaxed. The constant stream of negative thoughts that normally cycle through my head has run dry.

Fuck meditation. Drink wine.

“How is it?” Bastian asks.

I snap my gaze away from the mesmerizing fireplace, and into his even more entrancing eyes. We’re on the sofa. Me curled up in one corner, him with his legs stretched out on the other.

He seems taken aback by my frown.

“How do you always know what I’m thinking?”

The ice cubes in his bourbon clink against the glass as he leans his head back to laugh.

“I have a masters in psychology, philosophy, and anthropology. I’ve been teaching for years, and I ran a private practice at one stage.

I’ve been figuring out what goes on inside other people’s heads for over two decades. ”

“But you’re only thirty-four.”

“My interest in psychology began long before I entered college.”

I nod at this, and have to look away because I’m blushing again. It happens whenever I stare at Bastian for too long, even when he’s not looking back. It’s worse when we lock eyes, of course. Then other parts of my body are overheating, and tingling, and aching.

“Speaking of college,” he says, swirling the bourbon in his glass, “you’re adding a business class next semester.”

I scoff. “Yeah, right.”

“Financial literacy. Basic accounting. Investment strategies.” He lists them like commandments. “You’ll thank me when you’re not dependent on anyone else.”

“Except you, apparently,” I say bitterly.

His eyes flash. “Be thankful I’m only demanding education. Others might demand...different payment. The less financially secure you are, the more vulnerable that makes you. The fewer options you will have.”

The way he says ‘different’ makes my skin prickle.

Something makes me bolder than I’d normally be. Either the wine, or the fucking audacity.

“ You’re seriously lecturing me about the importance of money? Pretty sure you didn’t grow up wondering if your dad remembered to buy stuff for dinner, or if it was gonna be PB and J the fifth night in a row.”

He doesn’t flinch from the accusation, but there’s a touch of heat in his eyes now. “The only time I went hungry was when I was being punished.” He gestures around his elegant home. “But I didn’t inherit this. I earned it.”

He slides his ankle over his knee, turning a little to lay the arm holding his bourbon over the back of the couch.

“PB and J for supper, hmm? Was it your home life that sparked your interest in social work? ”

I take another sip, glancing at him from the corner of my eye. “You went through my application, but you didn’t read my essay?”

A flash of a rueful smile, like he realizes he underestimated me.

“I read your essay. Your ideas for rehabilitating Riverside are eloquent. I especially liked your idea about setting up a community center for kids where they could go in the afternoons and get a meal, do their homework…basically stay out of trouble.” He takes a sip of his bourbon, and my stomach flutters when he locks eyes with me.

“But you practically wove yourself into a knot to avoid talking about your past.”

I swallow, my thumb stroking the rim of the wineglass. “I prefer looking to the future, not being stuck in the past.”

His eyes narrow, a tightness on his mouth like he’s busy working out how to crack a hard nut. I look away, squirming under that scrutiny, hunting for something to distract me.

There’s a small table near the front door, probably for keys. I didn’t notice it when I came in because when Bastian is close, the rest of the world fades away.

There’s a pink gift bag on the table, pale tissue paper spilling from the top. The packaging looks a lot cheaper than what’s on his desk in the study.

“Who’s the lucky lady?” I say, more sourly than I’d intended.

Bastian blinks like he’s coming out of a daydream, and frowns. “Excuse me?”

I point with my chin.

He glances over his shoulder and then turns back to me with a wide smile. “Well, fuck.” He chuckles. “I completely forgot.”

“…Who the gift was for?” I say dryly as I take another sip of wine. How many girlfriends does Professor Rooke have? Man as handsome as him? As wealthy as him? I’m surprised there isn’t a line out the door.

My glass is almost empty, and I’m wondering if I’d be tempting fate to pour another.

I don’t feel drunk yet. I think I’d like to .

“Careful of that sharp tongue.” He drains his glass as he stands. “You wouldn’t want to cut yourself.”

There’s a laugh in his voice, so I giggle. But as he walks to the door, cold sweeps through my body. Instead of taking his seat, Bastian brings the gift bag to me where I’m sitting, stopping so close to the sofa that I’d probably kick him if I tried to swing my legs over to stand.

“For me?” I squeak, staring at the bag like there’s a snake in it.

“Why else would I be giving it to you?”

“I dunno.” I reach for it, and Bastian swaps it for my wineglass. “Maybe you want my opinion? If it’s like, for your girlfriend or something.”

Oh. My. God. Haven.

Why the fuck did you just say that?

Bastian holds onto the strap for a moment, forcing me to look up at him. “You know I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“How would I know?”

“I’d have mentioned her by now?” There’s this curl to his mouth, but it’s not a smile. Maybe it’s condescension? If my brain wasn’t so muddled, I could think straight.

I put on my haughtiest voice. “I mean, forgive me for assuming, but it’s not like totally outside the realm of possibility.”

I tug on the gift bag because I’m curious as hell, and he won’t let go. Is it candy? Chocolates? Oh God, what if it’s something academic, like a book? I’m going to be really disappointed if it’s a book.

“It totally kinda is,” Bastian says dryly.

My mouth falls open, but then he laughs and finally lets go of the bag.

“I live a nomadic life,” he says as he heads to the kitchen. “This is my thirteenth house. Tenth town. It’s a lot, asking someone to uproot their lives every few years.”

“This house doesn’t seem very nomadic ,” I call out. “Looks kinda permanent to me.”

“You’re right. I’m trying a radical new approach. I’m hoping that sticking around in the same place for a few years might attract a mate.”

I’m listening, I swear, but I’m far more interested in rifling through this tissue paper like a pig hunting for truffles.

What if it is truffles? Like the chocolate kind?

God, now my mouth is watering.

I hear clinks and glugs in the kitchen, but I finally found something. A smooth tube that I pull out with a big smile on my face?—

When Bastian returns, I hold it up without looking at him. “Is this supposed to be a joke?”

“It’s supposed to be a concealer,” he replies dryly as he stops beside the sofa. “There’s also foundation and ointment in there. The arnica will make the bruises fade in a day or two, trust me.”

I toss the tube back into the bag. The bag goes on the sofa cushion beside me. But Bastian’s still standing there, and when I look, he holds out a glass of wine. I take it, but with a sulking face.

“This—” he brushes my throat with his knuckle “—shouldn’t stop you from going to school.”

I immediately clap my free hand over the side of my neck, but the damage is done. His touch spreads through my body like a warm, tingly fog that collects between my legs. I nod, keeping my eyes averted so he’ll move away and, hopefully, I can stop blushing.

“Oh, and there’s something else in there, too,” he says as he sets his bourbon down on the coffee table.

“Glasses and a fake mustache?” I ask, giggling when he rolls his eyes at me.

“You’re exhausting, Haven,” he says, stroking his forehead as he leaves the room. If there hadn’t been some mirth in his voice, I might have thought I’d fucked up.

Instead, I carefully set my wineglass down on the floor beside me and empty the gift bag out on my lap. Out fall the concealer, some foundation, and a tube of ointment, as promised.

And peanut butter cups .

“Yesss!” I whisper-shout, immediately opening a package and shoving a cup into my mouth. “Fuck, that’s good.”

I take a big swallow of wine, and then pop the second cup in my mouth, my eyes closing as I savor the burst of sweet chocolate and peanut butter.

“If they put your expression on their commercials, they wouldn’t be able to air it during prime time,” Bastian says.

I cover my mouth with my hand, staring over sheepishly at him as he pushes away from the doorway he’d been leaning in.

“Stop watching me!” I manage through a mouthful of chocolate. “It’s fuckin’ creepy.”

He drops onto the sofa, flashing me a wide smile. “It’s nice to know someone appreciates your gift.”

Fuck, Haven, you haven’t even thanked him.

“Thank—”

He grabs my wrist so hard I gasp. “No.”

“But—”

“You don’t thank me. Ever.” His thumb finds my pulse again. He seems to love feeling it flutter under his grip. “Everything I give you, you’ve earned. Or you will.”

His eyes dart up to mine. They’re darker than before, so much more intense. Could just be a trick of the light, but his pupils look dilated. He releases me slowly, almost reluctantly.

“Eat it.”

I obey. Because when he uses that voice, I always obey.

Every second he watches me chew, a low ache grows in my core, until I have to say something if only to break the tension.

“It’s so fucking good.”

“Better than my pasta?” He brushes his thumb against his nose, sniffing. Something about the gesture makes me forget what I was saying. “It’s okay if it is. I never claimed to hold a Michelin star.”

“Right, sorry.” I hold out a hand. “Yes, your pasta was delicious, but this is chocolate .”

He dips his chin. “I’ll allow.” His eyes skip to the glass on the floor, which I quickly pick up and take a sip from. “Better than the wine?”

I nod, swallowing, and immediately set it down so I can grab another peanut butter cup. “This has gotta be better than sex.”

It’s out before I can stop myself.

I don’t know what to expect, but Bastian smirking at me as he takes a long, slow swallow of his bourbon wasn’t even in the top ten.

“Sex with a fumbling boy who thinks clits are a myth?”

My mouth goes so dry I can’t swallow the last of the candy.

“We’ll talk again after someone’s fucked you so hard and deep you see God.”

My ears buzz. My thighs clench. I’m seconds away from launching myself at him, and fuck the consequences. But that smirk tells me this is another test, and the part of me that’s survived this far is begging me to calm the fuck down.

I can’t blow up everything for a one-night stand with my professor. No matter what he says, sex can’t possibly be that good. Even with him. Right?

Don’t say it, Haven. Don’t you dare fucking?—

I try a smile like his, but mine comes out lopsided.

“That an offer, Bastian…or a threat?”