Page 25 of Sinful Chains

I laughed at that. “Stop.”

“I’m just saying.” He huffed out a dry laugh, but there was no humor in it. “It went viral. I’m lowkey surprised you never heard about it. Students gossiped. Colleagues talked about it. Shit was on TikTok. I finally had to hire an attorney just to get that shit taken down.”

I put a hand on his cheek and gazed into his eyes. “I’m sorry that happened.”

He shrugged. “It’s whatever. The worst part was having to sit in front of a panel of deans and provosts, explaining my sexualpreferences like I was defending a dissertation. That shit was humiliating.”

I shook my head. He’d never admit it, but it was more than humiliation. He was hurt by the whole thing, and who could blame him?

My anger surged again.

“I felt…exposed,” he said softly. “My job is one place I need to have control at all times, and it was stripped away from me in an instant.”

His eyes searched mine. “I’ve been careful ever since. Holding women at arm’s length. I felt like I had to. Until you.”

I leaned in to press a soft kiss to his lips, amused when his dick hardened again.

“You didn’t deserve that,” I murmured against his mouth.

He shrugged again. “It is what it is. But it’s like…ever since then, every time I start feeling something real, I hear a voice in the back of my mind telling me to keep my shit close. Telling me I’m stupid for putting myself out there like that.”

I leaned closer, pressing my forehead against his. “You’re not stupid.”

He closed his eyes.

“And I’m not her.”

He exhaled. It sounded like relief and surrender. “I know. You’re about as far from her as it gets.”

I was relieved, too. Relieved that he knew that. It was a deep knowing, asoulknowing, something I’d communicated to him with more than words.

The image of him, buttoned up and brilliant, being dragged into a conference room and dissected by the very people whose respect he’d had to earn was devastating.

I’d seen him in a few different moods by now, but this was different. This was more of a wound he’d uncovered for me, something that he’d given me to hold, trusting that I wouldn’t pour salt in it.

And I wouldn’t.

I would protect his heart. I would protect his desires. I would make him feel safe with me, unlike…

I closed my eyes.

God help that bitch if I ever found out her name. No telling what I would do.

I smiled, thinking about how different this Santari was. I supposed Storm had uncovered something in me, too.

“Thank you for sharing that with me,” I said. “I know it wasn’t easy.”

It was strange. He looked like a little boy staring up at me. That must have been the vulnerable part of him. The part of him I was starting to care deeply about. The part of him I would protect with my entire being.

If I was gonna do this right, I had some research to do.

Chapter eight

It was time.

The air smelled like rain. It had always been a comforting smell for me, reminding me of sitting on my grandparents’ porch down in south Georgia. My grandaddy would take deep breaths and remind me to always respect nature, because, just like a woman, she does whatever the hell she wants.

We were about to go against nature again, but it had to be done. We’d agreed, given our word, and accepted our half upfront. Sorry to the natural order of things, but oldHarlan Whitman was about to have a most unnatural exit from this life.

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