Obey me, Dean. (Erotica)
Bellmere University wasn't supposed to be a punishment. But it became one the second Aria Lancaster met him.
Sebastian Wolfe-the new Dean. Billionaire. Ruthless. And her father's oldest friend.
He's twice her age, cold as ice, and dangerously in control.
She's innocent, defiant, and off-limits.
One mistake lands her in his office.
One punishment strips her bare.
And one rule changes everything:
Obey him, or be expelled.
But what starts as punishment quickly turns into obsession.
And when secrets unravel and control slips, there's only one thing left to do:
Break the rules. Or break each other.
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Chapter 4
Aria's POV:
I didn't go back to my dorm that night.
I didn't even remember how I got home.
Wolfe carried me, I think. Wrapped me in one of his expensive trench coats, whispered something low against my hair, and slid me into the backseat of a car I didn't remember calling.
I still needed more.
More of his touch, more of his body, the way he was looking at me. I still needed it.
This man knew how to torture a woman-like, seriously.
The whole ride, I sat in silence with his jacket smelling like him-leather, spice, power.
I held onto his jacket, dying in my fantasies for his touch.
"Oh my god," I moaned slowly, as I touched my pussy, playing around my clitoris, my voice barely above a whisper. I couldn't let the driver hear me.
My thighs were still shaking from the force of what he'd done to me. My voice long gone from how hard I'd screamed his name.
But the thing that haunted me most wasn't the orgasm.
It was the way he'd looked at me afterward.
Not like a Dean.
Not like a Dom.
Like a man.
Like I belonged to him.
And it turned me on every second, every minute.
I needed to stop thinking about him, or else I didn't what would happen. I was too young for all this, but how could I control myself?
---
The next morning, Bellmere didn't feel the same.
Everything was still perfect on the outside-manicured lawns, early fall leaves, the faint scent of overpriced espresso from the campus café. But I felt like I was walking through it naked.
Because I had no idea what we were anymore.
That afternoon, I got a text from an unknown number.
Rm 207. Now.
Immediately, I knew it was from him, Wolfe. I was happy to see it, like I had been waiting for his message.
My pussy was tingling like a dog that saw its master.
I didn't hesitate.
When I arrived, the door was ajar. Inside, he wasn't waiting behind the desk.
He was standing by the window, shirt sleeves rolled, tie loosened.
He looked... tense.
"Close the door," he said without looking.
I did.
He turned slowly.
And that's when I saw it: the contract.
A full stack of printed paper. Neat. Formal. The title on top read: Behavioral Agreement for Student Compliance.
"This is for me?" I asked.
"No."
He stepped closer.
"It's for us."
I stared.
"Safewords. Rules. Boundaries. But also privileges. Ownership."
My mouth went dry. "You want to formalize this?"
He nodded. "If we're going to keep going, we do it my way. No more games. No more gray lines."
"And if I say no?"
His jaw flexed. "Then we stop."
It hit me then-how much control I really had.
But it also scared me.
Because I didn't want to stop.
I wanted to fall deeper.
So I walked to the table, picked up the pen, and signed it.
But at the very bottom, I added one line:
He's not allowed to fall in love with me.
When I handed it to him, he didn't say a word.
He just stared at that line for a long, long time.
Then he folded the paper, locked it in a drawer, and said, "Strip."
I obeyed.
Had been Waiting for him to say that word for a very long time.
I wanted him now, even if he wanted to only punish me, without fucking me today.
I just needed him inside me. I wanted him more than the last time we did it.
I wanted him deeper this time inside me. And I was ready to obey his command.
This time, there were no cuffs. No orders. No toys.
Just hands.
His hands.
And the kind of sex that felt like something had broken open inside both of us.
He walked slowly, each step counting, each step he took was walking closer to my pussy.
The way he looked at me now, like a predator who had his prey in his hands.
As he stopped in front of me.
"I want you now."
He gently placed his lips on me; the touch sent a shiver down my spine.
He kissed me like I was air.
Held me like I was breakable.
Whispered my name like it hurt him.
He was gently rubbing my nipples like I was his prize, his trophy.
And when we finished, he didn't pull away.
He just rested his forehead against mine and said, "Tell me you didn't mean that line."
I should've lied.
But I didn't.
"I meant every word."
His jaw tightened. His eyes darkened.
And for the first time since this whole twisted thing began-
He looked devastated.
I had just redressed when the knock came.
Wolfe tensed immediately. His mask snapped back into place like a reflex.
One knock. "Who the hell is that?" I wanted to scream; I wanted to slap anyone behind that door that spoiled this moment for me.
Then another. Louder.
"Get in the closet," he whispered.
I blinked. "Are you seri-"
"Now, Aria."
I darted into the narrow supply closet just as the door opened.
"Dean Wolfe," came a saccharine voice. "We need to talk."
Sloan Maddox.
I didn't have to see her to know it was her. The tone, the heels, the calculated pause as she stepped inside.
"What is it, Sloan?" Wolfe asked, voice neutral.
"Oh, nothing urgent. Just thought you'd want to know... word around campus is you've been very busy."
I couldn't see them, but I imagined her circling him like a vulture in heels.
"I'm not interested in rumors," he said.
"Funny," Sloan said. "Because they're not just rumors. Someone said they saw you escorting a girl out of this building. Late. Intimately."
Silence.
I held my breath.
"Careful, Sloan," Wolfe said finally. "Accusations like that come with consequences."
"Is that a threat?"
"No. It's a warning."
Her heels clicked once. Then again. Then silence.
"Well," she said. "Just thought I'd keep you informed."
The door closed behind her.
Only then did Wolfe open the closet.
His jaw was tight. His eyes unreadable.
"She knows," I whispered.
He nodded.
"She's dangerous."
He reached out, brushing a thumb across my lip.
"So are you."
And I didn't know whether to be terrified or proud of that.
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7.4
My mother was dying and desperately needed a half-million-dollar deposit for an experimental heart surgery by tomorrow.
I swallowed my pride and begged my wealthy husband, Garrick, to save her life.
Instead of helping, he laughed coldly and threw a thick stack of divorce papers right in my face.
"A hen that can't lay eggs gets slaughtered," he sneered, ruthlessly poking my flat stomach.
He revealed that his secretary, my supposed friend Lacey, was already pregnant with his heir.
To him, our three years of marriage was just a business transaction, and now that my family was bankrupt, I was nothing but damaged goods.
He flicked a humiliating five-thousand-dollar check at me as his final act of charity, then locked me out of our townhouse into the freezing, pouring rain.
I had spent years enduring agonizing hormone treatments for a fertility issue that wasn't even my fault, only to be discarded like trash when I needed him the most.
Was my dignity, my absolute devotion, and my mother's life really worth nothing to him?
Driven by pure, reckless desperation, I threw myself directly into the path of a moving Rolls-Royce Phantom on Fifth Avenue.
It belonged to Holden Tillman, the ruthless patriarch of the Tillman empire—and the uncle Garrick lived in absolute terror of.
I thought I was walking into my death, but instead, I became his fiancée, ready to make Garrick and Lacey pay for every tear I shed.
9.1
For ten years, Ran hid in the shadows as Hollywood star Jincheng Lu's secret girlfriend and assistant, starving herself to pay for his acting classes.
On their tenth anniversary, she sat in a cheap apartment with $9.87 in her bank account, watching him slide a massive diamond ring onto a wealthy heiress's finger on live television.
When she called the number she had memorized for a decade, she only heard a cold busy tone. He had blocked her.
Despair swallowed her whole. She forced down a handful of sleeping pills with stale whiskey and died alone on the cold bathroom tiles.
His mother found her rotting body three days later, calling her a "filthy bottom-feeder" before ordering a cleanup crew to dispose of her existence like industrial waste.
Jincheng didn't even ask if she suffered. He just ordered his PR team to digitally erase her ten years of sacrifice from the internet.
"Make sure the press release is airtight. She was an unstable former assistant. She had a history of mental illness. That's it."
Until her heart stopped completely, she didn't understand. She had abandoned her status as the hidden heiress of the wealthy Qin family to build his empire from the ground up.
How could he erase every trace of her without a second thought, using her corpse as a PR shield for his perfect new life?
Opening her eyes again, the sharp smell of hospital antiseptic burned her lungs.
She hadn't just died. She had woken up in the body of a notorious, D-list reality TV influencer who shared her exact name.
Looking at her new face in the mirror, a cold smile spread across her lips. She was going to tear his perfect life apart, piece by bloody piece.
7.5
I was tied to a concrete pillar in an abandoned warehouse, the heavy stench of gasoline suffocating me.
Ten steps away, a masked kidnapper slammed a loaded Glock onto a metal barrel and forced my husband, Alvie, to make a sick choice.
"The wife or the mistress. You only get to walk out of here with one."
Alvie didn't even blink.
He walked straight toward the dark corner where his mistress, Gail, was crying. He wrapped his arms tightly around her, shielding her, and guided her toward the exit.
He never looked back. He didn't cast a single glance over his shoulder. To him, I was already a corpse, just trash left on the pavement.
The kidnapper laughed and tossed a lighter onto the soaked concrete floor.
A wall of ghostly blue fire erupted instantly, swallowing me whole. The absolute agony of my skin blistering and melting shattered my sanity.
In my last moments, consumed by the inferno, I couldn't understand how the man I had loved and served so submissively could leave me to burn alive. My heartbreak quickly morphed into a hatred far deeper than the flames.
Then, I violently jerked awake.
I shot up from the bed, gasping for cold air, my hands frantically checking my perfectly smooth, unburned skin.
I looked at the desk clock. I had returned to exactly four years ago, the morning of the annual Gallagher family gathering.
The fragile, naive wife died in that warehouse. This time, I am going to destroy them both.
7.7
In my past life, the bullet chambered in the gun on the desk was less lethal than the indifference of the two men standing beside me.
Dante and Matteo were supposed to be the future kings of Chicago, and I was their queen.
But they threw it all away for Sofia—a liar with a pretty face and a fake sob story about a gambling father.
They forced me into a gilded cage, making me serve Sofia like a maid while they played her saviors.
They let me rot in isolation until I swallowed a bottle of pills just to escape the coldness of their neglect.
They didn't even mourn me; they were too busy comforting the girl who would eventually destroy them.
I died realizing that my loyalty was my fatal flaw.
I had worshipped men who saw me as nothing more than an accessory, while they sacrificed their empire for a woman who played them for fools.
But the universe has a sick sense of humor.
It sent me back.
Back to the day that sealed my fate.
The Consigliere pushed the assignment papers toward us—the path to becoming Bosses.
"We are not going," Dante said, looking at me with cold eyes. "Sofia needs us. She is fragile."
In my past life, I begged them to stay.
This time, I stepped forward and picked up the pen.
"I will go," I said, signing my name in sharp black ink.
"I don't need your protection anymore."
7.2
My grandfather sold me to a man named Maverick to settle his gambling debts. I stood on the private platform at Union Station, a human payment waiting to be collected.
But he never came. An hour later, his assistant called to say the deal was off. I was told to disappear by morning or face the consequences.
My family blamed me for their ruin and threw me out onto the street. Homeless and disowned, I had no choice but to take a low-level job at Prosperity Group, the biggest investment firm in Chicago. I needed to survive.
I never understood why he rejected me. I had followed every rule, worn the red dress he demanded, and waited like a lamb for slaughter. Why would he agree to save my family only to destroy us at the last second?
On my first day, I was called into the CEO's office. The man behind the desk was Damien Maddox, the city's most ruthless billionaire. He looked at me with a chilling familiarity. He was the man who had bought me. And he was the man who had thrown me away.
9.8
I stood at my mother's open grave in the freezing rain, my heels sinking into the mud. The space beside me was empty. My husband, Hilliard Holloway, had promised to cherish me in bad times, but apparently, burying my mother didn't fit into his busy schedule.
While the priest's voice droned on, a news alert lit up my phone. It was a livestream of the Metropolitan Charity Gala. There was Hilliard, looking impeccable in a custom tuxedo, with his ex-girlfriend Charla English draped over his arm. The headline read: "Holloway & English: A Power Couple Reunited?"
When he finally returned to our penthouse at 2 AM, he didn't come alone-he brought Charla with him. He claimed she'd had a "medical emergency" at the gala and couldn't be left alone. I found a Tiffany diamond necklace on our coffee table meant for her birthday, and a smudge of her signature red lipstick on his collar. When I confronted him, he simply told me to stop being "hysterical" and "acting like a child."
He had no idea I was seven months pregnant with his child. He thought so little of my grief that he didn't even bother to craft a convincing lie, laughing with his mistress in our home while I sat in the dark with a shattered heart and a secret life growing inside me.
"He doesn't deserve us," I whispered to the darkness. I didn't scream or beg. I simply left a folder on his desk containing signed divorce papers and a forged medical report for a terminated pregnancy. I disappeared into the night, letting him believe he had successfully killed his own legacy through his neglect.
Five years later, Hilliard walked into "The Vault," the city's most exclusive underground auction, looking for a broker to manage his estate. He didn't recognize me behind my Venetian mask, but he couldn't ignore the neon pink graffiti on his armored Maybach that read "DEADBEAT." He had no clue that the three brilliant triplets currently hacking his security system were the very children he thought had been erased years ago. This time, I wasn't just a wife in the way; I was the one holding all the cards.