Scandalous Read Free Page B

man
dyed his hair
for God’s sake. He wore Ozwald Boateng bespoke suits—in Cambridge!—and was even rumored to undergo regular facials, whatever those were. Female students flocked to his lectures to catch a glimpse of that rarest of all known mammals—a sexy scientist—when just down the hall, infinitely more brilliant and innovative minds were being ignored. A combination of envy and intellectual snobbery had made the golden boy of Cambridge physics deeply unpopular among his peers. Being offered the St. Michael’s fellowship was the final nail in Theo’s coffin.
    Not that he cared. At least, that’s what he told himself.
I’ve got the cushiest job in Cambridge, rooms that any other junior fellow would kill for, and a revolving door of willing, educated pussy at my beck and call. Not to mention a lovely wife and a pretty house off the Maddingley Road. What more could a man ask for?
And yet despite his smugness, lack of scruples, and almost limitless physical vanity, deep down Theo Dexter
did
want to be taken seriously by his fellow scientists.
One day
, he vowed.
One day I’ll show them all.
    Feeling himself building to a climax, he reached down and grabbed Clara’s hair, forcing himself deeper into that heavenly mouth. Instinctively she pulled back, but as he started to comeTheo held her head firmly in place.
If you want top marks for your crappy dissertation, angel, you’re going to have to swallow.
Afterward he watched her get dressed, physically lifting each of her enormous breasts into her bra.
Beautiful.
He’d been worried he might not be “up to it” for today’s preterm tryst with his student. Theresa, his wife, had pounced on him earlier that morning, waving a positive ovulation stick like she was trying to bring a plane in to land. It was sad, really. The doctor had told them that their chances of conception were low to nil, but Theresa couldn’t let it go. For his part, Theo had never understood the big deal about kids. Sleepless nights, dirty nappies, the mind-numbing boredom of the playground. Who in their right mind would sign up for that? Then again, he was by no means sure Theresa
was
in her right mind. She always seemed to be away with the fairies these days, so lost in her Shakespeare that she barely registered his presence—or lack of it. But Theo Dexter was not a man to look a gift horse in the mouth. Tomorrow was the first day of Michaelmas term. That meant a new year, and a new crop of nubile, naive young freshers, all of them in search of a mentor. If there was one thing Professor Theodore Dexter prided himself on, it was his ability to mentor. Just look how far dear Clara had come.

    Fifteen minutes later, Theo was on his way to Formal Hall for lunch. Two shags in six hours had left him ravenously hungry, and the smells of garlic and onion wafting up the stairs from the college kitchens were like a siren call to his stomach. Only about half the St. Michael’s fellows ate in Hall on a regular basis, but Theo Dexter went every day. Partly out of cheapness (meals in college were free), but partly because he had yet to find anywhere he preferred to dine over the dark Tudor splendor of St. Michael’s. Everything about it, from the rituals of the Latin graceand standing to welcome the master to high table, to the strict rules about the passing of wine and water, gave Theo a deep and abiding thrill. To eat in college was to become part of history. It was to claim one’s place among the chosen ones, the privileged few whose intellect set them above the rest of humanity. Theo Dexter had grown up in a nondescript semi in Crawley. But he had made it to the table of the gods, and he relished every second.
    “Morning, Dexter. Off to enjoy the condemned man’s final meal? Depressing, isn’t it?”
    Professor Jonathan Cavendish, head of history at St. Michael’s, was in his late fifties. A handsome man in his youth, one of the university’s most successful rowing blues, he had long since