by Layla Frost
It took me a few attempts to find the dishes and utensils. The glasses were conveniently in the cupboard next to the fridge. There were mugs—both traditional and travel. Short, etched glasses that looked expensive. Taller ones that looked similar to the curved beer cups we used at Sinners, though I was betting his were glass and not plastic. Wine glasses with decorative stems. And deep, dark blue drinking glasses so close to his exact eye color, they had to have been chosen specifically.
One single man doesn’t need this many cups.
He was totally married before.
Still?
With a million questions forming, I distractedly set his large table. I thought I heard multiple voices as I got us ice water, but I dismissed the thought until he came in carrying food.
All the food.
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Look, I know my stomach was growling, but I’m not that hungry.”
“You said you didn’t do delivery.” He set the bags, containers, and boxes toward one end. “We’re doing delivery.” Grabbing the place settings, he rearranged them so we were sitting on the same side rather than opposite ends. “Want a glass of wine or beer? Scotch? I think Steph left behind the stuff for Mules, minus the ginger beer.”
“So just lime juice and vodka?”
“Okay, minus the ginger beer and lime juice.”
“So just straight vodka?” I shook my head. “I’m good.”
As tempting as wine sounded, Damien did enough to impair my judgment. If I added alcohol to the mix, I was likely to do something stupid.
Damien worked at opening Thai, Mexican, and random appetizers. We plated our food in silence, none of it going together yet all of it smelling delicious. Once we were sitting, he grabbed my leg closest to him and shifted it so it was draped over his thigh. His hand rested on my knee, his thumb stroking.
I tried to pull my leg away, but it was more to see what would happen than a genuine desire to move it.
No surprise, he held it in place. “The only reason it’s not your ass on my lap is because you need to eat, and if I had your pretty pink pussy on my dick, I’d fuck you until we both forgot food existed. After today, though, when we eat, your ass is on my lap.” He paused with his fork almost to his mouth and amended, “When we do almost anything, your ass will be on my lap, but that includes eating.”
Shaking my head, I ignored the wetness that pooled between my thighs as I dove deeper into the denial I was drowning in. “I’m not sitting on your lap while we eat because I’m not eating with you again. This was—”
“Is the beginning. You know it, and I’ve known it for months, Eden. I’m done fighting it. I’m done trying to be the good guy.”
“That was you trying to be a good guy?”
Thwap.
His hand landed between my thighs in a soft blow. “Attitude.” He pointed to my plate with his fork. “Eat.”
I dug in, too hungry to argue for the sake of arguing.
It took a few minutes for me to stop bracing, anticipating whatever ridiculous caveman declaration he’d make next. When I finally relaxed, the conversation flowed comfortably. Easily. We had a lot in common, but the things we disagreed on were fun to debate.
The longer we talked, the harder it was to pretend that what we shared was just physical. Yes, Damien was sexy. But he was also charming. Brilliant. Witty and funny. He was as passionate and sensitive as people thought, but with the extra-sharp edge of danger that only I seemed to see.
Beyond how badly I wanted him, I liked him. A lot.
Too much.
If sex was messy, feelings and relationships were disasters—and that was without adding in all the additional stressors, like our school dynamic, his penchant for bossing me around, and my penchant for not listening.
Plus, I hadn’t decided whether I was moving. It would be easier in so many ways if I did, but I couldn’t seem to bring myself to pack. I didn’t want to continue something with Damien if I was going to be in the wind again.
I needed to make things clear that we weren’t happening.
That’s what I needed to do.
What I actually did was open my mouth and blurt, “Are you married?”
He set his fork down and turned to me with an incredulous expression of what-the-fuckery. “Am I married?”
“It’s—”
Standing suddenly, Damien grabbed my hand and pulled me up, too. “I know your opinion of me is low, but is it so low that you’d think I’m cheating on a wife,” he gestured around us, “in our home? That I’d spend the last however many months obsessed with you, driving to a strip club in the middle of nowhere to see you, jacking off daily thinking of you, all while I went to bed at night with another woman?”
I shook my head, flustered and embarrassed. “Not, like, married married. Separated or whatever.”
“I’m not, nor have I ever been, married.” He ran his palm down his face. “What other bullshit have you filled your head with?”
“Excuse me?” I put my hands on my hips. “And by that, I mean, I heard exactly what you said, and I’m giving you the chance to rethink your question.”
“I spent the day going out of my damn mind waiting until I could see you again. Feel you. Taste you. You clearly spent your day building your walls back up. So, I’ll ask again, what other bullshit have you come up with?”
My heart slammed in my chest, panic making my legs tingle with my need for flight. Turning, I headed for the living room and my stuff. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
His chuckle was practically in my ear, but he didn’t touch me to stop my escape. “I know a damn lot more than you.”
I whipped around. “Why? Because you’re Professor Caine, the almighty? Professor Caine, getting off on his power while he bangs his way through his students?”
His voice was even and scarily low. “I’ve never, Eden, in all my goddamn years as a teacher, been tempted by a student. Not. Fucking. Once. Not until you.”
“Then why do you like when I call you Professor Caine?”
“Because it’s you doing it. With your sweet voice, and that…” He shook his head. “I tell everyone on the first day of class to call me Caine. Did you listen? No. You never fucking listen.”
“Because I’m not a dog! I don’t have to listen to you. I don’t want to listen to you.”
He chuckled, but it was harsh. “Who’re you trying to convince?”
“You?” I’d meant for the word to be spoken confidently, but even I heard the lilt of the question at the end.
Hell.
There was a triumphant raise of his brows, a small smirk playing at his lips. “You love it as much as I do. The only difference is I’m not a coward, hiding from what I want—who I am—because of some preconceived notion of normality.”
“I—”
“Don’t bother lying.” Reaching out, he ran his thumb across my bottom lip, and before I knew what I was doing, my tongue moved out to taste his skin. An inferno blazed in his gaze as he stared at my lips. “Almost every word from your fuckable mouth is a lie. A half-truth. You can lie as easy as you breathe, but your body can’t. If I bent you over the back of the couch and made your ass red with my hand or belt or a crop, your pretty pink pussy would be so soaked, your sweet juices would drip down your thighs.”
Clenching my jaw so tight, I worried my teeth would crack, I crossed my arms and narrowed my eyes. My blood boiled.
Because he was right.
I wanted all that. I wanted to give in to him, begging for all he had and more. I’d ripped the cover off my mind’s mirror and had faced the truth. I’d unleashed the darkness that lurked inside me, the secrets that should’ve stayed locked in the farthest corner of my psyche.
I’d acknowledged the lies, and I was so tired of carrying on the deceit.
But memories, self-preservation, and my own damned stubbornness refused to relent. I was a coward.
So I lashed out.
“I swear to God, if
you come at me with a crop, it’s not me who’ll be red and bloody. I have no clue what made you the way you are, but stop projecting your… your… fuck-upped-ness onto me.”
His brows lowered, his head tilting to the side. “What made me how I am?”
“You know.” I gestured up and down. “Whatever happened that made you think a crop was an appropriate foreplay device.”
That time when he laughed, it wasn’t harsh. It was toxic, seeping into my soul and poisoning me with regret. “You want to know my tragic backstory, is that it? The traumatic event that shaped me, molded me into a controlling bastard? And then what, Eden? Will you cure me with your tender care and sweet pussy?” Damien moved closer, one of his arms wrapping around me so his hand gripped my ass cheek. His other cupped the back of my head. “Do you want to be the angel who saves the sinner?” he asked, his voice rough as he stared at my parted lips.
“I just want to understand,” I whispered.
“Then I’ll tell you.” Storming midnight skies met my gaze, so intense I’d have turned away if I could. “I wasn’t neglected as a child. I wasn’t abused. My parents are retired now, but mom was a loving kindergarten teacher and my dad an architect who coached all my little league teams. My older sister can be annoying as hell because that’s how siblings are, but she’s a successful lawyer. My upbringing was loving, if not a little boring, in middle class suburbia. I was captain of my varsity baseball team, did decent enough at basketball, and was on the student council, but only as VP because I didn’t care much about whether the vending machine had name brand chips and whatever other BS decisions we were thrown. Nothing tragic or traumatizing happened.”
There was a lot he’d shared and a lot to be surprised about. Subconsciously, I’d just assumed there was some horrible occurrence that’d made him enjoy the things he did.
His fist in my hair tightened until I yelped. “I like pushing to that razor thin edge between pleasure and pain, and then pushing a little further. I’m selfish and like manipulating to get exactly what I want. I like—no, I fucking love having you in the palm of my hand and knowing I can do what I want with you. How long did you play today, Eden? How long did you rub that tight little pussy, flick that hard clit? Was I all you thought about? Was it me touching you, my voice in your head taunting you with what you couldn’t have? I control your orgasm. Your body. You. You’re my toy. My...”
“Marionette,” I supplied.
His eyes flared, blazing with more desire and need than I’d ever seen. I wasn’t sure what he’d read in the one word or my expression, but even I could tell it was something profound. Before I could ask or backtrack, he released his hold on my hair and took a small step away. He grabbed one of my hands—both, I belatedly realized, had been clutching at his shirt on his chest—and brought it down, pressing my palm against the heavy weight of his cock. It jerked at my touch, harder and thicker than I’d ever felt it.
And in that instant, everything changed. No amount of fight or bargaining or denial could ever bring us back to where we were.
Our back and forth.
My attitude and insults.
His stalkerific tendencies and my headstrong stubbornness.
Me.
He liked it all. Wanted it all.
Got off on it all.
For all his demands, it wasn’t my immediate, mindless obedience he wanted. He wanted me to stand tall against him.
And then he wanted me to give in.
As if reading my thoughts, Damien roughly rumbled, “I get off on the thought of breaking you. Tell me you don’t want it. That you don’t get wet and your pretty nipples don’t get hard.”
“And you’ll leave me alone?” The hurt at that thought hit me right in the chest, stealing my breath.
“Never. I’ll never walk away from you. But I’ll change.”
I gasped. “You’ll what?”
“I’m not saying I won’t fuck up, because I know I will. But I’ll try.”
My breath came hard and fast as I stood on the metaphorical precipice, but not between flight and fight.
It was flight or surrender.
I could leave. Turn and walk away from it all, leaving Massachusetts and Damien in my rearview mirror.
But if Damien was willing to change, I could stay and try. Strap on a safety harness and gingerly climb into the unknown.
Or I could jump. I could stop being a coward, stop worrying about school and my past and the wrongness.
I could give in to the dysfunction. To him.
Give in to us.
Inhaling deeply, I held my breath. And then I dove headfirst into the darkness. “I want this,” I said on an exhale, breathy yet firm. “I want you, Professor Caine.”
The small distance between us was closed in a blink, my hand trapped between us as Damien took my mouth. I tried to close my fingers around the bulge in his jeans.
“Don’t,” Damien bit out between kisses, removing my hand from him. His lips and teeth dragged down my jaw to my neck. “You touch me right now, this will be over way too fast.”
That heady sense of power made me feel like I was high. It was a rush like nothing I’d experienced before, and I wondered if it was similar to how Damien felt.
Cupping the back of my head in one hand and my ass in the other, he lifted me, hoisting me up his torso so he could kiss me as he walked. I wrapped my legs around him, holding tight not because I worried he’d drop me, but because his hard abs rubbing between my legs was heaven.
He must’ve taken the stairs two at a time, because before I knew it, the light was on and he was lowering me to my feet.
Nervousness and vulnerability made me want to hide, but I pried my lids open as he pulled away, his fingertips dragging as though he couldn’t bring himself to stop touching me before absolutely necessary. Something played on his expression that I couldn’t read.
Maybe doubt or a flash of indecision.
Whatever decision he’d been trying to reach, I could see the exact moment it happened. His body language changed, the warmth that’d infused his expression shifting instantly to searing heat. He was intimidating, barely restrained power and a commanding presence that made my instincts scream of danger ahead.
But I didn’t run from it.
I dug my heels in to keep from running toward it.
“Clothes off,” he rumbled. As I undressed, Damien walked slowly around me. His gaze was like a physical sensation. Occasionally, his fingertips would brush my exposed skin in innocent places, avoiding any of the areas where I wanted his touch most.
When I reached my bra and panties, I hesitated. His hand came down on my ass, making me jump, the radiating pain shooting to my pulsing clit. I rushed to remove the scraps of fabric, desperate for him to ease the ache.
He stopped his slow appraisal and stood still. “Now me.”
I gripped the bottom of his shirt, remembering to touch him as little as possible as he bent to help me pull it off. My hands shook as I undid his belt, the hair on his lower stomach rough against my knuckles. I unbuttoned his pants before carefully sliding the zipper down, his erection jerking forward, pressing against the cotton. His pants fell and he stepped out of them, his socks being pulled off in the process. I hooked my thumbs in the sides of his boxer briefs, sliding them down his muscular thighs before he kicked them off, too.
“Bed, Eden. On your back, legs spread.”
I did as he said… mostly. My legs were more parted than spread, self-consciousness tugging at my brain.
Damien kneeled on the bed next to me, his hand going straight for my pussy. His thick fingers teased my entrance. The heel of his palm grazed my clit. It was everything I wanted, but nowhere near enough of it.
And then it was gone.
My hips lifted automatically, seeking him out.
“If you want this,” he said, his palm landing heavily on my pelvis, his index finger and thumb rubbing my clit, “you need to listen.” His hold on my clit tightened, shooting beyond
pain to something… more. “Spread.”
I forced my legs open, dropping my knees to the side.
“That’s my girl,” Damien praised, his touch easing. “Flip over. Ass up with your legs actually spread, chest and cheek to the bed, arms stretched in front of you. Understood?”
That time when I moved, I did exactly what he said with no hesitation.
Thwap.
The first slap of his palm hit my right ass cheek, making me brace, ready to flee.
Thwap.
The next landed on my left one, my legs shifting to close as I scooched forward.
Thwap.
Right between my legs, forcing them open as a rush of pain and heat and wetness surged to my core.
“Exquisite,” he whispered almost reverently. His hand stroked down my spine, his touch a tease—a threat. “The first day of class, you wore a pair of shorts and a fitted t-shirt. You were oblivious to the way people’s eyes followed you, mine included. I watched your long legs flex as you moved, thinking they were, by far, your most attractive feature.”
Despite my exposed position, his words lowered my inhibitions. My heart thumbed a different tempo and a giddy happiness fluttered in my belly. I hadn’t fully believed him when he’d told me he’d wanted me from the start, but those details he remembered, things that were hazy in my own mind, proved it.
His palm moved over my ass, rubbing the curve of it. “Then I watched the shithead behind you push his pen off his desk so you’d bed over and grab it. You did, giving him a glimpse down your shirt, but also giving me the perfect view of your rounded ass. After that, I was certain your ass was, by far, your most attractive feature. That surety only lasted until you smiled. And then I was sure that was your most attractive feature. I remember, much like now, I was harder than I’d ever been, and I had to talk from behind the podium the entire class.”
At that image, it wasn’t my heart that swelled. My whole body shuddered, clenching at nothingness.
So empty.
Damien moved to kneel behind me. He palmed my cheeks, his fingers digging in as he gripped and spread them. “But I was wrong again. Because everything about you is perfection.”
I had the vague, fleeting thought that I should be embarrassed.
