Deviant Obsession

Chapter 31

Professor Shaw

The lecture hall empties with the usual cacophony of shuffling papers and murmured conversations, but my attention remains fixed on the lone figure still gathering her belongings. Rhea's movements are slow, as if each textbook requires careful consideration before being tucked away. It strikes me that she may be hoping for a moment alone with me just as much as I’ve been planning to seek one with her.

I approach her once the last student filters out, grateful for the absence of the usually ever-present Nat by her side. When she finally looks up, those beautiful eyes are wide with poorly concealed anxiety.

"Got a minute, Rhea? We need to, uh…we should talk about what happened."

The reminder of our last unfortunate encounter still makes her flinch slightly. "Professor, I..." She glances nervously around the empty lecture hall, no doubt picturing phantom ears lurking in every corner. A light sheen of sweat glistens on her forehead despite the air conditioning humming steadily overhead.

"Not here," I quickly reassure her. "My office would be more appropriate for this discussion, don't you think?"

Her teeth catch that bottom lip—a nervous tell I've grown far too fond of observing. After what feels like an eternity, she gives a tiny nod. “Sounds like a better idea.”

I allow my fingers to brush her back as I guide her toward the door, the slight contact meant to ground rather than to pressure. She doesn't pull away, which I count as a small victory. The moment we reach the corridor, I let my hand fall, though I crave the feel of her skin more than ever.

The walk to my office has never felt longer, each step leading us either towards a resolution or a definitive line in the sand. Not knowing which way it will go is no small torture. But I can be patient when the situation demands it. And this particular situation requires the utmost care if I hope to salvage anything from the wreckage of the past week.

I dig my rarely-used keys from my pocket to lock my door behind us, sealing us off from prying eyes. Rhea hovers uncertainly by the visitor chairs, her fingers twisting in the strap of her bag while she shifts from foot to foot. I can’t help noticing the vulnerability in her fidgeting as she waits for direction.

“Come here, sweet girl.” I round the desk and settle into my chair, opening my arms in invitation. “If you’d be comfortable, I’d like to hold you while we talk." The suggestion carries just enough guidance to make clear to her what I want but leaves room for her to decline if she needs to maintain distance.

To my relief, she doesn't hesitate. The bag slides from her shoulder to land with a soft thump as she almost leaps at me. When she curls into my lap, she feels impossibly fragile in a way that awakens every protective instinct I possess.

My fingers find their way into her hair of their own accord, stroking through the soft strands while she nuzzles against my chest. The gentle repetition seems to soothe her, each pass of my hand drawing some of the tension from her shoulders. I don’t speak immediately, giving her time to settle into the comfort I’m offering.

"Thank you," I murmur against her temple. "For coming when I asked. I imagine these past couple weeks have been hard for you."

Rhea lets out a small hum, her fingers curling into my shirt as if seeking an anchor in rough seas. She doesn’t offer any more of a response as minutes tick by, but I make no move to shift her position or rush her through this release. Sometimes silence speaks louder than words, and right now Rhea needs the safety to just exist without having to answer for herself.

When her breathing finally slows to a calmer cadence, I press a gentle kiss to her crown. "Tell me what's troubling you most." The gentle command draws a shaky exhale from her lips, warm against my neck where she's tucked herself away.

"I don't know how to handle any of this," she finally whispers. "Everything felt so intense, so perfect with the twins. But I kept falling behind in classes, missing deadlines. I barely slept some weeks because they both wanted so much of my time."

My fingers continue their gentle combing of her hair while I process her admission. "And then I complicated things further."

She nods against my chest. "I wanted you too. Still want you. But... the way Dean looked at me when he realized..." A fresh tremor runs through her frame. "I've ruined everything."

"You haven't ruined anything," I assure her, tilting her chin up until those glistening eyes meet mine. "What you needed is structure. Proper boundaries. A dynamic that supports rather than overwhelms. And you weren’t getting it."

Confusion flickers across her features, chasing away some of the despair. "What do you mean?"

"Have you heard of high protocol? It’s something I think might interest you." When she shakes her head, I continue. "It's a more formal power exchange. Every aspect carefully negotiated, every limit respected. It’s based in rules and routines—no surprises, no pushing boundaries without discussion first."

Her lips part slightly as I describe what I believe she’s truly been craving.

"That sounds..."

"Safe?" I offer. "Controlled?"

"Yes… But also, incredibly intense."

"It can be. But the structure ensures nobody gets lost in that intensity." My thumb traces her jawline, taking advantage of having her this close just in case it never happens again. "Your studies would be protected. Your rest prioritized. Every need attended to within a carefully maintained dynamic."

Hope blooms in those emerald depths, but uncertainty still lurks beneath. "I don't know if I'm capable of something so... formal ."

"You're more than capable, if it’s what you want. You're a natural submissive, Rhea. You just need the right dominants to help you explore that safely."

She stills in my arms, processing the plural I've deliberately dropped into the conversation. "Dominants?"

"What if you didn't have to choose? What if there was a way to have everything you need, everything you crave, without sacrificing your wellbeing in the process?"

She gulps audibly as she absorbs the implication. "You mean...all three of you?"

The raw yearning in her voice tells me everything I need to know about her receptiveness to the idea. Now I just need to help her believe it's possible.

"Picture it," I continue, watching her expression carefully. "Protected time for your studies. Proper rest between scenes. No more trying to stretch yourself thin between competing demands." My fingers trace idle patterns on her back as I paint the scenario. "Each of us would have designated time with you, carefully scheduled to ensure your needs come first."

"But Dean and Ethan..." She shifts anxiously. "They can barely handle sharing me with each other. And after what happened with you..."

"They've agreed to consider it." The surprise in her eyes draws a small smile from me. "We had a long discussion after you ran. They understand that their approach wasn't sustainable."

Her brow furrows adorably. "They'd really accept you being involved?"

"Grudgingly, perhaps. But they care about you enough to recognize when they need guidance. I have much more experience than they do, they know I can help create something that works for everyone."

"And you'd...what? Supervise everything?"

"Initially, yes. Help establish protocols, figure out just how much rigidity you need…or enjoy." My hand cups her cheek, thumb tugging her lower lip free from her teeth. "Guide all of us toward something that can last, make us all happy."

"It sounds almost too perfect," she whispers. "Like a fantasy."

"It would take work. Commitment. Complete honesty from everyone involved. But the rewards could be extraordinary."

Her eyes drop nervously to where her fingers play with my shirt buttons. "But… What if they agree now but change their minds later? What if the jealousy becomes too much?"

"Then we adjust. Renegotiate. Nothing would be set in stone." I tilt her chin back up, needing her to see the sincerity in my gaze. "The important thing is that you'd never have to handle that alone. You'd have my protection, my guidance, every step of the way."

She draws a shaky breath, and I can practically see the possibilities unfolding behind those expressive eyes. "I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything yet. Take time to think about it. But know that this could be real, if you want it."

She settles her weight more fully against me again, trust evident in the way she allows herself to relax at last.

"You really think we could make it work?" The question comes soft, hopeful.

"I do." I press a gentle kiss to her forehead. "You're precious to all of us, Rhea. More than you realize."

A pretty blush colors her cheeks at the praise. She ducks her head, but I catch the smile playing at her lips—the first genuine one I've seen since this conversation began.

"Take some time to think everything through. There's no rush to decide."

“Thank you. I will.” She nuzzles into my neck again and I hold her tight, my own body relaxing now that we seem to be heading in the right direction.

Her legs seem shaky when she eventually gets up and retrieves her bag, as if the emotional weight of our discussion has drained her physical energy. But there's a lightness to her movements now, the desperate anxiety from earlier replaced by cautious optimism.

"Thank you," she says again, pausing at my door. "For understanding. For never judging me."

"There's nothing to judge." I step closer, unable to resist drawing her in for one last embrace. "You're exactly who you're meant to be."

When I brush my lips against hers, the kiss remains brief—a promise rather than a demand. She melts into it for a moment before pulling back, her eyes slightly dazed but clearer than they've been in weeks.

"I'll think about everything you said," she promises, reaching for the door handle.

"Take all the time you need." I watch her gather herself, straightening her shoulders as if preparing to face the world again. "We'll be here when you're ready."

She offers one final smile—small but genuine—before slipping out into the hallway. Through my office window, I track her progress across the quad, noting how her steps seem lighter than when she arrived.

She’ll come back to us.