Chapter 8
The Hunter
I find her sitting at one of the farthest tables in the campus library, nestled between towering shelves of forgotten literature. The dim lighting and hushed whispers create an atmosphere far more intimate than a classroom ever could. There’s something about this isolation that draws me in, heightening the tension between us.
It’s been a week since our dinner with Nicklas and Carolina, and since then, I’ve deliberately ignored Ruby as much as possible. In class, I’ve only given her attention when it seemed weird to ignore her, and I haven’t called on her if she didn’t raise her hand.
Through the week, one question has kept plaguing my mind; she didn’t orgasm. Why didn’t she? She was so close, that much I know. Her facial expression and body didn’t lie, it spoke of a woman right on the brink. So why didn’t she?
Ruby’s green eyes flicker to the page in front of her, then back to me as I approach. I sense her hesitation—a subtle pull and push in her movements. She’s fighting her instinct to flee, and I relish the fact that she stays rooted to the spot, though her fingers nervously toy with the corner of her book. I immediately recognize it as mine; the one I wrote and lent her.
“You don’t seem like the library type, Mrs. Simmons,” I say as I slide into the chair opposite her. My voice is low, intimate, the kind that belongs in dark corners rather than wide, open spaces.
She closes her book with an almost imperceptible sigh, her eyes finally meeting mine. “I come here when I need to think,” she replies, her tone guarded, carefully neutral.
“And what are you thinking about?” My question is pointed, a probe into the part of her she tries so hard to keep hidden.
“Class,” she says, but I know it’s a lie. There’s more beneath the surface, a churning that she’s attempting to disguise.
I lean forward slightly, lowering my voice as if we’re exchanging secrets. “Really? Because you don’t strike me as someone who only thinks about class.”
Her gaze flickers, and for a moment, I catch the faintest hint of a smile, gone just as quickly as it appeared. She’s a puzzle, one whose pieces don’t quite fit—at least, not yet.
“You intrigued me the other day,” I continue, my tone soft but loaded with meaning. “Your thoughts on freedom were not what I expected. I’d like to hear more.”
She shifts in her seat, clearly uneasy under my scrutiny, yet there’s a spark in her eyes that wasn’t there before. Something stirs inside her—defiance, maybe. Interest. “I don’t think you really want to hear what I have to say, Professor.”
“Oh, but I do.” I smile, leaning back. “I think there’s more to you than you’re letting on.”
Her lips part, and she swallows hard. “I’m just trying to keep up,” she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Trying, or doing?” I ask, watching as her knuckles whiten around the edge of her book. It’s subtle, but it’s there—the tension she’s trying so hard to hide. “You’re not like the other students, Ruby.”
She freezes for a moment at the sound of her name on my lips. I hadn’t meant to say it so familiarly, but now that I have, there’s no taking it back. It lingers in the air between us, charged with unspoken meaning.
“What do you mean by that?” she asks, her voice trembling, as though she’s not sure she wants to hear the answer.
Hmm, what do I say to that? Rather than blurting something out, I take m y time, running a hand through my hair before cupping the back of my neck as I consider my words carefully. “Your answers aren’t textbook predictable. There’s a complexity to you that I find… fascinating.”
Her eyes widen, and her breath catches in her throat. I can see her mind working, calculating whether my words are a compliment or something far more dangerous.
“I’m just one of your students,” she finally says, her voice small, but firm.
“Are you?” I challenge, my gaze never leaving hers. “You seem like someone who’s more than that. Someone who’s struggling to figure out where they fit into a world that’s trying to control them.”
The silence stretches between us, taut and heavy. I watch her carefully, waiting for her reaction, for the crack in her armor. And then, she surprises me.
“What if I am?” she whispers, leaning forward slightly, her green eyes darkening. “What if I don’t know where I fit?”
There it is; a flash of vulnerability, a glimpse of the real Ruby beneath the surface. My heart quickens, the predator in me sensing an opening, an invitation to explore deeper. But there’s something else too, something more primal, more visceral—a need.
“Then you’re not alone,” I rasp, my voice dropping lower, softer. “None of us really know where we fit, do we? Sometimes we even have to carve our own niche rather than use the ones society has created for us.”
She inhales sharply, her gaze faltering as if she can feel the weight of my words. The air between us shifts, crackling with something unspoken, something dangerous. My hand moves almost instinctively, reaching across the table, my fingers brushing against hers.
The moment our skin touches, she stiffens. Her reaction is immediate—a sharp intake of breath, her pulse quickening under my fingertips. But she doesn’t pull away. Instead, her eyes widen, darting to where our hands meet, and for a second, I see the battle waging inside her.
Her lips part, but no words come out. The tension between us is palpab le, thick enough to drown in. Slowly, I let my fingers slide across the back of her hand, feeling the subtle tremor in her muscles.
“You don’t have to be afraid of me,” I murmur, my voice barely a whisper. But even as I say the words, I know they’re a lie. She should be afraid. Hell, I’m dangerous to her in ways she can’t even begin to understand.
“I’m not afraid of you,” she says. Although her voice is steady, the undercurrent of doubt, the tremor in her tone, betrays her.
I raise an eyebrow, watching her closely, studying the way her chest rises and falls with shallow breaths, the way her pupils dilate as I hold her gaze. “No? Then what are you afraid of?”
Her fingers twitch beneath mine, and for a moment, she looks as though she might pull away, retreat back into the safety of her walls. But she doesn’t. Instead, she holds my gaze, her green eyes dark and stormy, filled with something raw, something untamed.
“Losing control,” she admits quietly, her voice barely audible.
Ah, control. That elusive thing we both pretend to have a handle on, when in truth, it’s slipping through our fingers every moment we spend together. I know that feeling well—the desperate need to hold on, to keep everything neatly in place, even as it all threatens to spiral out of control.
“You don’t have to be,” I whisper, my hand tightening slightly around hers. “Not with me.”
Her breath hitches, and for the briefest of moments, I see it—the temptation in her eyes. She wants to believe me, wants to let go, to surrender that control she clings to so fiercely. But then, just as quickly, she pulls her hand away, her walls slamming back into place.
“What do you want from me, Va-Professor?” she asks. Her tone is no longer soft, it’s sharp.
She licks her lips, drawing my gaze to the way the tip traces the contours of her lips. “For now, just a conversation,” I reply as I lean back in the chair crossing one leg over the other.
She purses her lips. “And do you want to touch me while we talk? Like at the restaurant?”
I’m tempted to say yes to see how far she’ll go, but something holds me bac k. “That won’t be necessary, Mrs. Simmons.”
“In that case, I should go,” she says, sounding detached, like my answer didn’t matter to her one way or the other. Standing, she clutches her book to her chest like a shield, her body tense, as if she’s trying to regain her composure.
I rise slowly, not wanting her to leave, but knowing I shouldn’t push too hard. Not yet. She’s still too fragile, too raw. But soon… very soon.
“Ruby,” I say softly, her name falling from my lips like a promise.
She freezes, her back to me, her posture stiff, but she doesn’t turn around.
“I look forward to seeing how you figure it out. Where you fit in, I mean.”
There’s a long pause, and then she nods, her head barely moving. “Thanks, Professor.” Her voice is quiet, barely more than a whisper. Then she walks away, her steps quick and purposeful, disappearing into the shadows of the library.
I stand there, watching her go, my heart pounding in my chest, the echo of her touch lingering on my skin. It’s not just curiosity anymore. It’s not just the thrill of the hunt. There’s something else, something deeper, that stirs within me every time I’m near her.
And that realization terrifies me.
I can’t afford to be distracted, not now. Not when she’s nothing more than a job. But with every encounter, she pulls me further into her orbit, dragging me down into a place filled with unknowns. Which is something I don’t do.
Letting out a slow breath, I force myself to calm the storm brewing inside me. There’s still time. Still distance between us. But not for long. Soon, the line between predator and prey will blur, and when it does, neither of us will come out unscathed.
I turn, leaving the library behind, the weight of our interaction pressing heavy on my chest. Ruby Simmons is more dangerous than she realizes. Not because she’s fragile or breakable—but because she has the power to unravel everything.
And the most terrifying part?
I might just let her.