Chapter 17
The Prey
T he potent mix of salt, musk, and Valentine sends a shiver down my spine. His cock, thick and heavy, fills my mouth as I kneel for him, powerless to resist his commands. I know I probably should feel humiliated, debased. That’s not what I feel, though.
I feel a strange sense of fulfillment, and a need to please him that I don’t fully understand. What’s more, I don’t want to. I don’t want to be in my head when I’m with him; I just want to feel and let go.
Although the desk hinders me from watching him, I feel his dark brown eyes through the wood. I just know he’s watching me as I struggle to breathe through my nose. The sensation of being so close to him, so vulnerable, is exhilarating.
His cock twitches in my mouth, and I momentarily lose focus. In a burst of defiance, I trace the swollen tip with my tongue. A low growl emanates from his chest as his hand shoots down, winding into my hair. He wrenches my head back, forcing me to still.
“I didn’t tell you to suck it, Ruby,” he snarls, the sound of his voice sending shivers down my spine. “Just keep it there, like a good little pet.”
Despite the sting, I smile—a real smile. He called me by my first name. I wonder if he realizes his mistake. I know he calls me Mrs. Simmons as a way to keep his distance, so this feels like a win.
He releases my hair, and I whimper softly, my body aching for more. My clit is throbbing and my nipples turn to hard peaks at the roughness. Pain and fear are my aphrodisiacs, they send my body aflame. It’s why I could come at the charity event while he restricted my airway.
I rest my head on his powerful thigh, still clutching his cock in my mouth, and watch as he works. He’s a man of contradictions; a brilliant scholar with a ruthless streak, a lover of beauty with a taste for the macabre. Despite everything I know about him, there’s no denying the pull he has on me, the way my heart races whenever he’s near.
Valentine returns his attention to the papers on his desk, grading them with meticulous precision. I remain on my knees, waiting, my breath hitching every time his muscles flex beneath me. It’s an oddly comforting sensation, the warmth of his skin against my cheek, the sound of his pen scratching against the paper.
My body grows stiff from the prolonged position. I remain where I am, a willing captive to his whims, bound by a force stronger than reason or logic. And as I kneel there, my body aching from the strain, I feel a twisted sense of satisfaction coursing through my veins like liquid fire.
I’ve known men like Valentine my entire life. Power drives them—it’s their only motivation. But for me, it’s different. Through his words and actions, Valentine is reshaping me, molding me into a different version of myself. And the truth is, I’m okay with it—more than okay.
The way he challenges my mind is delicious. The way he looks at me is addictive. But mostly… I crave how he sees me. It’s that simple.
As the minutes tick by, my body grows stiffer, my muscles protesting the prolonged position. I know that Valentine is testing me, pushing me to see how far I’m willing to go. And I’m determined to prove myself to him, to show him that I’m worthy of his attention.
Shifting a little, I can see the tattoo on his wrist, the black serpent coiled around… no. That can’t be right. I blink rapidly to make sure I’m not seeing things, but I’m not.
I know what that tattoo means, and… but surely… shit!
Sweat beads on my forehead as realization dawns on me. My mind slowly piecing together who my professor really is.
Yet, despite knowing the truth—feeling the rightness in my marrow—I can’t make myself believe it. I stubbornly push the intrusive thoughts aside, refusing to deal with it right now.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Valentine sets down his pen and looks down at me. “You may stand up now,” he says, his voice cold and detached.
I crawl out from under the desk, and rise to my feet, my legs shaking slightly as the blood rushes back into them. Valentine’s eyes are on me, burning a hole through my clothes as I straighten it and smooth my hair.
Our gazes meet, green and dark colliding in silence. I gnaw on my bottom lip, wondering if I should mention the tattoo. It feels wrong to know about it without acknowledging it.
“You deserve a reward, Pet,” he rasps, snapping me out of my thoughts.
“Th…” Instead of thanking him as I was just about to, I cut myself off. “Yes I do,” I agree.
He gives me an approving smile. “Undress for me,” he commands.
I don’t waste any time in removing my clothes, not even bothering to do it in a sexy way. I just tug, yank, and shimmy until it’s all a pile on the floor.
“Grab my belt and straddle my leg.” He pats his bare thigh.
Again, I obey, getting the belt before I sit down on his muscular leg. “Like this?” I ask, arching my back.
“Yes, exactly like that,” he rasps. Taking the belt from my hand, he guides my arms behind me and wraps the leather around my wrists. “Make yourself come, Pet.”
I pout slightly. “You’re not going to touch me?” This is so not the reward I thought I was in for.
“No.” That one word rings through the room. “If you want to come, you’ll have to make it happen.”
He fists his hard cock, lazily stroking it while I make up my mind. Ah, hell, there’s no point in pretending there’s a choice. I want this, even if I know I can’t do it by myself without adding pain. At least it’ll still feel good.
I can’t look away from his hand, watching him pleasure himself while I begin to rub against him. I undulate my hips, moaning as I build up the perfect pace that hits my clit just right.
“Valentine,” I moan. Then I remember what he said about only calling him that outside of the university. “It feels so good, Professor.”
My breasts bounce as I increase the pace, riding his leg harder, faster. My breathing grows ragged, punctuated by moans of growing desire. His brown eyes lock onto mine, and I see a flicker of something primal there. His hand tightens around his cock, the strokes becoming more deliberate, synchronized with my movements.
“You like that, don’t you?” he grunts, voice thick with desire. “You like rubbing yourself on your professor.”
“Yes,” I whimper in response, feeling the wetness between my legs grow more intense as I grind against him.
He slides his free hand up my thigh, inching closer to where I need him the most. His fingers brush against my slit, teasing me and making me gasp.
I tug against the restraint of my bound wrists, aching to touch him, to pull him to me, but the belt holds firm. A frustrated cry spills from my lips as his fingers continue their teasing exploration, hot breath fanning my neck.
“Please, Professor,” I whimper, the title a blend of respect and raw need.
He chuckles darkly, enjoying the sight of my desperation. “Keep going,” he orders, his voice like velvet and steel. “Show me how badly you want it.”
His fingers part my folds and delve inside me with a sudden thrust that makes me cry out in ecstasy. I arch my back, pushing my hips toward his touch. But just as quickly as he was there, he pulls his fingers away, smirking at the frustrated whimper that escapes my lips.
“No, Pet,” he murmurs. “I told you, you have to make yourself come.”
I can’t help but shiver at the touch, a surge of desire pulsing through my body. “Please,” I whisper, feeling the heat between us grow more electric.
“ You know the rules.”
I bite back a groan of frustration, my hips moving with more urgency against his leg. Every movement sends jolts of pleasure through me, but it’s not enough. I want—no, need—more.
His eyes follow every motion, a dark hunger reflected in them. He’s close, I can tell by the way his breathing changes, growing heavier, more labored. A guttural groan is ripped from deep in his chest. Just as I think he’s about to come, he stops. I open my mouth to speak, but before I can form words, his hands shoot out, and he grabs my throat in a bruising grip.
“Faster. Ride my leg faster, Pet.”
My eyes widen, but I do as he says. I gyrate my hips faster, rubbing my wet pussy against him over and over. With the bruising grip it doesn’t take long before my orgasm washes over me.
My body shudders violently, my cries muffled by his unyielding hand. Waves of ecstasy crash over me, leaving me breathless and weak. He loosens his grip on my throat just enough for me to gasp for air, but he doesn’t release me completely.
“There’s a good pet,” he says, his voice thick with satisfaction. He leans in and captures my lips in a hard, possessive kiss, claiming what is his.
I’m so surprised by the intimate act that it takes me a second to process that he is indeed kissing me. Then I kiss him back with all the fervor I can muster, my body still trembling from the force of my climax. I sigh into his mouth as his tongue snakes around mine. He tastes of whiskey and mint, a delectable cocktail.
When he pulls away, his eyes bore into mine, and I see a flicker of something deeper—perhaps affection—before his usual cold intensity returns. He releases my throat, and I slump back against the desk, utterly spent.
I look up at him through half-lidded eyes, dazed and confused by the change in him. “Professor…?”
He reaches behind me, undoing the belt and releasing my hands. I quickly bring them to his shoulders, steadying myself.
“Lie down on the desk,” he commands.
The deep timbre in his voice makes my sex clench, and I quickly move off his leg and lie down on the desk. I rest on my elbows with my legs dangling off the edge.
“Spread your legs.”
While he slides the chair to the end of the desk, I part my legs as much as I can. I can feel his intense gaze on my throbbing, wet pussy. I bite down on my bottom lip, waiting for his next command. But it never comes.
I quickly realize that this is about him, not me. He begins stroking his still hard cock again. Two fingers delve inside me, but only briefly. He then spreads whatever wetness he’s gathered along his shaft, groaning in appreciation. He continues until his entire length is glistening, covered in my juices.
Damn, that is so sexy.
I can’t look away as he jerks himself off at an almost punishing pace. My name spills from his lips more than once, each time a deep moan. Even though he’s not touching me, I’m ready to detonate again, but I know this isn’t about me.
“Are you going to come for me?” I ask, my voice a soft purr. “Cover me in your cum?”
He doesn’t answer, but the tension in his body tells me everything I need to know. His hand is a blur, his breathing ragged. I arch my back, pushing my breasts toward him, offering myself as a canvas for his release.
“Professor,” I say again, this time with more urgency. “I want to feel you.”
With a growl, he stands, and for a moment, I think he’s going to push me away. Instead, he leans over, capturing my lips in a fierce kiss. His hand moves to my thigh, squeezing hard enough to bruise. The pain and pleasure mix in a heady cocktail that makes me dizzy.
He breaks the kiss just as suddenly as he started it and looks down at me with something like conflict in his eyes. My heart stutters; is he having second thoughts? Before I can say anything, he steps back and strokes himself one last time.
Hot streams of cum splatter against my stomach and chest, each explod ing like a firework on my skin. I gasp at the sudden heat, at the raw, primal intensity of it all. His groans fill the room, mingling with my own breathless whimpers.
For a moment, time seems to stretch and warp. I lie there, utterly still, feeling each sticky line slowly cool against my skin. He stands over me, chest heaving, eyes half-closed in the afterglow. It’s as if we’ve both been transported to another dimension—one where nothing exists but our two bodies and the charged air between them.
He reaches out a hand as if to touch me, then thinks better of it and lets it fall to his side. “You should clean up,” he says, his voice rough and low.
Not liking the shutters I see fall over his eyes, I lick my lips and let my hands run over my body, smearing his cum into my skin. “I think I’d rather wear you for as long as I can,” I state.
Without waiting for his response, I get up and find my clothes. Dressing in a silence I refuse to acknowledge as anything but a testament to how spent we both are.
When I’m fully dressed, I turn back around, seeing he’s looping his belt through the hoops on his pants.
“Thank you for the evaluation,” I smirk. “I’ll keep in mind that you’re a stickler for thoroughness.” Then I spin and walk over to the door, opening it. “Goodnight, Professor.”