Chapter 19 Disrobed
DISROBED
Thou honors thine inner animal when wearing nothing but the sky.
Orteslux, God of Death and Flowers
Cassius MacLeod is almost certainly a murderer. Claudia Jolicoeur doesn’t care.
Well, no, that’s not true. She does care. Just not right now.
Because if he wanted her dead, he would’ve killed her last night, and he didn’t.
Instead, he did something Claudia can’t name, can’t explain, and can’t stop thinking about.
Right now, she’s searching through the Lexora for any book that can put a name to what they did.
She thumbed through one called The Art of Making Love, which was unhelpful and too soft.
Next to it was A Study on Marriage and Wifehood, which she skipped entirely.
Now she’s scanning through the pages of An Introduction to Deviance.
Deviance is to stray from customary erotic conduct and venture into indulgence.
A deviant—be they dominant or submissive—seeks pleasure not in the act of sex alone, but in the art of it.
There is delight in intimate imbalance: the pleasure one feels in commanding or being commanded, in restraining or being restrained, in punishing or being punished, especially within the theater of sex.
These pursuits are complex expressions of trust. Far from perversity, deviance is a study of consent, wherein power is not abused but rather thoroughly explored in pursuit of pleasure.
Yes. Yes. This is it. She takes the book back to her room, settles in her favorite spot on the balcony, and devours the work in one sitting.
She encounters countless new concepts: Bondage, sadism, masochism. Dominance and submission. Wax play, knife play, blood play. Humiliation, asphyxiation, voyeurism.
Her center throbs.
This is what she is—what she and Cassius are: deviants. But they need to do it correctly. According to this book, they’re supposed to have safe words, boundaries, and a system in place for aftercare.
And, according to Claudia, they need to kiss.
Otherwise, she can’t use her newfound power against him, she won’t know what scares him most, and she’ll have no advantage over him.
She tells herself that this is all in pursuit of winning the debate, and the valedictorian’s blessing, but she knows deep down that it’s more.
She wants this. She wants him.
She’s taking notes in her diary when Cassius comes out on his balcony below her.
He doesn’t look up, so he doesn’t see her.
He braces his elbows on the balustrade and looks out at the courtyard.
Claudia can’t stop staring while he runs one hand through his hair, leaving it perfectly undone.
He has a glass of amber liquid with him, and when he takes a sip, the light of the setting sun wraps around his sharp jaw.
She wonders what he’s drinking. What he’s thinking. If he’s thinking about her.
In her diary, she scribbles, WE NEED TO TALK, tears out the page, and crumples it up. Tossing it over the ledge, she aims for it to land next to his feet, but it hits him in the back of the head. He winces and glares up, but his harsh stare softens when he sees her.
“Sorry,” she says.
He picks up the paper and smooths it out to read. “What do we need to talk about, Star Girl?”
“What do you think?”
“I think you need to use your words.”
She needs to get close to him. Better yet, she needs to bring him close to her. They were in his room last time. He had the upper hand. Maybe if they play in her room this time, she’ll have more control over the situation, and she can finally get his mouth on hers.
Peering out farther, she checks if they’re alone—empty courtyard, empty balconies. Then, she slips off her scholar’s robe and drops it below. Cassius catches it with one hand and gives her a bewildered smirk.
Now in nothing but a black silk slip, she says, “Oops.”
His eyes darken. His hands flex in the fabric.
“Could you bring it up to me, please?” Claudia asks.
“I think I’ll keep this,” he says with a shrug.
She laughs in disbelief. This isn’t the reaction she expected, but she should know better than to think she can predict how Cassius will respond to anything she throws at him. Literally.
“You can’t keep it.”
“Why not? If you don’t have your scholar’s robe, you can’t attend class. If you can’t attend class, you can’t perform in the debate. And if you can’t perform in the debate, then I win by default.” He balls up the robe and holds it to his heart. “I think it’s in my best interest to keep it.”
“What happened to you wanting to win this debate fairly?”
He holds up her crumpled note and her robe. “Someone started pelting me with various objects. It’s made me far less honorable.”
“Cassius, please.”
“If you want it, come and get it.”
“But I’m not supposed to walk the halls without it.”
“Perhaps you should’ve thought of that before you stripped it off.” With that, he goes back into his room.
Claudia groans. Maybe she should’ve listened to Dorian and stayed away from Cassius. She rolls her eyes at the thought—as if that was ever a possibility. Cassius is inescapable. Neither of them can ever leave the other alone.
Back in her room, she makes eye contact with Bishop, who is curled up on the desk.
“Don’t look at me like that.”
He tilts his head.
“You think I’m being foolish, don’t you?”
He tilts his head again, now to the other side.
“Oh gods, you think I’m being a harlot.”
He coils tightly, tucking his head under his body.
She scoffs. “Real mature, Bishop,” she says, stomping toward her door. When she pokes her head out, the corridor is empty. Maybe, if she runs, she can get to Cassius’s door without being seen.
Rushing out of her room, she lets the door slam behind her while she darts through the hall, down the stairs, around the corner, and almost to Cassius’s door.
She stops herself when a group of a dozen professors, led by High Sage Triche, walks right toward her.
There’s a marble pillar to her left, and she hides behind it, waiting for them to pass.
“No one could ever take your place, Triche,” one of the Scientia professors says.
Triche laughs just as the group passes by. “Someone must. I won’t be here much longer.”
Their conversation fades when they turn the corner. Claudia waits a few seconds before slipping out from behind the pillar and running to Cassius’s door.
It’s locked.
When she knocks, he doesn’t answer.
Bastard.
She knocks. She kicks. She slams her shoulder into the door. “Cassius MacLeod, open this godsdamn door or I swear—”
“What do you say?” he calls from the other side.
She groans. “Please.”
“What was that? I can’t hear you.”
“Cassius. Please open the fucking door.”
Finally, the lock clicks, the door swings open, and Cassius ushers her inside with a devilish grin.
She slams his door behind her. “You are a bastard.”
He dangles her robe. “And you are a tease.”
She storms toward him and grabs for it, but he snatches it out of her reach.
“Give it back,” she snaps.
“But you were so eager to drop it.”
Her cheeks burn. “Cassius,” she growls, “if you don’t—”
“I happen to like the way you look without it.”
She blinks. “Do you?”
“Very much.” Without breaking eye contact, he tosses her robe across the room onto his bed. She turns, watching it land among his sheets. Instead of retrieving it immediately, she stands her ground before him. Then she steps closer.
“I told you we need to talk.”
His jaw tenses. “Tell me what we need to talk about.”
She takes a breath, centering herself. “We need to talk about what we did last night.”
“Did you like it?”
She nods. “Did you?”
“Very much.”
Relief floods her body, making her fingers tingle. “Good.” They stare at each other in silence for a few seconds, until Claudia says, “You said we could do more after the debate.”
“If you win,” he adds.
She comes even closer, chest to chest. “If I win, which I will, then I want us to proceed properly. We need to have some ground rules in place.”
“I agree.”
That’s the first time he’s ever said that to her.
He turns, grabbing his leather desk chair and placing it in the center of the room. He then places a parlor chair directly across from it. He takes a seat in his leather chair and points to the other. “Sit.”
She obeys. “I’ve been doing some reading on deviance, and in order to keep our dynamic safe, we need to discuss our interests and boundaries.”
“All right.” He leans in, bracing his elbows on his knees. “You first.”
Tearing her gaze away, she looks at the floor and clears her throat. “I like begging. I like when you call me a good girl. I like…” Gods, she can barely say it. It’s not easy to push past the discomfort of talking so clinically about something so vulnerable.
“Look at me,” he commands.
Her brows pinch when she raises her gaze. “I like when you pull my hair. I like being choked. I like things that hurt.”
His face remains steady, his eyes serious and stern. “What don’t you like? What’s off-limits?”
“I don’t like blood. I like bruises but not scars. I don’t want to be humiliated or shamed. And I don’t want this to change how we are in class. I still want to beat you, and I still want you to challenge me. Never go easy on me.”
“All right,” he says.
“Your turn.”
He nods, leaning back in his chair. “I want to tie you up. I want you blindfolded but not gagged. I never want to stop that pretty mouth of yours. I’d like to set rules for you, and if you break them, I want to punish you.”
“What kind of rules?”
“You will earn rewards through your behavior. You will keep no secrets from me. You’ll ask my permission before touching yourself. If I ask, you’ll wear a token of my claim, be it a necklace or dress or anything of my choosing. You won’t argue against my commands.”
She smirks. “That last one might be tough.”
“You can break it if you’re brave enough to face the consequences.”
“Which are?”
“I’ll bend you over my knee and spank you.”
Her eyes flare and her core throbs. Heat builds between her legs. “All right.”
He grins. “Good.”
“Is there anything you don’t want?”
Standing, he leans over her, bracing his hands on the arms of her chair. His nose is touching hers when he says, “I don’t want you to go easy on me in class, either. Try and beat me. If you win, you get rewarded. If you lose, which you will, you will be punished.”
Her eyes dip down to his lips. “Yes, sir.”
Desire burns in his eyes. “Fuck,” he murmurs, his breath hot against her wet mouth. Then he turns away.
“No,” she growls, standing up and throwing her arms around his neck. “Stay close. Kiss me.”
He threads his fingers through her hair and pulls tight, baring her throat to his mouth. When he speaks, he kisses up her neck between every word. “Not. Unless. You. Win.”
“Cassius, please.”
He presses his lips just below her ear. “No. That’s a rule.”
“You’re torturing me,” she whimpers. She’ll never get to see his greatest fear, will she? Does she even care anymore? No—what she really wants is a deep, genuine kiss.
“I’m encouraging you.” He lets go of her hair and steps back. “If you want that, you’d better get to work on your argument for the debate.”
Slowly, he walks toward the door and pulls it open.
“Wait,” Claudia says. “Close it. There’s something I want to give you.”
Brows pinched, he closes the door and leans against it.
“Close your eyes,” she says, and he does.
Quickly, she moves to the side of his bed and strips off her black slip, then pulls on her robe with nothing underneath. She takes careful, silent steps toward him. “Hold out your hands.”
He obeys. She drops her dress in his palms, and he opens his eyes.
“There,” she says. “You can’t have my robe, but you can keep that.” There’s a small seam of skin where her robe parts.
His gaze drags over every inch of her. When his lips part, he releases a soft, desirous laugh.
“Fucking hell, Claudia Jolicoeur.” His fingers curl into the soft fabric.
He brings her dress to his nose and closes his eyes, inhaling deep.
His moan is almost too low for her to hear, and it makes her heart pound.
Need builds between her legs. Cassius looks at her with nothing but pure hunger.
“You better fucking win.”