CHAPTER ELEVEN
I stand in the shadows outside Darkwood's chamber, waiting for the appointed hour. Since our last encounter, I haven't been able to think of anything else but him—the taste of his scarred lips, his hands on my body…
Why we have to do this at midnight, I’ve got no idea.
Because it’s witchy, idiot.
Witchy or not, it’s late. Any moment I expect the murderer to burst from the shadows, but the hall remains empty.
Today was basically a write-off. I attended classes, sat in the cafeteria, but it all seemed like pretense for this.
It was hard enough to find the physical location of this place, many a subtle question asked to get here. Most of the faculty live in the complete opposite wing to the student quarters, but Darkwood’s chambers are all by themselves deep within the west wing. It even feels darker down here.
I haven’t been able to stop running over dinner last night either. The Professor showed actual vulnerability. It’s not like I was expecting him to pour his heart out, but it’s nice to know he’s not completely guarded, that I might be able to subtly chip away at the enigma that is Damien Darkwood.
Following the dinner, I spent time with Gran’s grimoire and its always shimmering script. It’s filled with handwritten notes that run the gamut from elegant and flowing to rushed and jagged. Otherwise, it’s a bit like a porn mag you’d find in a back alley—all the good stuff torn out already.
The book under my mattress? That was a little more enlightening, though there’s still so much to learn, to pore through. I can read to my heart’s content, but it may as well be mud.
And that’s where I’m hoping the Professor will come in—to provide the much-needed illumination.
As instructed, I’m wearing Gran’s old peacoat, and only her peacoat, my body bare below.
My whole being thrills at the prospect of his touch again. Yet doubts linger at the edges of my mind. This is improper. I should not crave him the way I do. He’s old enough to be my father, for Christ’s sake.
And then there’s the whole pet thing. I’m not some meek, submissive girl who enjoys being spoken to like a toddler and thrashed accordingly.
Really? I consider, thinking back to the other night, because that? That felt kind of good. Cathartic, almost.
Which brings something of a horrifying realization, because maybe I don’t know myself as well as I think I do.
The clock at the end of the hall, one of the few, chimes midnight. Taking a deep breath, I step out of the shadows and knock softly at his door.
It opens immediately, like he’s been waiting this entire time. He stands before me clad in a black silk robe, eyes bright with hunger.
"You made it." His voice is a low purr as he ushers me inside. I enter, and the door clicks shut behind us, goosebumps rising uniform over my skin.
"Did you doubt that I would?" I ask, tilting my head to meet his gaze but unable to keep the slight waver from my voice.
A faint smile tugs at his lips. "Not for a moment. But first,” he says, that crooked smile in full, seductive flight, “take off your coat.”
A flush rises to my cheeks, though the shame is dissipating each time we meet.
I undo the belt and let the coat fall apart, the Professor’s eyes going immediately to the soft valley between my breasts.
I lift the coat from my shoulders and let it fall away completely, the bite of cool in the room bringing fresh gooseflesh to the surface of my skin.
I’m freshly shaved, at least remembering to pack a razor when I was packing-slash-throwing whatever the fuck I could into that duffle. I thought he might like that. Given the look in his eyes, I’d say I was right.
"Exquisite," he murmurs, cupping my breast and teasing the nipple to a stiff peak with the back of his thumb. He stirs around it in gentle circles, the tip of his tongue peeking through the seam of his lips.
My eyelids fall shut and I tip my head back, a gasp escaping me. "Please," I whisper. "I need you."
Because that is what I want. Magic be damned. I want him to be my first, to take me and make me his own. And it’s a contradiction, strange, but I cannot help the way I feel.
"And you shall have me." His robe falls open, revealing his arousal. It stands thick and proud, the bulbous head of his cock a deep, plum purple. A thrill courses through me as I recall his stiff inches ravaging my mouth. I had no idea how much I would enjoy that, right up to the moment when I felt him hit the back of my throat.
"Now come," he says.
Darkwood's gaze burns into mine as he circles around me, shadows flickering at his feet from candles set on shelves around the room.
"There are many trials of sexual magic, my pet, each deeper and more powerful than the last. At the apex dwells ultimate power and pleasure, if you dare ascend that high. After all, it’s not without its dangers," he smiles, and I’m reminded of his story of the scarred woman.
My body has become my heart—they beat as one. I'm barely keeping my balance, anticipation and nerves a tangled web inside me. "W-what does the magic entail?"
Fuck, I can’t even speak properly. I’ve turned into an imbecile.
He smiles, slow and predatory. "Spells to ignite passion, strip inhibitions, give and receive exquisite torment. The higher trial delves into the shadows completely, into pain and pleasure, sacrifice…transcendence."
I swallow hard, heat and desire already gathering between my legs. "And at the highest level?"
"Dominion." His breath caresses my ear. I shiver. "Over yourself, your lover—the forces of magic themselves. So I ask again, are you sure you want this?”
Fuck yes, I want this. I want him—the power and pleasure he offers. I want his cock, inside my mouth, my sex…
I want it all.
"Yes." My voice comes out husky, laced with need. "I want it."
"Are you certain, witchling? This path is not for the faint of heart." His hand closes around my throat, thumb stroking my pulse point. I groan at the touch, the promise of pain laced with ecstasy. "The shadows are seductive, but they do not give up their power easily. If you submit to me, there will be no turning back. So, if you are certain, truly certain, say you are mine.”
I grasp his wrist, holding on to it as I stare into the emerald catacombs of his eyes. "I'm yours, Professor." It’s barely a whisper, but the words are there.
A slow, wicked grin splits his lips. "Then let us begin."
He releases me and I sag, body thrumming with anticipation. What have I gotten myself into? But the heat in my core, the slickness between my thighs tells me this is the one step too far I’m happy to take.
“Tonight, we ascend, but first, foreplay.” His voice rolls over me in a dark caress as he begins the incantation. "Luminis Orgasmus, Lux Umbrarum."
"Feel it flow through your body, little lamb. Do not fear it."
And then something quite unexpected happens.
Heat explodes inside me, racing through my veins like liquid fire. I cry out at the intensity, stepping back until I reach the edge of room, my fingers find purchase on a short desk there, knuckles bleached white.
The hell is happening?
Sensations begin to swirl through me as the heat intensifies. I sense pressure over my clit and around my entrance. There’s another sensation, mild—almost featherlike, but it’s deliberate all the same, a welcome contrast to the fire fanning across my sex.
My body gently rocks back and forth, the lips of my sex flowering open to let god knows what in. My pussy clenches with need. The need to be filled. To be owned.
Possessed.
My legs spread wide, and I throw my head back, moans of ecstasy leaving my mouth.
I’m close, to what exactly I don’t know, but I feel it growing, intensifying.
The fire builds, concentrating itself between my legs. It’s like I’m being burnt alive.
I see it, in my mind’s eyes—a young, naked girl bound to a pole, the flames rising fast and licking up her legs, her skin and flesh sloughing free.
I squirm against it, trying to ease the ache and burn, but it only grows more insistent. Dimly I realize I'm panting, chest heaving as a coil of rapture tightens deep within. I can’t imagine what’s going to happen when I reach whatever it is I’m barreling towards.
I am the girl.
I am being burnt alive.
Through the haze of sensation, I'm aware of Darkwood watching me, eyes hot and viridescent. His gaze rakes over me, stripping me bare, and I've never felt so exposed, so delirious with fear and need.
"Let go," he urges in a rough whisper. "Embrace the magic and let it take you."
The girl cries out in anguish, the pain gone but the knowing proximity of death worse.
I don’t want to. I don’t know what this is, but it’s alien and dangerous—dark.
The coil tightens and the burn intensifies further, Darkwood whispering another incantation and the fire suddenly fanning outwards.
The girl is gone, replaced by something cold and sinister.
Shadows.
They slither across the floor and work their way up my thighs, icy tendrils that caress my clitoris and labia, seeking inside my sex and carving out newfound pleasure there.
More join the first, teasing my folds apart. A wintery touch brushes my clit and I gasp, hips jerking forward. The sensation retreats, then returns to trace slow, deliberate circles around the hungry mouth of my sex.
I whimper, my legs trembling.
My inner folds are spread open, bared to this merciless stroking. A shadow thrusts inside me, cold and slick, and begins a relentless thrusting.
“No,” I stammer, but there’s no stopping it. This isn’t how I want to be taken. Not by a fucking shadow. It has to be a man, a human. It has to be him.
I know I’m still intact, but yet this thing, this ghoulish presence, is physical, drawing in and easing out, stretching my entrance over and over, baiting me.
I wonder if he can feel it, if Darkwood’s connection to the shadows runs this deep. Can he feel how wet I am? Can he feel the corrugations of my cunt pulsing to greet him?
My first climax left me sensitive, primed for more, and this shadowy claiming pushes me swiftly toward the edge again. The thrusts turn hard and punishing, passing ghost-like through my innocence into my depths, while icy pressure circles and flicks my clit.
I shiver, look down, but there’s nothing there.
I'm writhing, incoherent pleas spilling from my lips as I'm brutally, exquisitely fucked.
“I can’t,” I whimper, a solitary tear carving its way down my cheek. “I can’t,” I repeat.
“You can and you will,” he says, leisurely stroking his cock in front of me.
That does it.
I can't hold back any longer.
The coil snaps. A climax crashes over me, obliterating thought and shattering my world into fragments of ecstatic bliss. I come apart, only to be remade in the fires of forbidden pleasure.
Release crashes over me in a dark wave, robbing me of breath and thought, my body seized by violent throes.
I collapse onto my knees on the floor, the stone below glossy and slick with my need.
I quiver there, shaking uncontrollably, but something has changed.
That tendril inside me, so dim before, is more prevalent now. It has worked itself deeper.
Through the haze I realize I'm no longer alone in my mind. A cold, sinister presence has awakened and entwined itself there.
There’s no question.
I come back to myself slowly, still trembling in the aftermath of the orgasm. My limbs are liquid and boneless, my mind pleasantly blank.
How did a mere spell do this to me? I wonder. And what the hell kind of spell was it?
I’ve certainly never seen anything like it in Gran’s grimoire or books, never heard her mention sexual magic at all.
But would she? I question.
Magic has limits, or so I believed. But Darkwood wields power beyond anything I've known. I’m starting to believe if you stripped that skin from his body there would be nothing but shadow underneath—pure, unfiltered evil.
The Wolf.
Darkwood steps forward and observes me.
"This magic taps into primal, ancient forces, my pet," he says, as if hearing my thoughts. "They forge profound connections between witch and warlock, and open the mind to the kind of pleasure you just received, though that was nothing, I’m afraid—a teaser."
His voice holds a husky note I've never heard before. When I meet his gaze, his eyes are hooded and dark with desire. My spent body stirs in response, heat pooling low once more.
A teaser?
A fucking teaser?
If that was a teaser, I fear whatever’s coming next might just kill me.
"Will you give yourself to these arts, my pet?" His words are a velvet caress. "Will you be mine to tutor and torment, to bring to the pinnacle of rapture and bind ever closer, until you cannot tell where your essence ends, and the shadows begin?"
I know this is dangerous ground we tread, forbidden magic. I could end up like the scarred woman at the ball, or worse. And yet I cannot resist. The promise of transcendence, of pleasure beyond mortal knowing, seduces me, as does the enigmatic man offering this dark invitation.
"Yes," I whisper.
A slow, wicked smile curves his lips. "Good."
He strides forward and grasps my chin, lifting me from the floor on unsteady legs, my inner thighs sticky and wet, tilting my face up to his. "First, there must be trust between us. You will give your body and mind into my keeping, and I will wring pleasure from them such as you've never known, and you haven’t known pleasure, have you, witchling?" He breathes me in.
I don’t answer.
His thumb strokes over my lower lip. "Do you trust me, little lamb?"
I search his fathomless eyes, glimpsing shadows of pain and longing beneath the desire.
“Yes.”
He removes his thumb and circles me. Heat flares under my skin, awakening a delicious ache somewhere deep inside my sex, a sickly pulse of pleasure.
"Tell me, have you been practicing?"
I have, though my magic never seems to have quite the impact it does when I’m with him.
"Yes, Professor." My mouth has gone dry.
"Show me."
I take a deep breath and summon a ball of purple flame in my palm. It crackles and hisses, sending wisps of shadowy smoke curling upward.
The corner of his lips lift upwards. "Very good." His fingers trail down my neck, leaving a wake of goosebumps. "Now I will teach you new spells. Spells of pleasure and pain. You remember the latter, do you not?"
I remember the way his hand came against my ass, the smarting bite of it, the way it hurt to even sit the following day. And the girl, the fire, her thoughts and pain mixed with my own…
"Yes, Professor."
His eyes rake over my body, hover over my sex, a greedy gleam in their depths. "Follow me.”
I follow him to the back of the room where a large iron cross has materialized, restraints hanging idly.
So yeah, that is a surprise.
And there’s Sabrina in my head again, screaming for me to leave.
But it’s too late.
Darkwood takes me by the hips, turning me and guiding me against the cross, the iron cold against my bare skin.
He brushes against my breasts as he lifts my arms into position, locking my wrists in place, sinking to do the same with my ankles, his breath ghosting over my sex.
This is truly insane. Somewhere deep inside the catacombs of my head I know this is a bad idea, but there’s a block there, something stopping me from resisting, thinking clearly.
I’m locked into position, my legs and arms spread, splayed out wide for the Professor’s amusement.
"Tonight,” he says, “we learn the Fire Lash. It’s unique…an experience. Suffice to say, I expect you to writhe and moan like a wanton whore. Do that and I’ll consider giving you my cock. But you must earn it. Is that understood?”
A blush stains my cheeks at his vulgar words, at the condescension in his voice, but I can't help the slickened heat building in my core.
I recall the girl, the fire, and pain, but also the pleasure. Was that really only a taste of what is to come?
"I want you to focus your magic and visualize a lash of fire striking your flesh. Speak the incantation 'Ardens flagellum.'"
I do as he bids, the words spilling from my lips. Magic surges within, the shadows pulling from somewhere deeper.
A crackling lash of fire snakes across my breasts. I gasp at the searing pain, back arching off the cross. But beneath the pain is a rush of pleasure, setting my blood aflame.
"Very good," he purrs, eyes wide with dark delight. "Shall we continue?"
I meet his gaze, aching for more. "Yes...Professor."
The Professor strides over to the wall and retrieves a coiled whip, running his gloved fingers over the braided leather. "This will intensify the sensations. With each lash, the fire will spread and consume you. Let it."
So this is the game we will play. I don’t know if I’m ready for it, for this level of calculation and subtle shifting of power.
I give a start as he unfurls the whip with a snap, the sound alone enough to make me squirm. I gaze up at him through my lashes, trembling in anticipation.
Because I thought I was coming here to study, not be literally tortured, but still I remain silent. Compliant.
"Visualize the fire licking at your flesh," he commands, "and speak the incantation once more."
I close my eyes, magic welling up inside me as I utter the words. The air crackles and hisses.
The whip cracks across my breasts, a blast of agonizing heat exploding over my skin. I cry out, spine licking forward like someone’s shoved a cattle prod up my ass. My nipples tighten into throbbing cigars as the fire spreads, racing over my torso in writhing tendrils.
I’m burning alive again, my skin peeling and nerves going dead, but there’s nothing there.
But the bite of the whip? That is very real.
Another lash, this time across my inner thighs. The fire coils and burns, sending molten pleasure straight to my core. I'm dripping wet, aching to be filled.
Through the haze of pain and delight, I hear Darkwood's ragged breathing, smell the scent of his arousal. I know he’s getting off on this, but he shall not have the better of me.
He wants his whore? Fine.
"More," I gasp. "Please, more..."
His smile grows, a low grunt confirming his satisfaction.
I shouldn’t be begging like this, like I’m a helpless little girl learning the satisfying smart of her father’s hand. But that’s exactly what’s happening.
The whip cracks again and again, fire and pain consuming me whole. I'm moaning and shuddering, teetering on the brink of ecstatic anguish.
One final lash strikes my sex and I come undone, back bent as rapture engulfs me. The fire burns white hot, seems to consume me completely, then fades, leaving me trembling in its wake.
I sag against the iron cross, breathless and spent. The Professor’s hands glide over my sensitized skin, soothing the remaining heat. It’s heaven after what I’ve just been through.
"Very good, my pet," he rasps, eyes smoldering. "You learn quickly."
His praise washes over me and I smile, basking in the glow of his approval.
I'm still reeling from the intensity of my release when the Professor leans in to unbuckle the restraints. I collapse into his arms, my knees too weak to support me.
He lifts me effortlessly and carries me to a velvet chaise, settling me onto his lap. I curl into his broad chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.
So he’s human after all.
This is different. Until now Darkwood has been distant, cold, but this is tenderness. This is new.
"Are you well, little lamb?" His voice is rough with concern.
"Yes," I whisper, making eye contact. "Thank you."
His arms tighten around me. "You did beautifully. But we must always exercise caution. There are dangers in these practices that could seriously harm you if we are not careful."
I nod, surprised by his protectiveness. "I understand. I trust you.”
My skin still burns from the kiss of the whip, from the flurry of lashes that followed.
A tense silence follows my admission. Darkwood stills, his body rigid against mine. When he speaks again, his tone is uneven.
"Your trust is a gift I do not deserve." He cups my chin and lifts my gaze to his. I see a world of pain in those eyes—deep, haunting pain the likes of which I couldn’t possibly fathom. "You should know I am not a good man. The darkness I harbor will consume you if you are not vigilant. It has consumed others—scarred them, taken their life."
The idea that I’m not special or unique, but simply one of a long line of the Professor’s conquests, stirs a thick jealousy deep inside me.
I have questions, but I keep my mouth shut.
Not yet.
I search his eyes, but they remain guarded, revealing none of the demons he alludes to.
"Shadowcraft is seductive by nature," he continues, "and many have been led astray by its allure. I would not see the same fate befall you. Be careful, my pet, even around me, especially around me."
I frown, disliking his warning, though I sense it comes from a place of honesty, not manipulation.
"I’m not helpless,” I say, which is hilarious given I was literally strung up on a cross, helpless.
I am helpless to resist him, to resist my own burning need for whatever this is.
A flicker of amusement softens the hard line of his mouth. "Bold words. But heed them well, witchling. Some thresholds, once crossed, cannot be uncrossed."
His ominous prophecy does little to dampen my determination. I cling to him, desire simmering beneath my skin. The forbidden arts call and I mean to answer, no matter the cost.
“Now,” he says, voice even, “bend yourself over the back of this chaise and let me see that pretty little ass of yours again.
“What?”
“Do not make me repeat myself.”
I ease myself off him, body aching, and bend over the chaise, my cheeks flushed with shame.
“Yes,” he purrs. “Now, spread your cheeks. Let me see your asshole.”
The fuck, Annabelle, I chide myself, but again, I can’t seem to resist.
I do as he commands, fingers trembling, the cool air whispering against the exposed buttonhole of my most private of areas.
Really? I ask myself, but it’s pointless.
“Yes,” he repeats, needier now. “Face me.”
I turn.
His eyes are hungry as he takes in my flushed cheeks and trembling limbs. I feel his desire mirrored in the hard length straining against my belly as he presses towards me.
With a growl, he seizes my mouth in a hard kiss. Fresh magic flares to life, igniting my nerve endings. I gasp as invisible flames lick along my skin, intensifying every sensation, the lingering effects of the Fire Lash.
He drags his lips to my throat, biting down as the burning spell intensifies and it feels like, once more, I am Joan of Arc, cast into the flames. "More," I moan, craving this exquisite torture.
He’s biting hard. It’s going to leave a mark, but I don’t care. Let the world see I’m his property. Let the world see he owns me.
"Greedy little witch." His hands slide upwards, tweaking my nipples and sending sparks of pleasure-pain through my body. "You're insatiable, aren’t you?"
I rock my hips against him, chasing friction. "Only for your touch, Professor."
Another nip of teeth, this time at the sensitive spot below my ear. The hint of pain magnifies my arousal, pushing me higher and higher toward delirium.
He whispers a rapid-fire incantation. At once the sensation becomes close to overwhelming.
Oh, God, please…
But he pulls away, once more leaving me breathless.
"Come. I have oils to soothe your discomfort."
I let him help me up on still-wobbly legs, leaning into him as we walk over to a cabinet in the corner. Various bottles and jars line the shelves, some glowing with magic. In many ways, it reminds me of Gran’s medicine cabinet, though I imagine what’s gathered here will treat more than a migraine.
What would she think? I wonder. What would she say about you debasing yourself for this man, letting him use you like this?
I push away the thought.
The Professor selects a vial of golden liquid and bids me to stand with my hands braced on the wall. I obey, presenting my sore behind for him. Arching my back, I splay my fingers out over the wall, my cheek brushing the stone.
New warmth suffuses my skin as he massages the oil into my buttocks and thighs. His touch is firm yet gentle as he uses slow, clockwise motions to move over my flesh. He places both thumbs on either side of my lower spine and keeps them parallel to one another as he works downwards. I find myself drifting under the combination of his skill and the oil's soothing effect.
Too soon, he withdraws, stepping back and wiping his hands on a cloth. "You may leave,” he says, unwilling to throw another glance in my direction.
I stand there stupefied.
That’s it?
All that and he’s just going to send me away?
“Well?” he says, sharp.
I’m suddenly embarrassed, using an arm to cover my breasts while I make towards my coat, but the Professor shifts to stand in my way. “You won’t be needing that, I’m afraid.”
“But I’m naked.”
His face betrays no emotion. “I see that.”
“You can’t seriously expect me to go out there like this?”
He holds up my room key. I never saw him take it from my coat. “I’m afraid so.”
It’s late, and a long way back to my room. What am I supposed to say if someone sees me? ‘Oh, hi, just taking a gentle midnight stroll in my birthday suit.’
“Please,” I beg, but this seems to anger him.
His features become stormy, clouded. “Leave.” He raises his hand and the door to his chamber unlatches, swinging wide.
I turn, covering my still aching sex with my free hand, hobbling my way out into the hall.
I look back to the room, one final glimpse of the Professor before his chamber door slams closed.
That bastard.
Wasn’t I perfectly obedient? Didn’t I do everything he asked?
It doesn’t make any sense.
I glance down the hall, turning on the spot, half-crouched and completely naked. Still wet. Still tingling from head to toe. Still wishing I was back in his chambers, savoring his kinky games. Savoring his touch alone. Nothing else. No shadows. No magic, other than what we could create together.
“Fuck,” I stammer, and start moving.