Chapter 9
Rose
I adjust my tennis outfit in front of the mirror in my bedroom, thinking about Gabriel and the wild time we spent at his house outside campus. It was one of the most erotic and satisfying experiences I've ever had, and I know that I owe it all to him.
Being with Gabriel is exciting. It feels like I’m about to jump out of a plane without a parachute.
I grab my backpack and head out. The Devereaux legacy is still weighing on me, but today, I feel bold and ready to claim my place.
The path to the tennis courts winds through Wolfswood’s manicured grounds. I spot Gabriel coming out of the professors’ quarters, looking impeccable in a tailored jacket. He takes a few steps toward me and smiles.
“You really shouldn’t wear that out here, Rose,” he says, and traces my outfit with his eyes. “You’re way too distracting.”
“It’s just a tennis outfit. If you find it distracting, maybe you shouldn’t look,” I say, and twirl slightly in front of him.
“How could I possibly not look at you, Rose? My eyes have a mind of their own when it comes to you,” he tells me, and grazes my arm just a little. Enough to satisfy himself by touching me, but not enough so that it raises suspicion.
“Are your eyes the only thing that has a mind of its own or…” I tease him back, and he laughs.
He leans in closer and whispers in my ear.
“You’re such a naughty girl. But I love it…”
“Then I guess I’ll have to be even naughtier,” I manage to reply, even though I can practically feel my cheeks burning like lava.
“Do you know what happens to naughty girls, Rose? They get punished.”
His eyes are narrowed, and his lips are wet. I can see the tilt of his body toward me, a sign of his desire.
“For being naughty or for wearing this skirt that seems to be unraveling you, Professor?”
“Good morning, Professor Thorn!”
A gaggle of students passes us, heading for the tennis courts, and interrupts our conversation.
“Good morning, ladies!” he answers brightly, but immediately returns his attention to me.
“I must go too. I have tennis practice,” I tell him, and walk away. I try to make my hips sway on purpose, so that the short skirt rises a little off my ass and hips.
“What about my complaint?” he laughs.
“About the skirt? You’ll just have to deal with it, Professor.”
“Careful, Miss Devereaux. You’re playing with fire.”
“Am I? Then you should punish me…”
“Enjoy your lesson,” he adds, laughing. His eyes linger on my legs before he turns away, and he leaves me giggling. I can feel my skin tingling with the promise of him, and I love the sensation.
At the tennis courts, Coach Harlan pairs us for drills. He’s a wiry man with sharp eyes, and he’s wearing a tennis outfit with the Louis Vuitton logo printed boldly on the front.
Cassandra Vane is standing on the other side of the net. I catch the unmistakable Versace pattern on her sleeves—bold, loud, just like Cassandra herself. She’s judging me openly, not even pretending to hide the contempt.
Other students that I know by name—Liam, Marcus, and Evelyn—are hanging out nearby. Their eyes switch between me and Cassandra as we start to play a game of tennis. My racket connects with the ball, but Cassandra’s stare unnerves me. She keeps her racket idle until she can step closer.
“Wow, look at that, everybody! The adopted charity case thinks she knows how to play tennis!” she laughs.
“I don’t know how to play tennis. And neither do you, Cassandra. That’s why we’re here, taking a lesson,” I reply.
My answer gets a few chuckles from the other students, which makes Cassandra even madder at me. I can see her pale, white face turning purple, even though she’s trying to hide it.
“Maybe you need a lesson, stray, not me. Not us. We were born playing tennis. It’s part of our culture!” she says stupidly, and tries to reassess her position as my imagined superior.
I can see some of the other students stepping away from her. They are clearly not happy with the way she’s behaving. But her words still upset me.
“I earned my place here, Cassandra. Both because I am a Devereaux and because I applied just like everyone else. And I got in with top scores.”
“You’re only half a Devereaux, in case you didn’t know. Your mother was a bitch who died in an insane asylum after your father, the actual Devereaux, left her there.You’re a stray they picked up. This world isn’t for people like you.”
Of course, I know exactly what she’s talking about. But how is that a reason to speak to me like this?
“And you think that’s funny, Cassandra? A woman dying in an asylum, all alone, without her children… Do you believe that this is something to make fun of in the school yard? Like we’re five-year-olds, and not women in our twenties?” I ask her.
She looks shocked at my remarks. Especially since it looks like some of the other students are giving her odd looks as well now.
“Cassandra, we shouldn’t behave like this,” a boy called Liam tells her. “As the superior class, we have a responsibility to be kind and protective toward other people.”
While his words might sound kind, the way he says “superior class” rubs me the wrong way.
“You are not the superior class, Liam,” I reply. “You just have more money than everyone else. Cassandra is the best example that you are not superior in any way, shape, or form.”
Lillian, nearby, looks furious.
“Cassandra is right, stray! Wolfswood is for legacies, not orphans.”
I glance at Liam, hoping that he might defend me again, but he looks away. His silence feels like a betrayal. So, feeling angry now, I swing at the ball, but I miss.
“I’m a Devereaux. That’s enough.”
“Is it? You don’t belong here, Rose. You’re playing dress-up in our world. Go back to where you belong,” Cassandra shouts at me.
Lillian chimes in again. She’s twirling her racket in her hands, and that is a clear sign that she’s nervous.
“It’s cute how she tries, though. Like a puppy chasing its tail.”
My throat tightens, and I swing again. However, the ball just clips the net.
“I’m here because I deserve it,” I say, but my words feel hollow. I can feel the disdain they have for me.
But Cassandra refuses to give up.
“Keep dreaming, charity case. You’ll never be one of us.”
I lower my racket as my heart keeps pounding. The court feels too small, and their eyes are mean. I turn and walk away, trying to run from the truth of their words.
On my way back to my own room, I take out my phone and scroll through. I find my mother’s number and call her, but she doesn't answer. I’ve forgotten about the time difference. She’s across the ocean.
And I am here. Alone, with no one to turn to.
Almost no one.
***
Back in my room, I find a note slipped under the door. Gabriel’s elegant handwriting is unmistakable to me:
Come to my office. We need to talk about that skirt.
My heart starts beating madly with a mix of anticipation and nerves. I am aware that this is not a good idea. But after the exchange on the tennis court, I need someone to be on my side. I need to know that someone likes me.
The walk to Gabriel’s office feels endless to me because I can’t wait to see him. Especially after that tennis match. Finally, I knock on his door, and he calls, “Come in.”
And there he is. Handsome and warm as always. He feels mature and protective, and my heart feels at rest when I’m near him.
“Close the door and lock it,” he commands.
I obey, even though my heart is pounding. Gabriel steps closer to me and brushes the hem of my tennis skirt with his fingers.
“That skirt,” he says, “is dangerous.”
“Did you invite me here to talk about fashion, Professor? I didn’t know it was one of your interests,” I tease. But my words are breathless, and they are betraying my desire for him.
He laughs.
“Not quite. But with you, I could talk about anything, Rose. You have that kind of mind.”
Not wasting another moment, he lifts my skirt, and peels down my pantyhose and underwear, leaving me bare. My pussy clenches, already wet, swelling with need.
“Sit on my desk,” he commands.
I perch on the edge, trembling with anticipation. I am completely exposed, and can feel the cold surface of his desk rubbing against my pussy.
He retrieves a heavy book from his shelf and shows it to me, holding it up.
“I have a copy of The History of the Devereaux Family for you, Rose.”
“Thank you, Professor. I’ll read it and write an essay for you to grade,” I reply as I gently rub my pussy against the surface of his desk. I want to leave a mark there for him.
The academic talk while engaging in such naughty, kinky matters does something to me. It makes me feel like I’m doing something terrible and forbidden, but immensely pleasurable at the same time.
“You’re such a good student, Rose. But I don’t want you to read it.”
He places the book between my legs.
“Pleasure yourself,” he says, his eyes locked on mine. “On this.”
I stop for a moment, the command both shocking and thrilling.
“I… I don’t know how,” I confess, but I don’t exactly understand what he wants from me.
He steps closer and kisses me.
“Mmm… Then I’ll teach you.”
Confidently, he pulls up a chair and sits down. And then he positions himself in front of the desk where I’m sitting, as though he is watching a show. Or a performance.
“Climb onto the desk. And face me.”
“Yes, Professor.”
I haul myself up and sit awkwardly, even though I don’t know what to do next.
“On all fours, Rose. That’s a good girl…”
I do as he tells me and wait for his next instruction.
“Now, place the book between your legs. Rub your pussy on it. Yes… That’s it. Slowly…”
I spread my thighs and start to move back and forth against the rough cover of the old book. My pussy is throbbing, and my mind is going blank. Gabriel watches me, and his cock is straining against his trousers.
“Yes, Rose. That’s it.”
He gets up and comes closer, brushing my bare ass with his hand. My nipples harden through my shirt, aching as I stroke faster. My wetness soaks the book, and my clit is pulsing. It feels painful with arousal.
I moan and keep my eyes on his.
“You’re perfect,” he says, and his words ignite me even more.
He unzips his pants and takes out his cock, which is swollen and dripping.
I continue to rub my pussy on the book, trying to pleasure myself. I’m desperate for his cock, but he won’t make it happen yet. Instead, he circles the desk and places himself behind me. I can feel the tip of his cock pushing against my pussy. His hands are firmly on my back, guiding my movements.
“Do you want my cock inside you?”
“Yes, please…”
“I told you that naughty girls get punished,” he replies lazily and continues to tease my pussy with the tip of his cock.
“Please… Professor, please…”
He leans down and licks my neck, from my ear to my shoulder. The sensation makes me tremble.
“No, little flower. My cock is only meant for good girls. It’s a reward. Are you a good girl? I don’t think so…”
“Mmm… I can’t… Please… Mmm… I’m so…”
My pussy is so swollen, I can hardly bare it. I feel like I’m releasing a waterfall of juice as I rub myself harder on the book. Gabriel’s cock is just at my entrance, his hands are on my bare back, and his tongue is licking the side of my neck.
But he still refuses.
“You have to earn it, Rose. You have to deserve my cock and the pleasure it gives.”
He bites my earlobe and then retreats. I can hear him zipping up his pants as he circles the desk again. Then, he rests in front of me. I watch as he pulls the book from between my legs and looks into my eyes.
“Enough. Stop.”
“No… Please… I’m so close… You can’t leave me like this.”
He laughs.
“But that’s where all the pleasure comes from. Climb down from the desk, Rose.”
I do as he commands.
“Put your clothes back on.”
Frustrated beyond belief, I put my underwear and pantyhose back on. The tennis skirt that started all this is the only item of clothing left. I feel like I’m going to explode. My pussy is still dripping, and my entire body is still extremely turned on. I haven’t been given the relief I needed.
“You may go now,” he tells me, and sits behind his desk.
I turn to leave, but pause for a moment.
“I didn’t like today’s lesson, Professor.”
“Then come back tomorrow, and maybe you’ll like that one more.”
He’s my drug dealer. He’s peddling pleasure and dangling it like a carrot in front of me.
And I am addicted.
I unlock and open the door to his office and make my way out.
“Rose…” he calls after me.
I turn around and look at him. He picks up the book and licks the cover clean, enjoying the juices and the cream I left there.
“You taste divine. Thank you.”