26. Jasmine
JASMINE
Against my better judgment, I’m pacing outside of Conner Kilgore’s office like a woman with something to prove and nowhere to place the fire clawing at her throat.
From the outside, I probably look like any other pissed-off student, too wired up over a grade, but this isn’t about a fucking grade.
This is about control. About him. About the sick, burning thing between us that neither of us can seem to walk away from.
He gave me a D. A D. After I aced that goddamn report with citations, tight logic, and a better thesis than half the PhD candidates in this building.
And for what? For disappearing while I grieved?
For getting too close? For letting him see the softest, ugliest pieces of me and then still wanting to touch him anyway?
Fail me? He wants me to fight him. He wants me pissed, loud, unhinged—and God, I want to give it to him.
I want to storm through that door and pin him to the wall with my words, make him admit he’s punishing me because he can’t stand the power I have over him.
Because I got too close and now he doesn’t know how to hold that without snapping it in half.
My feet won’t stop moving. My hand clenches the strap of my bag so tightly it aches. I can feel the weight of everything we haven’t said pressing down on my spine. He’s in there, behind that heavy door, probably calm and cold and smug—probably waiting.
He wants this to end in fire. And I don’t know what terrifies me more: that I might burn him down, or that I’ll let him burn me. I spin on my heel to start pacing the other direction—because motion is the only thing keeping me from exploding—and that’s when I see him.
Striding down the hallway like the problem he is, dressed in a black suit that fits him like sin.
His black jacket hanging loosely around his crisp, tailored dress shirt rolled up at the sleeves, the top button undone as his long fingers work at the knot of his tie like it’s personally offended him.
His briefcase swings from his other hand, steady, measured, like he’s not on his way to war but to church.
Like he doesn’t know he’s about to be screamed at by the girl who is barely holding her bones together.
My breath hitches.
Because he looks unfair like this—too composed, too sharp, too cold. Green eyes locked ahead, jaw tight, the same way it was the night I told him my darkest truth and he couldn’t even bring himself to stay in the room.
And still—still—my body reacts to him like it’s instinct. My pulse surges. My hands itch. My skin tightens. He’s a black hole in motion and I am so fucking tired of orbiting him.
He doesn’t speak when he reaches me. Just stops, inches away, the scent of him hitting like a wave—clean linen and cool air and something darker underneath it, like smoke and heat.
The tie is hanging loose now, collar gaping just enough to show the edge of that tattoo crawling up his collarbone.
The one I asked about once and never got an answer.
He looks down at me, eyes unreadable.
I square my shoulders, jaw tight. If he thinks he can intimidate me into silence, he’s got another thing coming. “Professor Kilgore, you wished to speak to me?”
“Office,” he says flatly, voice low and clipped like a command. Then he brushes past me and unlocks the door. Doesn’t look back.
I stand there for half a second—long enough to remember that I am not afraid of Conner Kilgore.
But maybe… I should be. I follow him in.
The door clicks shut behind me like the beginning of a countdown, and I swear I can feel the air tighten with it. His office is neat—sickeningly so. Every book lined up like a soldier. Desk clear, except for a laptop, a single pen, and a thick, manila folder sitting in the upper right corner.
He doesn’t sit. Just drops his briefcase beside the desk and walks behind it, still undoing the last of his tie like it’s strangling him. He meets my eyes like I’m already wasting his time.
“So?” I snap, arms folded across my chest like armor. “Am I here to watch you change my grade again in front of me this time? Or are we just playing this fun little power trip out in private?”
He leans back against the desk, arms crossed to match mine. “You’re here,” he says calmly, “because you made a scene.”
“You made a scene.” My voice lifts, sharp and vicious. “I got every question right on that report and you know it. You dropped my grade because you’re mad I didn’t beg you to stay that night.”
His jaw ticks. Just a fraction. But I see it, and I want to dig my teeth into the pulsing veins.
I take a step forward, not backing down. “You think you can punish me academically for your own emotional constipation? Get over yourself, Conner Kilgore.”
His eyes darken, just a flicker. But it’s there. “Watch your tone.”
“Or what?” I hiss, stepping closer and placing both palms on his desk. “You’ll flunk me again? Humiliate me in front of your whole damn class? You already did that. So what now, professor?”
His full name in my mouth feels like a curse. He doesn’t flinch—but his posture shifts. Subtly. Like a weapon being drawn.
“You are one inch from insubordination, Miss Rivera,” he says, low and deliberate as he circles around the desk invading my space.
“And you are one inch from violating every ethics code this school has,” I bite out.
“You want to play God with my GPA? Fine. But don’t pretend this is about academic integrity.
This is about you. You couldn’t stomach that something was happening between us, and it was great. It was glorious, and you ruined it.”
“I didn’t ruin it,” he hisses, slowly peeling his jacket off of his broad shoulders. “You are my student.”
I let out an humorless laugh, fully throwing my head back like this was the joke of the century. “We are way past student and teacher, Conner.”
His name rolls off my tongue and I hope it burns but really it tickles like the best forbidden fruit. He chuckles lowly, yanking his tie from around his neck fully, as he leans back on his oakwood desk.
I can feel it building between us—the growing volatile energy that seems too big for this room. But I don’t care. I’m done letting him hold all the cards. Done pretending I’m not furious. That I’m not hurt. That I didn’t reach for him in the dark and get frostbite for it.
“I am not your little pawn,” I say, breath catching. “And if you think I’ll let you ruin everything I’ve worked for just because you’re scared of how I make you feel, then you’ve really underestimated me.”
His eyes flash—sharp and brilliant, like emeralds catching flame in the sun. “You think you scare me, sunshine?”
“I know I scare you.”
He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t move back. Instead, he closes the distance between us like he’s daring me to flinch. “No, baby girl,” he murmurs, voice low and dangerous, the syllables curling around me like smoke. “I’m not scared of you. I’m scared of what I could do to you.”
The words strike like thunder. I inhale sharply, the scent of him—mint and leather and something darker—flooding my senses. It’s overwhelming. Familiar. Addictive. I hate it. I crave it.
I drop my gaze, refusing to meet his eyes even as I feel them burning into me. They’re searching—for weakness, for want, for anything I’ll give. And I won’t. I can’t.
“You don’t scare me,” I say, voice barely above a whisper.
“No?” His voice is all mockery and silk. He leans closer, breath ghosting across my cheek, and my eyes betray me, slipping to the hollow of his throat. To the slow shift of his Adam’s apple when he swallows.
“I should scare you, little Sunshine,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against my ear. “Compared to me, your lover Landon is a kiddie meal.”
I snort, trying to bite back the flutter in my chest. “You’re so full of yourself, it’s amazing you don’t float away.”
He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t blink. Just lifts one brow, and then—soft but edged—he says, “Give me your hands.”
I freeze. “What?”
“If you’re not saying stop… or red,” he says evenly, tone flat and final, “then I don’t want to hear another word from that mouth.”
My breath hitches, and my eyes widen. I don’t move. I don’t lift my hands. The air between us crackles like it’s been struck by lightning.
So he reaches out and he takes my wrists—not rough, not gentle, just enough to prove a point—and brings them forward between us. “Are you against being tied up?”
I swallow hard, my pulse racing as his fingers tighten around my wrists. “N-no,” I stammer, the word barely audible.
“Good girl,” he purrs, his voice dripping with approval.
He releases one wrist to reach into his desk drawer, pulling out a length of soft black silk.
My heart skips a beat as he begins to bind my hands together, the fabric cool and smooth against my skin.
He ties the knot with practiced ease, testing the tightness before letting go.
“There,” he says, stepping back to admire his handiwork. “Now you’re mine.”
I shiver at the words, my body betraying me as heat pools low in my belly. He circles me slowly, his gaze raking over me like a predator sizing up its prey. “You’re trembling,” he observes, his voice low and teasing. “Is it fear… or anticipation?”
I bite my lip, refusing to answer. He chuckles darkly, stopping behind me.
His hands settle on my shoulders, and I can feel the warmth of his body pressing against my back.
“You’re going to learn to obey me, Jasmine,” he whispers, his breath hot against my neck.
“Every word. Every command. And you’re going to love every second of it. ”
His hands slide down my arms, sending a jolt of electricity through me. He grips my bound wrists and pulls them back, forcing me to arch against him. “Do you feel that?” he growls, his lips brushing against my ear. “That’s the power I have over you. The control. And you’re going to beg for more.”
I whimper, my body responding to his words despite my best efforts to resist. He releases my wrists and spins me around to face him, his eyes blazing with intensity. I hear the slow roll of his zipper as his eyes run over my face, focusing in on my mouth.
“Kneel,” he commands, his voice leaving no room for argument.
My knees hit the floor before I even realize I’ve moved. He towers over me, his presence overwhelming. He reaches down and tilts my chin up, forcing me to meet his gaze. “Look at me,” he orders, his voice firm but not unkind. “You’re mine now, Jasmine. And I’m going to take care of you.”
His hand moves to the back of my head, fingers tangling in my hair. He pulls gently but firmly, guiding me closer to him. My breath quickens as I realize what he wants. “Open your mouth,” he says, his voice a low rumble.
I obey without hesitation, parting my lips as he steps closer. He groans softly as he guides himself into my mouth, his grip on my hair tightening. “That’s it,” he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. “Take it all.”
I moan around him, the sound muffled as he pushes deeper. His other hand cups my cheek, thumb brushing against my lips as he moves in and out of my mouth. “You’re so good at this,” he praises, his voice rough with need. “Such a perfect little submissive.”
The words send a thrill through me, and I can feel myself growing wetter with every passing second. He pulls back slightly, allowing me to catch my breath before pushing in again. “You’re going to make me come,” he growls, his hips moving faster now. “And you’re going to swallow every drop.”
I whimper in response, the sound only encouraging him further. His grip on my hair tightens, and I can feel him throbbing in my mouth as he gets closer to the edge. “That’s it,” he groans, his voice strained. “Just like that.”
With a final thrust, he comes hard, his release filling my mouth. I swallow obediently, savoring the taste of him as he pulls back with a satisfied sigh. He looks down at me, his eyes dark with lust. “Good girl,” he murmurs, stroking my cheek. “You did so well.”
He unties my hands and helps me to my feet, his touch surprisingly gentle.
“Now,” he says, his voice low and commanding once more.
“It’s your turn.” He leads me to his desk, pushing me down onto the surface with a firm hand on my back.
“Spread your legs,” he orders, his tone leaving no room for argument.
I obey without hesitation, my body trembling with anticipation as he steps between my thighs.
His hands slide up my legs, hooking his hands around my shorts and yanking them down my thighs.
“You’re so wet for me already,” he observes, his fingers brushing against my soaked panties. “Such a needy little thing.”
He pulls the fabric aside, exposing me completely. His fingers tease my entrance, drawing a gasp from my lips. “Beg for it,” he demands, his voice rough with desire.
“Please,” I whimper, my hips bucking against his hand. “Please, Conner…”
“Please what?” he taunts, his fingers circling my clit with maddening slowness.
“Please fuck me,” I beg, my voice breaking with desperation.
He smirks, clearly enjoying the effect he has on me. “Since you asked so nicely…” He steps back long enough to pull me back up to my feet, quickly positioning himself at my entrance.
“Conner, but you just--ahhh! With one swift motion, he thrusts into me, filling me completely.
I cry out at the sudden intrusion, my nails digging into the desk as he begins to move. His pace is relentless, each thrust driving me closer to the edge. “You feel so good,” he groans, his hands gripping my hips tightly. “So tight… so perfect.”
His words only fuel my arousal, and I can feel myself spiraling out of control. He leans over me, his breath hot against my ear. “Come for me, Jasmine,” he commands, his voice low and urgent. “Let go.”
The command is all it takes to push me over the edge. My body convulses around him as I come hard, waves of pleasure crashing over me. He follows soon after, his release filling me as he groans my name.
He pulls out slowly, helping me sit up as we both catch our breath. His hands are gentle now as he brushes the hair from my face. “You did so well,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “But we’re not done yet.”