Chapter 14 #4
The sheer arrogance of her banter, the instinctual drive to fight for a psychological one-up even while pinned against my wall, sent a surge of adrenaline through my veins.
It was an undeniable, magnetic pull for more of her—a total destabilisation of my order that I should have rejected, yet I found myself utterly powerless to resist.
I offered her a slow, dangerous smirk and leaned back in, burying my face in the crook of her neck.
I found the messy, yellow-green shadow of the bruise I had left the previous week and bit down on the marked skin.
She let out a guttural groan that vibrated against my lips.
Her hand on my thigh rode up the length of my torso, her fingers hovering tentatively at the base of my neck, hesitating to ruin the immaculate structure of my hair.
I pulled back just far enough to brush my lips against her earlobe, catching the soft cartilage between my teeth. She immediately pushed her hips forward, grinding her lower body against mine in a silent, desperate plea.
I let out a low, amused chuckle directly against her skin. “Darling... you are being exceptionally needy.”
Her breath caught, a flash of genuine irritation crossing her features. “Are you fucking serious?” she breathed out.
The curse word cut through my amusement instantly.
My hand tightened around her throat, cutting off her speech, choking out a sharp gasp.
With a swift, unyielding jerk of my wrist, I tilted her head back until her eyes were forced to lock directly onto mine.
I was not restricting her airway, but I could feel the frantic, terrified rhythm of her pulse hammering violently against my palm.
Leaning down, I caught her bottom lip between my teeth and bit down hard, causing her eyes to slide shut as a tremor rippled through her frame. Before the pain could fully register, I soothed the sting with a slow, deliberate stroke of my tongue.
I shook my head, my gaze boring into hers.
“I explicitly gave you an instruction. Never swear at me.” I lowered my head, my lips brushing the shell of her ear as I dropped my voice to a lethal, suffocating whisper.
“The only time you’re allowed to swear is when I’m making you lose control to a point you don’t even know what you’re saying, darling. ”
I nibbled the sensitive skin of her lobe, and a small, broken whimper escaped her throat, entirely unbidden.
“Now,” I murmured, my authority absolute. “Say that you are sorry.”
I watched her chest heave as she took a long, steadying breath, her eyes searching mine for any sign of leniency. Finding none, she finally submitted to my unerring discipline.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
I let out a low hum of preliminary approval, but I kept my brow arched, refusing to release the pressure at her neck. “You’re sorry to whom, Alex?”
“I’m sorry, Dr. Carter,” she clarified, her voice entirely rough and her gaze dropping to my mouth in hope.
The unequivocal submission was more intoxicating than the physical contact of her skin. I rewarded her obedience, letting my gaze sweep over her flushed features with absolute, heavy satisfaction.
“Good girl,” I murmured. The phrase echoed the quiet command from my kitchen, but this time, the cadence was drenched in an intense, territorial heat.
I maintained the suffocating eye contact for one final, agonising beat, my thumb resting directly over the throb of her pulse point, before I finally, slowly, began to grant her space back.
The iron pressure at her throat eased as I withdrew my hand, though my other palm remained firmly anchored on the high curve of her hip, maintaining the boundary.
The space between us widened by barely an inch, but it was enough to allow her a deep, shuddering gulp of air. Her back remained pinned entirely flush against the cold plaster, her dark eyes still wide, tracking my every movement with a mixture of raw shock and unvarnished desire.
I took a slow, deliberate breath to anchor my own fractured composure.
"We are in my office, Alex," I reminded her, ensuring my voice returned to a low, instructional cadence, though the undertone was still heavily thick with the lust vibrating in my veins.
"The door is locked, but we are not reckless.
You will collect your things and proceed to the library as you usually do. "
I watched her mind practically scream in protest. The sheer disbelief etched into her features was exquisite.
Go to the library? After that? “You can’t be serious,” she whispered, her voice still rough, her long fingers tightening in a desperate clutch against my hip, refusing to break the physical connection.
A faint, almost cruel smile touched my lips at her stubbornness. “I am always serious, darling. Especially regarding the concept of deferred gratification.”
Lifting my hand from her neck, I lightly brushed a stray lock of hair off her forehead, my fingertips briefly tracing the precise outline of the healing cut.
A gentle, physical reminder of who had spent the weekend preserving her health.
“Remember your concussion. And remember your promises. We possess all the time in the world for this.”
That specific phrase hung in the air between us like a contract.
I deliberately released my hold on her hip. The contact dissolved completely, and I caught the exact second she shivered, looking momentarily unsupported and dizzy without my weight pressing her into the wall. I did not offer her a hand to steady herself.
Pivoting smoothly on my heel, I returned to my desk with that same unyielding, regal composure I utilised to command a lecture theatre.
I slid my chair out and sat down, picking up my leather briefcase and adjusting my laptop as if nothing more substantial than a routine academic Q&A session had just transpired.
“You may go, Alex,” I said, lifting my eyes to meet hers. I made the stare clinical, cool, and entirely detached, systematically erasing every trace of the demanding predator from seconds prior. “And do attempt to keep your blouse properly fastened for the remainder of the afternoon.”
She simply stood there, staring at me with a breathless, heavily frustrated heat radiating from her posture. She was still completely cooked by the encounter, her pulse visibly throbbing in her throat. I held her gaze, my expression unreadable, waiting for her compliance.
With a slow, stunned shake of her head, she finally pushed off the plaster.
She snatched her bag from the floorboards, her hands trembling noticeably as she flung the strap over her shoulder.
She didn't afford me another look as she marched toward the exit, her fingers fumbling awkwardly with the brass lock.
The mechanism clicked. But as she pulled the heavy timber open to step into the corridor, I decided to deliver the final boundary.
“And Alex?” I called out, my voice low, dismissive, yet carrying a razor-sharp edge. “No more looking at Ms. Davies.”
She stopped dead in the doorway.
The realisation hit her instantly—the absolute certainty that the department aid had been the true catalyst for her being dragged into this room.
She pivoted back slowly, looking at me across the immaculate expanse of my glass desk.
The defiant, bratty anger was back in her eyes, sharp and incredibly possessive.
“And if I do?” she challenged, unable to resist one final, foolish push against my authority.
I knew exactly what was happening in her arrogant little mind. We aren’t dating. She hasn't bought me. She truly believed she wasn't beholden to anyone.
I didn't even blink. I leaned back slightly in my chair, locking her in a stare that promised absolute ruin.
“Then you will find yourself right back in this office,” I stated, my delivery smooth and entirely devoid of emotion. “And trust me, darling, the punishment will be far less pleasant than the last time you misbehaved.”
I watched the swallow catch hard in her throat. She felt the full weight of the threat, but I didn't miss the undeniable spike of excitement that flared in her pupils at the prospect. She didn't utter another syllable.
She turned, pulled the heavy door shut behind her, and the latch clicked into place, leaving me alone in the silence of my office with the lingering scent of her perfume and the absolute certainty that I had her completely under my control.