13. Punishment
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Punishment
A t the third mentor session, Professor Stratford glances up, his eyes skimming over the stack of binders in my arms before settling on my face. A single dark eyebrow arches upward in that infuriating and incredibly sexy way of his.
“You’ve been busy,” he says.
“We found out about the whole journal thing. That the winner will get published.” The words tumble out in a rush, my excitement momentarily overriding the tension that always seems to simmer between us.
Stratford leans back in his chair. “I wondered if you’d have time between dating Brandon. Or if you’d even care about publication.”
Wow. I set the stack down on the table with a thud. I’m determined to ignore the comment about Brandon, but it stings. “I’ve been going through every academic journal I could find, every critique, every analysis… anything that could give me an edge.”
“Let’s see what you’ve got.”
As I take my seat across from him, I can’t help but feel a twinge of apprehension. He seems sharper today, harder. Meaner. I push the feeling aside, reminding myself of the progress I’ve made, of the late nights and the countless hours spent poring over Shakespeare’s texts.
Stratford sifts through the pages, his eyes scanning the lines of text, the marginal notes, the highlighted passages. Every so often, he pauses, his brow furrowing in concentration or lifting in surprise. I study his reactions, eager for any sign of approval, any hint that I’m on the right track.
“That publication you’d win? It doesn’t only have your name on it. It has the name of your mentor. Thorne might not have mentioned that.”
Shit. Our names would be together, etched into the same place. Years from now, decades, if that paper is ever cited, it will have both our names. In my own listings of publications and CV, it would have his name.
That is disturbing.
What’s most disturbing is the small swell of pleasure it gives me.
I frown at the last sentence. “Are you saying that’s why she pushes this prize? Why does the whole best-student-gets-mentored thing?”
“Why else?”
“She already has publications.”
“More is more when you want to be the best Shakespeare scholar.”
I glare at him. Professor Thorne is not my favorite person, but I’m not going to talk shit about her with him on the basis of gender. “And you somehow don’t want credit for your work?”
“Of course I do. I was warning you, in case you want to switch mentors.”
My eyes widen. He’s already done a bunch of work. Even if I did switch mentors for some reason, he’d deserve credit. “I don’t care who else is on there. My name being on a publication would be a huge deal.”
He mutters something under his breath.
“What?”
“I said you deserve to be published.”
My heart leaps at his words. “Thank you,” I say, trying to keep my voice even, to not betray how much his praise matters to me.
He leans forward, his eyes locked onto mine. “You deserve it,” he says, his tone serious, “but shit like this is not just about deserving. There are a million things that factor into a prize like this. Who’s won before, how the argument lands with the judges. Even who knows who.”
“Who knows who?”
“The world isn’t fair. You know that. It’s why you have to find some old fucker at a hotel bar to buy your textbooks.”
“You aren’t that old.”
He meant Grandpa, but I like being the one to tease him. His lips quirk, and for a moment, the rest of the world fades away. The prize, the Society. It’s just the two of us, bound by secrets and lies and a shared love of Shakespeare.
Then he frowns, as if he caught himself, as if enjoying himself is forbidden. “Get it all together, the outline, the references,” he says. “Tonight. I want the first draft in my inbox tomorrow for review.”
I start gathering up the sheets, thrown off by his cold tone. “I can’t work on it tonight but I’ll have time on Sunday.”
“It’s Friday night. What else do you have to do tomorrow?”
I cross my arms, torn between laughter and annoyance. “This might shock you, but I do have a social life. Not a big one, but it exists.”
“So you care more about fucking some frat boy than Shakespeare?”
Annoyance wins. “No, but even if I did, that’s not your business.”
“It is if I’m the one mentoring you, spending time on you. Why am I doing that if you don’t even give a shit about the Tempest Prize?”
My whole body flushes hot.
It moves through me fast, too fast, leaving me seasick and clammy. The last time we met, things had been different. He was warm, even playful.
Now he seems determined to be an asshole.
“I care about the prize—about the prestige. About the money. About the analysis, even.” I take a deep breath, trying to ignore the hurt of his accusations. “But I won’t be working on the draft tonight. I have plans, and I won’t break them just because you snap at me.”
His eyes narrow. “What are you doing tonight?”
“Hanging out?”
“With a bunch of dumb kids?”
I glare at Professor Stratford, my heart pounding with a mix of anger and defiance. “Dumb kids like your son?” I challenge, my voice rising in the silent library. The words taste bitter on my tongue, but I won’t back down. I’ve had enough of his condescension, his arrogance.
A small smile curves his lips. “I know you aren’t fucking Brandon. ”
“Fine,” I retort, my hands balled into fists at my sides. “Maybe I’m seeing someone else.” It’s a lie, but I relish the flash of jealousy that crosses his face.
His eyes narrow, and I can see the gears turning in his mind. Unfortunately for me, he’s smart—even if he is a jerk. “It’s not a date at all, is it?” he says, his voice low and dangerous. “You’re going to the Society event.”
I lift my chin defiantly, meeting his gaze with my own. “So what if I am?” I say, my voice steady despite the pounding of my heart. I won’t let him intimidate me, won’t let him control me.
“Absolutely not,” he snaps, his eyes flashing with anger.
I snort, unable to contain my frustration. “I didn’t ask for your permission.”
I’m tired of being told what to do, tired of being treated like a child.
His face hardens, and for a moment, he looks every inch the formidable professor that he is. Every inch the sinister leader of the Shakespeare Society.
“I forbid it,” he says.
“Excuse me?” My voice rises in disbelief. “You don’t get to forbid me anything, Professor Stratford. I’m not your student, your daughter, or your girlfriend. I’m nothing to you.”
“You’re the little girl wandering around the forest. I’m the wolf. I know you spoke to the dean. It won’t fucking work. You think you can take me down? I can ruin you with a few words, destroy any chance of you winning the Tempest Prize. Or having a career in this field at all. So stay the fuck away from the event.”
“If you didn’t want me to go, then why send me an invite?” His expression tightens, a flicker of something—worry, perhaps—crossing his features. “Oh, I see,” I continue, a bitter edge to my words. “You don’t completely control them, do you? Not completely. Which means you can’t stop me from attending.”
He steps towards me, his eyes dark and intense. “Anne,” he warns, his voice low and dangerous, “if you attend that event, there will be consequences.”
I raise an eyebrow, refusing to be intimidated. “Consequences?” I repeat, my tone mocking. “What are you going to do, fail me? Oh wait, I’m not in your class.”
He moves closer, heat radiating off his large body. “I’ll spank you.”
For a moment, I’m too stunned to speak.
The idea is so absurd, so unexpected, that I can’t help but laugh. The sound dies in my throat when I realize he’s serious. “You wouldn’t dare,” I whisper, my heart pounding in my chest.
He leans in, his lips brushing against my ear. “Oh, I would,” he murmurs, his voice filled with dark promise. “I’d bend you over my knee, lift that pretty skirt of yours, and spank you until your ass turns a beautiful red.”
A flush of heat floods through me, and I can feel my cheeks burning with a mix of embarrassment and arousal. I’m shocked by my own reaction, by the way my body responds to his words. I’ve always known that there’s a thin line between pleasure and pain, but I never imagined that I’d be standing on that precipice with Professor Stratford.
“Yes,” he murmurs, his large fingers brushing my flushed cheeks. “That color. I’ll enjoy it. After I’ve spanked the rebellion out of you, you’ll enjoy it, too.”
I step back, putting some much-needed distance between us. “Never.”
His gaze rakes over me with an intensity that sends shivers down my spine. “You don’t want to challenge me in this, Anne. I’ll win.”
I’m spooked by my own desires, by the realization that a part of me wants to experience the dark thrill of his punishment. But I won’t give in to that temptation, won’t let him have that power over me.
Besides, that event is not about a good time.
It’s about avenging Daisy and Tyler. About protecting the school .
“I’m going. There’s nothing you can do to stop me. Even if you spanked me, I’d still go, but you aren’t going to do that.”
“Is that so?” he murmurs, stepping towards me with a dangerous grace. I can feel the heat of his body, the magnetic pull of his presence.
I have to call his bluff. We’re in the freaking library, for Christ’s sake.
His hands grip my waist and lift me off the ground as if I weigh nothing. I gasp, my heart racing as he maneuvers me onto the study table, its surface littered with books and papers. His strength is both terrifying and thrilling, and a part of me can’t help but respond to his dominance.
With a swift motion, he bends me over the desk, my cheek pressed against the cool wood. I can feel the fabric of my skirt being lifted, his hands skimming over the curves of my ass with a possessive intent.
“Did you wear this skirt for me?” he growls, his voice thick with desire. “Did you want me to see your ass, to imagine all the wicked things I could do to it?”
I squirm, my face flushing with a mixture of embarrassment and arousal. “I didn’t—” I start to protest, but he cuts me off with a sharp smack to my backside. The sound reverberates through the quiet library, and I can’t help but moan as a jolt of pleasure shoots through me.
“Count,” he says, his hand coming down on my ass again.
The sting of the spanking is intense, but it’s mixed with a warmth that’s spreading through my core. “You’re insane.”
“You’re getting ten, but it doesn’t start until you count.”
“I’ll go to campus security.”
“You may do so once we’re done here. Now fucking count.”
He spanks me again, and I bite my lip to stifle a moan. The sound of his hand connecting with my flesh echoes in my ears, and I can feel the heat spreading across my skin. My body betrays me, and I can’t help but squirm at the sensation.
“One,” I finally manage to say, my voice barely above a whisper.
“Good girl,” he says, his voice like dark velvet, like black vellum, like everything soft and threatening at the same time.
He continues the punishment, each smack making me more aware of the heat building between my legs. “Two,” I whimper. “Three.”
“This is for being so fucking sexy,” he says, his voice gruff against my ear. “For making me hard every time you walk into a room. For haunting my dreams.”
Four, Five, Six.
I can feel the evidence of his arousal pressing against me as he leans over my back, his breath hot against my skin. His hand slides between my legs, his fingers teasing my sensitive flesh. “You’re so wet, dear heart,” he murmurs, a note of satisfaction in his voice. “You like this, don’t you?”
Seven, Eight, Nine.
I can’t deny it, not when my body is betraying me with every heartbeat. He continues to stroke me, each touch sending me closer to the edge. And just when I think I can’t take it anymore, he spanks me the hardest, enough that I cry out, a sharp, high-pitched sound, before I can moan, “Ten.”
I hear the sound of his zipper being lowered, the rustle of fabric as he positions himself behind me. “This is what you do to me,” he says, his voice barely more than a whisper. “This is what happens when you defy me.”
With a single, swift motion, he’s inside me, filling me completely. Each thrust sends a jolt of pleasure mixed with pain through my body, the sensation of his cock rubbing against my spanked skin both intense and intoxicating.
I grip the edges of the study table, my knuckles white as I try to hold on. He’s relentless, his rhythm steady and unyielding, driving me closer and closer to the brink. When I finally shatter, it’s with a scream that echoes off the library walls, a wild, unrestrained sound that belongs as much to him as it does to me.