Chapter 16 #2
“I saw the way he looked at you,” I said, my voice dipping lower, filthier now.
“That little shit wanted to fuck you. Thought he’d earn your attention with a few fucking jokes and charm.
Thought he could get your number. Take you skiing.
Maybe steal a kiss in the snow. Maybe more.
I should’ve stayed away. I told myself I would.
Tried to be a fucking professional. But then I saw you, sitting there beside him.
Letting him imagine he could touch you. That he deserved even a moment of your attention. ”
“And all I could think,” I whispered, my breath fanning against her skin, “was how I’d break his fucking hands if he laid a finger on you. I’d ruin him for thinking he could taste what’s mine.”
Her breath hitched, trembling on the edge of something fragile and furious. I felt it before she spoke, the shift in her posture, the tension coiling behind her silence. And when her voice finally rose, it cut through me.
“Why?” she asked, low and trembling. “Why are you doing this?”
“Who are you to me?” she pushed further, her voice rising, cracking with emotion. “You say these things, you act like you have some claim, but what the hell am I to you, Professor?”
Her words struck clean, deliberate, and I felt them land in the space I’d tried so damn hard to keep buried.
“You don’t get to decide who I talk to,” she said. “You don’t get to glare across rooms or act like you’d burn every man I laugh with.”
I flinched at that. Because I would. I already had, in my mind, with my hands, with the sharp edge of every thought that spiraled into darkness the second another man got too close.
She stepped forward, her eyes never leaving mine. “Whatever he wanted to do to me, it’s not your business. Not your concern.”
And that was it. That was the moment I stopped pretending I had control.
My hand found her waist, pulled her in with a grip that said everything I hadn’t allowed myself to say. My other hand pressed against the wall behind her head, caging her in, not to trap her, but to stop myself from doing more, from wrecking everything that wasn’t already broken.
Her chest pressed against mine, her breath uneven, her lips parted with something between defiance and need.
“I’m doing it because—” My voice caught low in my throat, rough and dangerous, the rest of the sentence devoured by the space between our mouths.
Then I kissed her, hard and hungry, a collision of need and fury that wasn’t a question seeking permission but a confession dragged straight from the wreckage of restraint.
Her gasp was the only sound she made before she melted into it, her hands twisting in the fabric of my shirt, clinging to me as if nothing else existed.
I deepened the kiss, tongue sliding past her lips, tasting the truth she wouldn’t speak aloud.
She met me with equal urgency, answering my hunger with her own, every movement feeding the ache that had lived too long between us.
Her scent wrapped around me, sweet and warm, turning memory into heat until every breath blurred into want, and when her mouth met mine, it wasn’t softness or surrender but a fever that deepened with every movement, pulling me under until all that existed was the taste of her and the hunger she kept feeding.
Her soft moans vibrated against my lips, each one stripping away what little restraint I had left.
I angled my head and deepened the kiss, my mouth moving against hers with a rhythm that shifted between force and control, rough enough to stake a claim, slow enough to torment, each movement a deliberate act of possession that left no space for doubt or mercy.
She didn’t pull away. She kissed me back.
And I knew, she hated how much she wanted this. Hated how much she wanted me.
Good. Let her hate it. Because I wasn’t going to stop. Not now that I’d finally tasted what I’d been starving for. Not when she felt this good breaking under my mouth.
When she moaned into the kiss, it broke something in me, I wanted to press her harder against the door. I wanted to sink my teeth into the soft skin below her jaw, to leave a mark that said she wasn’t his, or anyone else’s. She was mine. Even if I had no right.
I could feel the heat radiating from her body, her green sweater and jeans doing nothing to hide her curves. I pressed her against the door, my hands roaming her body, slipping under her sweater to feel the soft skin beneath.
I kissed down her jaw, sucking and nipping at the sensitive skin, leaving behind a trail of marks. My fingers found the button of her jeans, deftly undoing them and sliding down the zipper. I slipped my hand inside, my fingers brushing against the damp fabric of her panties.
She moaned softly, her hips bucking against my hand, seeking more friction. I obliged, rubbing her through the soaked material, feeling her wetness coat my fingers. I pushed her panties aside, my fingers sliding through her folds, feeling her shiver at my touch.
“Hmm…you’re already wet for me, baby,” I growled against her lips. “So wet and ready for me.”
I circled her entrance, teasing her, before slowly pushing one finger inside.
She was tight, her walls clenching around me, sucking me in deeper.
I added a second finger, scissoring them, stretching her, getting her ready for me.
I pumped my fingers in and out, curling them to hit that spot inside that had her seeing stars.
My thumb found her clit, rubbing it in tight circles, driving her wild.
She bucked against my hand, her moans and gasps filling the room, mingling with the wet sounds of my fingers fucking her.
“Pro…Professor!” she cried out, her nails digging into my shoulders as I pumped my fingers in and out, curling them to hit that sensitive spot.
“You like that, baby?” I growled, my thumb finding her swollen clit, rubbing it in tight circles, driving her wild. “You like it when I fuck you with my fingers?”
"Yes! Yes! Please don't stop!" she sobbed helplessly, her hips rocking frantically against my hand as she shamelessly chased her pleasure. "Please Professor, I need it so badly!
I could feel her getting close, her walls starting to flutter around my finger. I leaned in close, my lips brushing her ear. “Come for me, Edwina,” I whispered darkly, my voice rough with desire. “Let me feel you fall apart on my fingers.”
With a scream, she came, her pussy clamping down on my fingers, her juices coating my hand. I worked her through it, prolonging her ecstasy, until she collapsed against the door, spent and trembling.
I withdrew my fingers, bringing them to my lips, sucking them clean. I hummed in appreciation, the taste of her intoxicating. “You taste like heaven,” I murmured, my voice hoarse.
Her lips were kiss-swollen, breath caught, her eyes still half-lidded in a daze I wasn’t sure ever I wanted her to come down from.
“I hope that gave you the answers to your questions…” My lips hovered near her ear, close enough to feel her shiver. “Hmm, Edwina?”
She didn’t speak. Her silence bled through the air, thick and trembling, vibrating between us with the ghost of what I’d just taken.
I could still feel the echo of her mouth against mine, the taste of her—sweet, desperate, fucking forbidden—still burning on my tongue.
That kiss had no business existing, no right to happen, and I couldn’t bring myself to regret a single goddamn second of it.
I’d claimed something that wasn’t mine to take, and the cruelest truth of all was that I had no intention of ever giving it back.
“You’re not going skiing with him.”
Her brows drew together, confusion flickering in her eyes. “What—”
I closed the space before she could finish, my hand finding her jaw, fingers tracing the line of her throat. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t cruel. It was possession turned into touch, enough pressure to make her lift her chin, to make her meet my stare.
“He doesn’t get to touch you,” I said, every word dragging out of me, rough and primal, soaked in the hunger I’d been pretending to cage. “He doesn’t get to stand next to you on those slopes, watching you smile, pretending for a second that he could be the one to keep you warm when the day ends.”
Her breath hitched, her throat working as she swallowed, her pulse fluttering beneath her skin. I could see it, could fucking feel it, the beat that betrayed her.
“I’ll ruin that fantasy for him,” I went on, voice dropping lower, darker.
“If you go with him, if you so much as let him think he matters, I’ll end it.
I’ll make sure he never forgets what he can’t have.
And I’ll remind you who the fuck you belong to.
I’ll claim you until no one else can touch you without tasting me.
I’ll make you come so hard you’ll forget your own name.
You’ll remember my hands, my fingers inside you, my mouth on your skin, the way I say your name when I’m buried deep inside you, making you scream for more. ”
Her body went still, completely still, but her breathing gave her away. It was shallow, erratic, trembling on the edge of fear and want, both tearing through her with equal force.
“You belong to me,” I said, the words guttural, carved from something I didn’t have a name for anymore.
She looked at me, eyes wide, pupils blown, defiance and confusion warring in the same breath. “Tell me you won’t go with him,” I said, my tone softening but never easing. “Say it, Edwina. Say the goddamn words.”
Her lips parted, trembling. She didn’t look away. Couldn’t. Her breath shuddered between us, warm and uneven. Then she whispered, barely audible, “Fine. I won’t go.”
Good girl.
Her voice broke around the words, but I didn’t care. It was enough. It was surrender. The sound of it hit me harder than anything else had. It loosened something in me and coiled something else tighter.
She turned, her hand fumbling for the door handle, her movements jerky, unsteady. Her hair was tousled, falling over her face in waves, her sweater slipped off one shoulder, exposing flushed skin I hadn’t even touched yet. Every detail screamed of something we couldn’t take back.
I watched her go, every step dragging her further away and still not far enough. She moved quickly, but her body betrayed her, hips swaying, breath uneven, the faint tremor in her hands giving her away. She was running from me, but she was running from herself too.
She didn’t look back. The proof of what I’d done to her was written all over her, the uneven pace of her retreat, the way her body couldn’t quite remember how to belong to itself anymore.
A low laugh slipped from me, rough and dark, scraping against the back of my throat.
It wasn’t amusement, it was satisfaction twisted into something filthier, something that bordered on cruel.
I could still taste her. Still see the flash of her eyes, wide and uncertain, the flush of her cheeks, the parting of her lips before that kiss had devoured her composure.
She ran because she thought distance could save her, that space would somehow cleanse the sin from her veins. But she was already marked.
I leaned back against the door, the weight of what just happened pressing down on me, my pulse hammering.
I dragged a hand through my hair, then lower, palm pressing against the hard line straining beneath my jeans.
My cock throbbed, angry and unsatisfied, still aching for what I hadn’t finished, what I wasn’t fucking done with.
I could still smell her on me, still feel the ghost of her breath on my skin. Every nerve in my body screamed for more. Watching her run, watching her try to hold herself together, only made it worse.
She was a mess—my mess—and she could pretend to hate it all she wanted, but her body had already told the truth.
This wasn’t over. Not even close.
No, Edwina.
This was only the fucking beginning.