Chapter 7 Nathaniel
SEVEN
nathaniel
I spend the rest of class watching Olivia, certain there’s nothing De Vries can say that’s more interesting than my girl. She’s the only lesson I care to learn.
She sits perfectly composed beside me—legs crossed, pen in hand, not a hair out of place—every inch the model student. But I know better.
She looks thoroughly debauched despite her pristine exterior, and I drink her in shamelessly.
The glassiness in her gaze, the telltale flush creeping up to her throat, the way she presses her thighs together, trying to suppress the memory of my fingers between them.
My cock stirs at the thought, but I force it down.
I’m not done with her, not by a long shot—but there will be time for that later.
For now, I relish the fact that I’ve made her come—desperately, beautifully, for me—in a lecture hall full of people who will never know what I took from her.
She doesn’t look over at me once, but I don’t mind. Her reticence reads like surrender to me, like she now understands that no one can touch her the way I do, that even her body recognizes who it belongs to.
I settle deeper into my chair, letting my eyes trace the delicate slope of her profile.
The way her auburn hair brushes her jaw.
The tremble in her hand as she caps her pen.
The lecture fades into a meaningless buzz.
The professor’s voice may as well be static.
Let her drone on about crisis response and stakeholder management. I have plans to make.
I will bring Olivia back to the penthouse. Run her a bath, feed her something warm. Kiss every part of her that didn’t get my attention this morning. She’ll fall asleep in my arms, blissfully content, and forget that her dorm even exists. She won’t ask for space again, not after today.
But then I blink, and the screen has gone black. Professor De Vries is dismissing the class, reminding everyone of some reading assignment I haven’t heard a word of.
I turn to Olivia to offer to carry her things, only to find that she’s already standing. Her bag is slung over her shoulder, and I reach instinctively for the strap.
She jerks it out of reach.
Before I can even process the reaction, she turns and walks briskly down the aisle, not even sparing me a backward glance. No words. No parting smile. Just…gone.
I sit there, momentarily stunned, watching the back of her head disappear into the sea of students filing toward the exit. Maybe she’s flustered. Embarrassed. The pleasure was intense, maybe too much for her in a public setting. I can fix that. I’ll catch up to her, take her hand, reassure her.
I rise and follow, cutting through the stream of students.
I push through the doors and scan the courtyard—no Olivia. My jaw tightens, but I don’t panic. Yet.
A flash of her red hair catches my eye and I spot her down the path, already halfway to the main academic building. Her stride is brisk, determined.
“Olivia!”
She doesn’t stop, or even look back.
I quicken my pace, weaving through stragglers. “Baby, wait.”
Still, nothing.
I reach her just as she turns a corner. My hand catches her elbow—gently, but firm enough to stop her.
Her silence, which I took for acquiescence in the lecture hall, has a different edge now.
“Olivia.” Uncertainty creeps into my voice. “What’s going on?”
She refuses to meet my eyes. And just like that, the warmth I was basking in vanishes. A cold wind creeps in behind my ribs.
I can’t have her walking away from me like this. Not when yesterday has already carved a hollow space in my chest. I can’t risk her trying to spend another night away from me.
“Talk to me,” I say, guiding her gently but insistently off to the side. She doesn’t resist, but she still won’t meet my eyes.
The air feels thinner with every second she won’t look at me.
I feel myself losing control of the situation.
So, I grasp at any lever I can find. I reach for a smile, easy and charming, slipping back into that careful mask I wear so well.
Then I reach out, curling two fingers under her chin and tilting her face up to mine. Her skin is warm, but her gaze is cool.
I smooth my voice into velvet, concealing my growing anxiety.
“If this is about the lecture, I’d say it was a good session.
” I say teasingly, giving her my best smile.
She just needs soothing, I tell myself. She’s still reeling, that’s all.
But she doesn’t return it. Her posture is straight, her mouth set.
That’s when it begins—the discomfort as my insides begin to fray. I watch her eyes, searching for something I can grasp, but all I find is restraint. That unsettles me more than any outburst would.
“You were trying to discipline me, weren’t you?” Her tone is measured.
I blink. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Her eyes narrow, her stare sharper than before. “Yes, you do.” Of course I do, but I need to see if she’ll name it.
I tilt my head, a small smirk curving my mouth. “Let’s not ruin a perfectly good moment by overanalyzing it, hmm?” I lean in, keeping my voice low, coaxing. “I think you liked it too much to call it discipline.”
Not even a twitch of her lips.
“You used sex to put me in my place,” she says flatly. “For talking to Adam. For talking to Landon.”
I clench my jaw, but I don’t let it show. “I don’t like sharing your attention, Olivia,” I say simply, like it’s self-evident. “You know that.”
She crosses her arms. “That’s not the issue.”
“Then what is?” I ask, trying not to sound defensive. Trying to stay ahead of her.
She sighs. “I’m learning to accept your possessiveness, Nathaniel. But I won’t be punished for breaking rules I didn’t even know existed.”
I feel the first real crack in my composure then. Punish. The word sits heavily between us.
I force a shrug. “Baby, if I wanted to punish you…” I let my voice dip. “I wouldn’t have let you come.”
But even as I say it, my heart is pounding so loudly I’m sure she can hear it. It’s finally dawning on me that Olivia is truly angry, for the first time since she gave herself to me. And I don’t know what the fuck to do with that.
What does this mean? What is she thinking? Will she decide that I’ve gone too far this time? Will she…leave?
The thought slices through me like a dull blade.
Instinctively, I reach for her wrist, for something to anchor me to her, but she doesn’t react.
My mind starts spinning. I want to fix this. I want to pull her close and make her forget. I want her soft and pliant again. I want her to tell me she loves me.
But she stands there, unmoving, eyes refusing to meet mine.
“You enjoyed it,” I remind her, my voice low, careful. Because it’s the truth. I felt the way she came undone in my hands. I saw the flush spread across her skin. I heard her begging to come. No one else can do that to her. No one else ever will.
Her chin lifts, and for a brief moment, I almost expect her to yield.
She doesn’t.
Her gaze cuts through the flimsy justification I offered. It’s clear this isn’t about how she came apart in my hands. It’s about what drove me to do it. A tightness gathers in my chest—annoyance at being questioned, maybe, or the stirrings of guilt I don’t want to acknowledge just yet.
“I need some time to myself today.”
My jaw clenches. “I barely slept last night without you.” The words taste bitter on my tongue. I’ve been counting down the hours. “You promised me tonight.”
Her gaze doesn’t waver. “Yes. But the afternoon separates now and then, and I want to spend it away from you.” There’s no anger in her voice. No heat. Just that quiet, steady resolve. I want to shake her out of it.
I draw in a slow breath, trying to hold myself together, but each second she stands firm, each second she chooses distance over me, pulls at the seams of my composure.
“But why?” The question escapes before I can stop it. It sounds desperate. Weak.
“I just need space, Nathaniel.”
Panic stirs, sharp and insistent. I can feel it twisting deeper in my stomach. Some part of me—the part that’s been fraying since last night—insists she’s slipping through my fingers. The more rational part tries to steady me. She loves you. She’s yours. She’s not saying she wants to leave you.
But the reassurance doesn’t hold. Not when she’s looking at me like that—like she could easily walk away. And god, what if she does? I shove down the thought, dragging irritation to the surface like a shield.
“You’ve already spent one night away from me,” I grit out. “That should be enough.”
Her silence says everything.
My chest constricts. The need to regain control claws at me. It is what steadies me, what brought her into my world, what keeps everything from splintering apart. Without it, what am I left with?
“What are you going to do?” My voice drops, low and rough. I step closer, enough to feel the warmth radiating from her. I half-expect her to pull away. Thankfully, she doesn’t.
“Olivia.” Her name is a plea, though I try to mask it. And the other question that claws at the back of my throat, unspoken—Why can’t I be with you?
She finally answers, and the ground shifts beneath me.
“I have a job interview.”
The words land like a slap.
An interview. My thoughts stumble, grasping for understanding. Where? With whom? Why didn’t you tell me? My mouth goes dry.
“An interview,” I echo, my voice flat.
She gives a small nod.
“Where?”
She doesn’t answer.
“With whom?”
“I have an interview, and that’s all you need to know for now.” Her voice remains even, though I can see the tension in the set of her shoulders.
I clench my jaw. For now. It’s unbearable. She’s shutting me out, keeping secrets. From me.
By the end of last semester, she had already started to let me in. But over winter break, it deepened. She kept me in the loop without being asked. Told me when firms reached out. Walked me through roles she was considering.
And after she told me she loved me, she followed it with action. She began updating her location preferences to New York. She didn’t make a big deal out of it, but I let myself believe that it meant something—that we’d reached a place of shared decisions, or at least shared intentions.
And now, this intentional omission feels like a step backward.
“You weren’t going to tell me?” My voice is soft, but the threat lurks beneath it.
“I wanted to do it on my own.”
I inhale sharply, the air thick with the weight of her defiance. On her own. As if she doesn’t know I will move heaven and earth for her—that I would tear the world apart if she so much as asked.
Why now? After everything we’ve shared, why would she shut me out of this, of all things?
“You don’t have to do anything alone, Olivia.” My voice drops, low and insistent. “You have me.”
Her eyes soften, and for a moment, I think she’ll change her mind. She’ll let me fix this. Let me take care of her.
She places a hand on my chest, and I nearly shudder at the warmth of it.
“I know,” she whispers. “But I need to prove to myself that I can stand on my own, too.”
The ache in my chest intensifies. My thoughts are a vicious spiral. She doesn’t trust me. She’s creating distance. She wants a life separate from me.
I can’t take it.
Without thinking, I reach for her and curl my fingers around her wrist—seeking connection, not restraint.
“Then let me take you,” I insist. “Let me at least be there to support you.”
“Thank you, but I can manage this.” Her fingers brush gently against mine. “Please, my love. I need to do this for me.”
My frustration mounts, the fear beneath it clawing at my ribs.
“No, Olivia, please…” The words tumble out, my voice cracking despite myself. I grip her arms now, my desperation fully exposed. “I hate being shut out like this. At least tell me where you’ll be.”
Her eyes turn glassy. I can tell that she hates seeing me like this, that it upsets her to think of hurting me…but not enough to change her mind.
She takes a deep breath.
“Nathaniel,” she says carefully, her voice shaky but resolute. “I’m just asking for a little space. If you can’t give me that…then I don’t think I should come back to the penthouse tonight.”
My axis tilts. The ground beneath me seems to crack open. The threat of her absence slams into me, a sharp, unbearable blow.
“No.” The word is barely a breath. My chest hurts.
I’ve forgotten how to breathe without her.
I weigh my options, and it quickly becomes clear that it’s not worth the risk of pushing her further.
“Fine.” The word tastes like ash. “But I’ll be waiting.
You will text me the moment it’s over, and I will come pick you up. ”
Olivia shakes her head. “I will text you when it’s over,” she says calmly. “But you will not come and get me. You need to trust that I’ll keep my word and come to you. In the same way I need to be able to trust that you will keep yours and not interfere with this.”
I say nothing. I won’t make promises I can’t keep. And maybe Olivia knows that, but for now, she accepts my silence.
She steps closer, cupping my face in her hands. I lean into it instinctively, my body craving her. And when she kisses me, it’s like oxygen flooding my lungs. I respond instantly, my arms locking around her, desperate to keep her there.
She sighs into my mouth, the sound a balm to my fraying nerves. But it’s not enough. I pour everything into the kiss—my need, my fear, my desperation—hoping she’ll feel it. Hoping she’ll understand.
When she finally pulls away, I chase her lips, unwilling to let her go. But she cups my cheek again, her thumb tracing the edge of my jaw.
“Tell me you love me,” I urge, pressing my forehead to hers.
She smiles. “I love you. So much.”
She presses a final kiss to the side of my mouth. “I’ll see you tonight, okay?”
And then she pulls away. I let her go because I have no choice. My arms feel empty without her. The warmth of her touch fades too quickly.
I watch her disappear down the walkway, and every step she takes feels like a knife twisting deeper.
But then that pang of loss shifts. My pulse slows, my thoughts sharpening.
She can have her space. But I’ll always know how to find her.