Chapter 20 Deirdre #2
“This is Miss Ravencroft. She took this class last semester, and thank your lucky stars, she will be my teaching assistant. That means she will be your point of contact for any questions, discussion sections, and study sessions outside of lecture. She’s dedicated and very insightful, and if you’re smart, you’ll make use of her time.
As you may have noticed, the only contact info on the syllabus is my email; use it only if someone is dying.
Otherwise, Miss Ravencroft can handle most of your questions. You’d be wise to respect her time.”
Respect her.
His gaze flicks toward me again, and I know the words mean something more.
The students look at me, curious about who I am and why a junior undergrad has the position of a teaching assistant, which is usually held by a grad student.
I see the curious glances and hear the whispers about the room, but none of them have any idea.
None of them knows that under my skirt, under my calm composure, my body is buzzing and utterly his.
This time, it hits a little harder. I grip my pen tighter and offer a pursed lip smile, fighting against the whimper that is trying to escape my throat.
Damn him.
As he begins to talk and dive into the lecture, I can barely pay attention to his words.
“Today,” he says, gaze sweeping the room, “we turn our full attention to Edgar Allan Poe. Few writers dissected the human condition with such ruthless honesty. Where others painted beauty, Poe carved into the rot.” He continues on, and even though I am solely focused on his mouth moving and the words coming out of it, my body is just waiting for the next hit.
“....Because he dared to give shape to what we hide. Desire. Obsession. He reminds us that the darker the obsession, the more undeniable its truth.”
Desire.
His eyes catch mine on that word, and I swear my breath tangles in my throat.
Click.
An intense buzz between my thighs makes me clench the edge of my notebook. My knees press together, my face carefully blank, though heat licks up my neck. He just keeps lecturing, unbothered, like he isn’t unraveling me one press at a time.
Kieran pauses, observing the students before him, and I recognize that look. He’s about to call on random unsuspecting students and quiz them until they are shaking in their seats.
He chooses the first group of students, letting them ramble about ravens and dreams. I shift in my seat, pen tapping against the page just to give my shaking hands something to do. When the hum of conversation stops, relief floods me until he looks at me again.
Oh no.
“Miss Ravencroft,” he says smoothly, and presses the button again.
I almost drop my pen. My heart slams, but somehow the words tumble from me, quiet but certain: “We loved with a love that was more than love.”
The class scribbles. My world narrows to him.
“And what does that mean to you?”
The vibration spikes, but this time the toy pulses harder. My thighs tremble under the desk. I bite my lip, forcing the words out. “It means…that real passion borders on madness. That when love is consuming enough, it doesn’t just define you—it devours you.”
He watches me like he can see straight through me. My cheeks burn, my body is screaming, and all I want is for the class to end, for everyone to leave, for him to shut the door of his office and finally do something about this ache he’s feeding on purpose.
But he just nods, calm, composed. “Insightful as always, Miss Ravencroft. Poe knew that love and madness often wear the same face.”
Two more waves of pleasure course through my body in succession as he lets the class settle on my analysis as I sit there, quickly fading into the abyss.
The hum cuts off suddenly, and I’m left trembling in the silence, scribbling nothing on my page just to keep from giving myself away.
Kieran continues to ramble on for the next hour and inflict the most delicious torture on me simultaneously.
And after he finally assigns the first killer assignment of the semester, he dismisses the shellshocked class of students to conclude their first day under the instruction of Professor Kieran McKnight.
Looking at their defeated faces, I am reminded of how Claire and I felt after that first day.
A small grin crawls across my face until the final click of the auditorium doors shuts behind the last student, and I feel a slight release of pressure.
My body slumps against the edge of the desk, heat still simmering low in my stomach from every calculated press of that remote.
I feel like I’ve run a marathon without moving an inch.
I glance toward him as I stand up. Kieran has quickly locked the doors and turns around, staring at me, knowing he owns every inch of me, or at the very least the oxygen I’m breathing. His gaze hooks mine across the empty seats, unrelenting.
Striding over to him, my face is heated, both from irritation and want. By the time he reaches me, I’m already caught in his orbit.
I fold my arms across my chest, trying for composure. “You’re cruel.”
His hand brushes mine, deliberate, commanding. He pushes me against a desk before he leans down so close his lips nearly graze my ear.
“Cruel? Or in control?” he counters, low and velvet, stepping closer toward me.
“Kieran…” I whisper.
He lowers his mouth to my ear, his voice gritty with need. “Two days, Deirdre. Two fucking days without touching you. And now, watching you squirm through an hour of my lecture knowing exactly what I was doing to you?”
He pulls the menacing remote out of his pocket, and my stomach flips. A shudder runs through me as he holds it up before gently placing it on the desk. Then he cups my chin with his hand and lovingly tilts my head up, his heated stare burning into mine.
“Now,” he says, low and gravely, “you’re going to show me exactly how much you missed me.”
“Come with me.”
There’s no question in his tone. Only certainty.
I should resist, tease him back, but my legs are already moving, carrying me after him through the side door that leads to his office. The silence of the hall makes every sound—our footsteps, my uneven breathing—feel amplified. Each footfall makes my stomach flip.
I swallow. My pulse hammers in my throat. “You…enjoyed yourself, didn’t you?”
Looking over his shoulder, the smirk that curls his mouth answers before his words do.
“Immensely.”
“You are ruthless, Professor.”
“And you’re flushed, Miss Ravencroft,” he teases, low and velvet, as he reaches the entry to his office.
He unlocks the door, turns the knob, and gestures for me to enter first. The click of the lock behind us seals the air with something heavier, hotter.
“Kieran…” I start, but I don’t get the chance to finish. He closes the distance in two strides, tilting my chin up with one hand. His gaze flickers over me, hungry yet restrained.
“All class long, watching you squirm in that seat…” His thumb strokes across my jaw.
“Do you have any idea how hard it was not to drag you out of there and into here? Do you have any idea how difficult it is now that I have to stand in front of a room full of students and pretend I don’t want to take you apart right there on my desk? ”
My breath catches, my skin prickling under his touch. I whisper back, trembling with anticipation, “Well, don’t you dare hold back now.”
The look in his eyes darkens, a storm breaking loose. And when his mouth finally claims mine, it’s nothing gentle. It’s every ounce of tension and denial and pent-up want spilling over, dragging me under.
Our chests are heaving when I pull away. Our foreheads pressed together, breaths ragged.
“Kieran,” I whisper against his lips, half a quiet plea, half a surrender.
He groans, his grip on my thighs tightening possessively.
“You don’t understand,” he murmurs, voice rough with hunger. “Now that I have you again, I can’t stop. I don’t want to. Every time I touch you, I just…need more.”
A shiver ripples through me, his words igniting something deep inside that’s been simmering since the moment I woke up in that hospital bed and found him there, a broken shell of the man I knew.
“Then take everything you need,” I whisper back, tugging at the collar of his shirt, desperate to erase the space between us.
His restraint dissolves instantly. His hands grip my thighs harder, dragging me closer until I’m perched on the very edge of his desk, skirt riding high.
The desk creaks beneath me as he crowds in, all heat and desire, his mouth slanting over mine in a kiss that’s far too deep, far too consuming to be anything but a sweet addiction.
He breaks away just long enough to look at me, eyes blazing. “I’ll never get my fill of you, Deirdre. Not in this lifetime.”
Before I can respond, his mouth crashes back to mine, his hunger all-consuming, his hands gripping me everywhere—skimming under my sweater, tracing every curve like he has to memorize me all over again.
And all I can do is give myself over, because he’s right.
We’ve crossed that line, and there’s no going back.
He won’t stop wanting me. And I don’t ever want him to. I want to be his addiction.
Kieran’s mouth devours mine, his kiss tasting of restrained hunger breaking loose.
His tongue slides against mine, teasing, claiming, until I’m clinging to him, pulling him closer like I’ll suffocate without his weight against me.
He presses his hips into me, and I can feel his hard cock against my thigh.
I moan in his mouth in response, trying desperately to push myself against him, impossibly closer to his body.
His hands are everywhere, tightly fisting my hair as he tugs my head back, sliding down my throat, gripping my hips.
Then, lower, his fingers catch the hem of my sweater and tug it upward.
My arms lift almost instinctively, surrendering, and he rips it over my head in one smooth motion, tossing it aside carelessly.
“Kieran...” I breathe, my voice shaky, need pulsing through me.
“Shh,” he murmurs, pressing his mouth to the sensitive spot below my ear, teeth grazing lightly. “I told you…I can’t stop. I won’t stop.”
My bra straps slip down my shoulders as he kisses lower, leaving a heated trail down my chest. The air feels electric against my skin, my nerves sparking as he cups my breasts through the lace, his thumbs stroking over hardened peaks until I’m arching into him, silently begging.
“Kieran, please,” I whisper.
He growls low in his throat, tugging the lace down just enough to bare me to his mouth. His lips close around one nipple, tongue circling, and I gasp, my nails digging into the solid muscle of his shoulders. Heat surges straight between my thighs, my whole body tightening under his touch.
“You’re too perfect,” he rasps against my skin. “Mine.”
The word shoots straight through me, my breath catching as he pushes me further back on the desk, spreading my thighs wide with the insistent grip of his hands. My skirt rides up higher, the fabric bunching at my hips, baring me completely to him.
He pauses, just for a heartbeat, his gaze locking with mine. “Tell me you need me.”
“I need you,” I confess without hesitation, every inch of me trembling with urgency. “Always.”
That’s all he needs.
His lips find mine again as his hand slips between my thighs, fingers teasing, stroking, making me whimper against his lips. He pulls back just enough to watch me, his expression dark with desire as he works me into a frenzy. His fingers are plunging inside me, curling forward.
“Harder,” I beg. “Please.”
The veins in his forearm bulge as his movements become more forceful.
“You’re so wet,” he murmurs, voice dripping with satisfaction. “I barely touched you, and your needy pussy is ready for me.”
“Yes,” I gasp, hips lifting into his hand, desperate. “Kieran...”
“Beg for it. Be my slut,” he demands, as he pushes two fingers inside me.
Gripping his shoulders, I scream, any regard to our secret, leaving my body.
“I need you to fuck me, Professor. Please.”
His patience snaps. With one swift motion, he unbuckles his belt, the metallic clink echoing in the quiet office like a promise. My pulse stutters, anticipation coiling so tight I can hardly breathe.
When he pushes his swollen cock into my pussy, it’s sudden and overwhelming, filling me so completely I cry out his name.
“Fuck! Kieran!”
“Your pussy is strangling my cock. Fuck,” he groans, his forehead pressing hard against mine. “I’ll never get enough of you, Deirdre. Never.”
Our bodies move together in a rhythm that feels animalistic, like our pain brought us closer, like we were made to break apart and come back together only to burn hotter every single time.
His thrusts are deep, relentless, dragging cries from my throat as I cling to him, nails raking across his back, grounding myself in the sheer intensity of him.
The desk shakes beneath us, papers scattering to the floor, but I don’t care. The world has narrowed to nothing but the heat of him, the sound of his growl in my ear, the way his hands grip me like he’ll never let me go.
I can feel myself unraveling, every nerve ending sparking with pleasure until I’m gasping, sobbing his name, breaking apart around him.
He follows, his thrusts turning rougher, needier, until with a shuddering groan he spills into me, his arms crushing me against his chest, his body trembling with the force of it.
We stay there, tangled, breathless, clinging to each other like neither of us wants to let go. And in that moment, I know one thing with absolute certainty; Kieran wasn’t exaggerating. Now that he has me again, he’ll never stop wanting me.
And I’ll never want him to.