Chapter 30 Kieran
Kieran
“Strictly speaking, there is but little similarity between the above sketchy trifle.” Edgar Allan Poe
The lecture hall is silent except for the scratch of pens and the low hum of nervous students.
Midterms.
Rows of bowed heads and papers with students scribbling away. I pace the aisle slowly, hands clasped behind my back, watching the clock tick down each minute.
They think this exam is their hardest obstacle. They don’t know what waits for me in my inbox.
Sheridan’s name stared back at me twenty minutes ago, stamped across the subject line like a warning bell. The tone of his email was curt and demanding: Both you and your teaching assistant are to meet me in my office after your class today. Do not be late.
He couldn’t even be bothered enough to call Deirdre by her name.
He didn’t need to spell out why. He wants to pull the leash a little tighter, especially before tomorrow night.
I quickly sent a text to Deirdre alerting her. It probably was not the smartest idea to send a text, but it would have brought enough eyes to us had I pulled her aside. I want to tell her not to worry. That I won’t let him touch her with his words, but I can’t say a thing.
My gaze drifts to the front row, to where she sits as if she doesn’t feel the room pressing in around her.
Her hair falls in a long black curtain, head bent, pen moving steadily.
While midterms are being conducted, she is writing her own paper for Tipton’s class.
Her last assignment before we sneak away to find Trevor and she takes her freedom back.
The clock strikes the hour. I call time, collect their papers, and dismiss the class. One by one, they file out, chattering about spring break plans, blissfully unaware that the real test is about to begin.
At least for us.
We cross the busy courtyard, my footsteps matching hers.
Wind stings my cheeks and rattles the bare branches overhead.
A pack of students nearly collides with us, their laughter trailing behind us.
I hear bits of their conversation—“Miami,“ “road trip,” “thank God”—while my stomach knots tighter with each step toward the administrative building. I know why Sheridan wants to see us. What I don’t like is him being in close proximity to Deirdre.
Sheridan’s office sits at the end of a polished hallway, doors heavy with old wood and brass plates gleaming. His secretary looks up from her desk the moment we enter. She’s young, blonde, all wide eyes and perfect teeth.
His type.
“Professor McKnight,” she chirps, “Miss Ravencroft. President Sheridan just stepped out to take a call. He shouldn’t be long. You’re welcome to wait in his office.”
Her voice is light, pleasant, untainted by suspicion.
Deirdre leans slightly toward me as we pass the desk, her tone dry. “I guess not everyone’s heard the rumors.”
I slide her a look, the corner of my mouth twitching. “She’s polite, not perceptive. Flighty thing. Pretty packaging, empty contents.”
The quiet huff of her laugh pulls at me in places I shouldn’t let it.
Inside, Sheridan’s office is all dark wood, leather chairs, and shelves of books no one’s opened in years.
His certificates are framed to remind anyone who steps inside how long he’s been perched above them.
A steamy hot cup of coffee sits untouched on his desk, as if it’s just been poured and he had to run out.
We sit in two separate chairs, entirely too close to each other. At first, the silence is thick, as we anticipate his arrival. I fold my hands on my knee, and Deirdre smooths an imaginary crease from her skirt.
Waiting.
But the quiet stretches and grows heavy. And in that weight, something shifts.
Her knee brushes mine. I’m sure accidental at first. I don’t move. Neither does she. My gaze drifts to her profile, the elegant line of her jaw, the way her lips press together like she is trying her best to hold back.
I lean closer, lowering my voice. “This is dangerous.”
Her eyes flick to mine, defiant, daring. “Everything with you is, Professor.”
The air between us charges. My hand drifts across the armrest, fingers grazing the sensitive skin of her hand. A touch that could ruin us if anyone walked in.
And yet, in Sheridan’s office of all places, waiting for him to return, taking her over his desk seems like the most inevitable thing I could do.
Quickly, I rise up from the chair and walk over to the slightly cracked door.
“On your feet.”
The door clicks shut behind us, sealing us in as I stalk towards her.
“Kieran, what are you—” I silence her with my hand, clutching her chin, my fingers digging into her soft flesh. “Bend over that fucking desk. Now.”
“You’ve lost your mind,” she spits.
My hand tangles in her hair, wrenching her head back. “Maybe,” I growl. “Or maybe I want to fuck you right here, in the heart of this bastard’s territory.”
My words are harsh, sharpened by months of Sheridan’s pathetic threats and our impending plan.
I need this. I need her.
She bends over, hiking her skirt over her hips, black lace panties framing her beautiful ass, facing the door.
If he walks in…we’re fucked.
I rip open my belt, freeing my cock from the restraint of my slacks, already hard at the sight of her draped over his desk, leaning on her elbows.
I press against her, my cock positioned at her already dripping entrance. Leaning over, I fist her hair.
“Color, Miss Ravencroft.”
“Green,” she gasps.
Without an ounce of hesitation, I slam into her pussy, feeling her stretch around me. My hips crash against her ass, a brutal rhythm as I watch her flesh ripple. I fuck her hard, deep, the base of my spine tingling with each desperate thrust.
I quicken my pace, knowing this needs to end fast.
“Kie…” she begs, her fingers gripping onto the edge of the sleek wood. “Make me come.”
I pound into her, her walls clenching around me. “Such a greedy cunt,” I grunt. “Milking my cock like the good little slut you are.”
She whimpers, but I clamp a hand over her mouth, muffling her cries as her orgasm threatens to tear through her.
“Don’t make a fucking noise when you come on my dick.”
Her orgasm ripples through her like a wave breaking on shore, her body arching as I feel her tight, pulsing pussy contract around me, drawing me deeper.
The pressure builds at the base of my spine, liquid fire coursing through my veins as my release rises to the surface.
Just before I unravel completely, my rhythm falters, my hips stuttering against her right as I am about to fall off the edge.
And then, I see it—Sheridan’s cup. A fucking insult. A fucking invitation. And, the most immature idea I’ve ever had as a forty-year-old man.
I thrust into Deirdre one last time before pulling out, stroking my cock over the cup. I come hard, ropes of hot come shooting into the brown liquid. I pump every last drop into his fucking coffee, pleasure pulsing through me.
Deirdre turns, eyes wide with shock, then narrowing with mischief.
“Now, Professor,” she purrs, adjusting her panties and her skirt. “I don’t know whether to laugh or be jealous of a coffee cup.”
I tuck my cock back into my pants, refastening my belt. “Miss Ravencroft,” I promise, breathless. “I will gladly have round two with you again tonight and make you take all of my come, if you’re jealous, that is.”
She begins to respond, but the rattle of footsteps in the hall jerks us back to reality. We freeze, inches apart, breathing still shallow. The doorknob jiggles, then steadies.
Silence.
The door swings open, and Sheridan strides in mid-sentence, phone pressed to his ear. He doesn’t notice how stiffly we stand, or how quickly the air between us has cooled.
“Yes, yes,” he snaps into the receiver, “I’ll deal with it. I always deal with it.” He ends the call with a quick click and tosses the phone onto his desk like it’s offended him. His eyes rake over us, smug and knowing.
“Well, make yourselves at home.” He gestures to the chairs we occupied a few moments before.
We both sit, but I am bracing myself for the storm that’s brewing.
He lowers himself into his chair, adjusting his tie, then his fingers rub the rim of the coffee mug.
I bite my lip.
Please take a fucking sip.
His eyes flick to Deirdre and linger, sharp as glass.
“Word travels quickly around here. We had whispers of favoritism last semester and, now, rumors of fraternization.” He leans back, steepling his fingers.
“And one has to ask…why would so many students notice you, Miss Ravencroft? You’re not remarkable enough to warrant such attention on your own. ”
I feel her stiffen beside me. My hands curl into fists.
“Careful, Sheridan,” I warn, my voice low.
“Strike a nerve, McKnight?”
His gaze settles back on Deirdre, a deliberate insult in the way he lets the pause stretch.
“It’s remarkable, really, how quickly the student body picks up on…
patterns. A young woman spending so much time in her professor’s company.
The praise he gives you, students noticing the way you linger.
” He leans back, lips curling. “Tell me, Miss Ravencroft, do you imagine they envy you? Or pity you?”
I feel the pulse in my temple hammering. “Enough.”
But Sheridan only smirks at me. “Oh, Professor McKnight, you’ve always had a temper.
A dangerous flaw in a man so determined to hide his weaknesses.
Tell me, how long did it take before you blurred the line?
A semester? A month?” He tilts his head.
“Or perhaps the night she started working under you?”
I lean forward, slamming my fists on the desks, voice cutting.
“You want to speak of blurred lines? Perhaps we should revisit yours—with your graduate advisee in ’09. I have every email she ever sent me about you. Do you really want me to remind the board what you risked burying?”
His amusement falls. He masks it quickly, but not before I see the flicker of unease.
He attempts to deflect.
“What happens when she becomes one of them? What happens when she grows tired of being your secret?”
Deirdre’s chair scrapes the floor as she rises, fire flashing in her eyes. “You don’t get to talk about me like that.”
Sheridan blinks, caught off guard by her voice, the coolness in it.
“I worked too hard to get here,” she continues, her voice low but unwavering. “I’ve survived worse men than you. And I’m not afraid of you or your threats. You want me to break? Keep waiting. It’s not going to happen.”
The silence that follows is suffocating. Sheridan’s smirk falters.
I rise beside her, every muscle strung tight. My voice is quiet, edged with danger. “You think you can destroy her with rumors? Try. But before you do, remember that I can burn your entire world down with just one hit of ‘send’ in an email.”
His face drains of color.
For the first time since I’ve known him, Sheridan looks unsettled.
Deirdre’s chin lifts higher, her voice a final blade. “I’m not yours to intimidate. And I never will be.”
The words hang in the air. Sheridan looks between us, his mouth opening, closing, then snapping shut. He leans back in his chair, seething but silent.
Before I turn my back on him, I chuckle, “Oh, and Sheridan? Might want to stir that coffee cup…you’ve been gone awhile.”
He pauses, annoyance flickering across his smug features, then reaches for the mug.
Almost as if obediently, he stirs the brown liquid with a small, silver stirring spoon, in slow, methodical circles.
He lifts it to his lips and takes a long sip, utterly unaware of the small part of me he’s swallowed.
Deirdre bites back a laugh that almost sounds like a snort, and I try to fight back the glaring smile that is fighting its way to the surface.
We don’t wait for his dismissal. I place a steadying hand at the small of her back and guide her out, the weight of victory sharp and fragile between us.
Sheridan has no idea that in trying to break her, he’s only made her stronger.