Chapter 41
41
Sonny
I thought that walking out of Dr. Whitlock’s office after we hooked up was embarrassing. It will go down in history as the ultimate walk of shame and, funnily enough, the second time I made it from his office. I had myself convinced that every person who looked at me knew exactly what had just happened. I made stories up in my mind about what they were thinking—how dreadful and pathetic I had become.
It was torture.
The moment I was through my door, I called Poppy so she could talk me off the ledge, but she never answered.
That wasn’t even the worst of it.
I had no idea the mortification that would come with sitting through his lecture the following morning and being completely ignored.
As expected, he appears unaffected, delivering a speech on the five Ps of Clinical Psychology without glancing in my direction once.
Not one single time.
And I’ve taken a seat in the front row, practically beneath his nose.
They talk about being ghosted after a bad hookup, but I’ve never been treated like an actual ghost.
Realistically, what can I expect from a man with less emotional intelligence than most toddlers have in their pinky finger? He’s physically incapable of anything more.
At least, that’s what I tell myself. How else could he just ignore how amazing and natural everything felt between us?
I know what you’re thinking . . .
“Well, Sonny, he did tell you it would only happen once, and then everything could go back to normal.”
Blah, blah, blah.
Too bad, I gaslit myself into believing that, after the connection we shared—and the copious amount of sex we had in one single night—he would change his mind on that.
I’m aware of how naive I sound.
Once he wraps up his lecture, he hands the class over to me so I can explain the week’s assignment. I’m sure he’ll continue with the cold shoulder, ignoring my whole existence the way he had done for the past ninety minutes. I even mentally prepare myself for his rejection, rushing to get everything put away ahead of time, so I can bolt out before he notices I’m still here.
He doesn’t do any of that, though.
As I walk past him to stand at the podium, his pinky brushes mine. It’s such a small mistake, but not one he’s ever made before. My eyes flick up to find him staring down at me with that same heated expression he gave me last night, just before we crossed the line.
In front of everyone.
And my traitorous, desperate little annoyance of a heart kicks into hyperdrive. After being starved of his attention for so long, this feels like a feast. In a feeble attempt to recover myself, I clear my throat and turn my shoulders away from him to face the class and begin explaining the assignment we’ll be working on this week.
Once class is dismissed and my classmates filter out, I turn to gather my things from the podium and find that, while he usually disappears during my explanation of the class assignment, Whitlock has stayed rooted to his spot.
“Did you need something?” I ask in my best attempt at coyness.
There is absolutely no way I’m letting him see how his lack of attention affected me. Or how having his eyes on me right now sets me on fire.
“This isn’t going to work.”
Frowning, I stop packing my last notes into my bag and face him fully. “What isn’t?”
Panic creeps up my throat, lodging itself in the center like a metal ball. Surely, he’s not firing me after forcing me to quit my other position and take his.
He rises from his seat to slowly glide closer to me, lowering his voice so none of the stragglers can overhear
“I can’t look at you without imagining my face stuffed between your thighs,” he mutters, stopping a few inches too close to appear as casual. His lips brush against my hair when he adds. “I can’t listen to you speak without hearing the way you cried through your orgasms.”
Glancing at the last few students who are slow to pack their bags, I tilt my chin into the air in feigned confidence, my back going rigid against him. “And? What does that mean?”
“You’re going to make me say it . . . ”
I busy my hands with shoving my things into my bag again. “Yes.”
If he’s going to fire me, he’ll have to have the balls to say it outright.
“It means I’m incapable of going back to the way things were before. I had a taste, and I’m addicted.” His palm wraps around my throat, fingers tightening until I nearly can’t breathe as he tilts my chin up, so I have no choice but to look at him.
“You’re the worst distraction I could have ever asked for, Little Nightmare. I don’t give in to my desires often, but you’re simply too good to let go.”
“And if I don’t want to?” I rasp, my throat fighting against his hand just to breathe.
I’m full of shit, and he knows it. But it wouldn’t be right if I didn’t challenge him a little bit.
He chuckles mirthlessly against my skin, bringing his mouth to my jaw so he can dig his teeth into it. It’s the weirdest and hottest thing anyone has ever done.
His other hand snakes up my side, leaving a burning trail in its wake until he reaches my lips, then hooks his finger in my cheek.
“You don’t get a choice,” he finally says, shoving his finger deeper into my mouth as his other hand tightens further around my throat.
For a moment, I see stars.
My hands shoot up to fight against his on pure instinct and my body starts to tighten with a gag as his finger reaches further down my throat. He’s in no rush to stop his little show of dominance, though. In fact, he only increases his grip as he lines his mouth back up with my ear.
“Do you understand that I’m in charge now, or will you continue to test my patience with that delicious mouth of yours?”
In this position, I can feel the harness of his erection pressing against my ass.
“I understand,” I try to say around his finger, but it comes out as a garbled mess, so I nod to ensure he knows my answer.
The motion ends up rubbing me further against him, and he groans at the increased contact, grinding himself between my legs.
I can’t believe he’s putting on such a display in a public place where anyone could see us. Sure, the podium blocks a majority of our bodies, but it’s obvious something is happening, isn’t it? Has he even made sure those last few students have left? I want to check so badly, but I can’t move my head.
Finally, his finger slides out of my mouth, pulling my lip down as he drags it over my chin, past his hand around my neck, and down my sternum.
He continues his descent until he reaches the waistband of my jeans, then hesitates for just a moment before shoving it beneath and cupping my sex.
I jump, my eyes bulging in shock at his very public show. Pushing against his palm, I force my head forward to look at the lecture hall, and relief floods in when I confirm that no one is looking our way. I have no idea how we didn’t attract their attention with our carelessness.
It’s as if we’re invisible.
My neck will certainly have bruises from that tomorrow, though I can’t even think past the next five minutes as he slips further into my pants and swipes his fingers across my clit.
“You’re mine to play with,” he practically growls into my ear. “Whenever and wherever I please.”
Nodding again, I push into his hand, adding more friction. He responds by slipping his finger inside of me and I nearly combust.
“Does it turn you on to have me inside you while your peers sit right there?”
I whimper my response.
Yes, it does. For some reason, it absolutely does.
“They could look up at any time and see their professor with his little play thing,” he continues to goad, adding a second and third finger and picking up his pace.
My head falls back against his shoulder, my eyes locked on the students as they file out of the room without turning our way once. When we’re finally alone, he uses his free hand to grab my jaw and force my lips against his in a frenzied kiss that I fall into way too easily. As he continues to increase his pace between my legs, the friction builds and my orgasm hits me full force.
My body convulses in his arms, knees nearly going slack as he holds me up and rides out the wave of ecstasy with me. His erection stabs into my back and I want so badly to turn around and help him find his release the way he’s brought me to mine. But once I’m capable of standing again, Raze pulls his hand out of my jeans and takes a step back, straightening the cuffs of his dress shirt.
In his coldest, most professional voice, he tells me, “Good. I’m glad you understand that we play by my rules now.”
Then he grabs his suitcase and walks out of the room.