His full name in my mouth feels like a curse. He doesn’t flinch—but his posture shifts. Subtly. Like a weapon being drawn.
“You are one inch from insubordination, Miss Rivera,” he says, low and deliberate as he circles around the desk invading my space.
“And you are one inch from violating every ethics code this school has,” I bite out. “You want to play God with my GPA? Fine. But don’t pretend this is about academic integrity. This is about you. You couldn’t stomach that something was happening between us, and it was great. It was glorious, and you ruined it.”
“I didn’t ruin it,” he hisses, slowly peeling his jacket off of his broad shoulders. “You are my student.”
I let out an humorless laugh, fully throwing my head back like this was the joke of the century. “We are way past student and teacher, Conner.”
His name rolls off my tongue and I hope it burns but really it tickles like the best forbidden fruit. He chuckles lowly, yanking his tie from around his neck fully, as he leans back on his oakwood desk.
I can feel it building between us—the growing volatile energy that seems too big for this room. But I don’t care. I’m done letting him hold all the cards. Done pretending I’m not furious. That I’m not hurt. That I didn’t reach for him in the dark and get frostbite for it.
“I am not your little pawn,” I say, breath catching. “And if you think I’ll let you ruin everything I’ve worked for just because you’re scared of how I make you feel, then you’ve really underestimated me.”
His eyes flash—sharp and brilliant, like emeralds catching flame in the sun. “You think you scare me, sunshine?”
“I know I scare you.”
He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t move back. Instead, he closes the distance between us like he’s daring me to flinch. “No, baby girl,” he murmurs, voice low and dangerous, the syllables curling around me like smoke. “I’m not scared of you. I’m scared of what I could do to you.”
The words strike like thunder. I inhale sharply, the scent of him—mint and leather and something darker—flooding my senses. It’s overwhelming. Familiar. Addictive. I hate it. I crave it.
I drop my gaze, refusing to meet his eyes even as I feel them burning into me. They’re searching—for weakness, for want, for anything I’ll give. And I won’t. I can’t.
“You don’t scare me,” I say, voice barely above a whisper.
“No?” His voice is all mockery and silk. He leans closer, breath ghosting across my cheek, and my eyes betray me, slipping to the hollow of his throat. To the slow shift of his Adam’s apple when he swallows.
“I should scare you, little Sunshine,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against my ear. “Compared to me, your lover Landon is a kiddie meal.”
I snort, trying to bite back the flutter in my chest. “You’re so full of yourself, it’s amazing you don’t float away.”
He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t blink. Just lifts one brow, and then—soft but edged—he says, “Give me your hands.”
I freeze. “What?”
“If you’re not saying stop… or red,” he says evenly, tone flat and final, “then I don’t want to hear another word from that mouth.”
My breath hitches, and my eyes widen. I don’t move. I don’t lift my hands. The air between us crackles like it’s been struck by lightning.
So he reaches out and he takes my wrists—not rough, not gentle, just enough to prove a point—and brings them forward between us. “Are you against being tied up?”
I swallow hard, my pulse racing as his fingers tighten around my wrists. “N-no,” I stammer, the word barely audible.
“Good girl,” he purrs, his voice dripping with approval. He releases one wrist to reach into his desk drawer, pulling out a length of soft black silk. My heart skips a beat as he begins to bind my hands together, the fabric cool and smooth against my skin. He ties the knot with practiced ease, testing the tightness before letting go.
“There,” he says, stepping back to admire his handiwork. “Now you’re mine.”
I shiver at the words, my body betraying me as heat pools low in my belly. He circles me slowly, his gaze raking over me like a predator sizing up its prey. “You’re trembling,” he observes, his voice low and teasing. “Is it fear… or anticipation?”
I bite my lip, refusing to answer. He chuckles darkly, stopping behind me. His hands settle on my shoulders, and I can feel the warmth of his body pressing against my back. “You’re going to learn to obey me, Jasmine,” he whispers, his breath hot against my neck. “Every word. Every command. And you’re going to love every second of it.”
His hands slide down my arms, sending a jolt of electricity through me. He grips my bound wrists and pulls them back, forcing me to arch against him. “Do you feel that?” he growls, his lips brushing against my ear. “That’s the power I have over you. The control. And you’re going to beg for more.”
I whimper, my body responding to his words despite my best efforts to resist. He releases my wrists and spins me around to face him, his eyes blazing with intensity. I hear the slow roll of his zipper as his eyes run over my face, focusing in on my mouth.
“Kneel,” he commands, his voice leaving no room for argument.
