Page 39 of Every Shade of Shadow

“That's enough for now," he says hoarsely, struggling to catch his breath. "Just know that next time we’ll be going far deeper. You’ll be broken down and rebuilt, brutally, but you will come out stronger.”

I still don’t know what any of this has to do with my so-called education, but to question him seems the worst possible idea.

And really? I want more.

I want to be broken.

I stare at him, dizzy with desire. I can’t keep my disappointment out of my expression or my voice. He should have come. Deep in my mouth. I should be tasting him by now. "Yes, Professor," I whisper.

He reaches up and snaps his fingers and I awake back in my bed, my nightdress in place, only the light from under the door remaining, and there is no chamber, no Darkwood—only the thrum of need between my thighs and the burning memory of his hand against my ass.

*

I struggle to focus on Professor Hawthorn's lecture in Transfiguration class the following day. My thoughts keep drifting to last night's encounter with Darkwood, replaying each caress and whispered word, the lash of his hand and the power that followed—power that still thrums within me.

I replay each caress and whispered word from last night. I recall the twists of his face during the time I sucked on his cock. I think of the erratic flexing of his thigh muscles just moments before he pulled out. But why did he pull away at all? To prolong things? To bide his time?

Maybe he didn’t want to give me the satisfaction. Perhaps he thought it was inappropriate for his little submissive to offer him an orgasm.

It’s the same in Quantum Enchantment. We’re supposed to be exploring the magical properties of subatomic particles and the application of quantum mechanics in spellcasting and enchantment, modern stuff, but my head just. Will. Not. Clear.

I know such thoughts are highly inappropriate. But I can't stop wondering when I'll see him again, feel the delicious thrill of his possession.

It’s an eternity until I’m back in Darkwood’s classroom, front and center.

When the Professor enters the room, a ripple of awareness passes through me. Our gazes meet for a heated moment, and a slow, knowing smile curves his lips.

I blush and tear my gaze away from him.

The fuck, Annabelle. What have you gotten yourself into? You’ve agreed to be his, what? His lover? His sex slave?

But no. He made what I am to be very clear—a pet.

That’s what I am.

Something to play with.

To toy with.

His personal plaything.

Told you so, Sabrina is saying, tut-tutting in my head.

He pays me no special attention in class now, which is its own kind of torture. I catch myself wishing there was no one around us, that all these other students could just piss right off.

The class seems endless, the bell finally ringing out.

“Ms. Fairchild, stay behind please.” He says it casually, an afterthought.

The other students file out, oblivious to what’s about to unfold.

The Professor raises his hand, the door to the room closing and bolting itself.

"Did you sleep well last night, Ms. Fairchild?" he asks coolly, leaning against his desk with a wolfish smile. "Or did the shadows keep you awake?"

I flush under his gaze. "I couldn't stop thinking about you," I admit in a small voice.

How does he do this, make me so fucking feeble?

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